Gospel Story Finder

It’s a tragedy that so many children dislike their parents. I won’t pretend that I too am not guilty of sometimes becoming frustrated with my parents. When I do, I sit down and start writing down what it is about my parents that’s making me so upset. Next, I contrast these downsides with my parents’ strengths. Within a few minutes, I find that I’m reminiscing about my childhood, which my parents worked to ensure was a great one. I love my parents, and I know that there are probably sacrifices that they’ve made for me that I will never even be aware of.

Nikki and Breck Fullmer quarreled constantly. Most of their fights were about Nikki borrowing Breck’s T-shirts, and Nikki enduring Breck’s music. Nikki and Breck were both looking for a way out of their conflicts when they decided to participate in their stake’s “Time Alone” experiment.

Nikki knew her brother gulped gallons of soda pop every week, so she invited him to go get a drink with her. He thought it was a fine arrangement, since she was buying. After the soda they talked and drove around for an hour. After just one rendezvous Nikki said, “He’s at a stage where he’ll do just about anything to be cool. And now he thinks it’s cool to be with me.”

Zamu sped across the yard on his blue bicycle. His two-year-old brother, Zinathi, was right behind him on his red scooter.
“Come on, let’s go again!” Zamu said when they reached the edge of the yard. He turned around and pedaled as fast as he could back to the front. The wind rushed over his face.
“Zamu and Zinathi!” Zamu shouted.
Zinathi laughed. He shouted with Zamu.
“Zamu and Zinathi! Zamu and Zinathi!”
They rode across the yard, back and forth, back and forth, until Zamu’s legs were too tired to pedal anymore.
“Let’s take a break,” Zamu panted.
“Come over here and rest,” Dad called from the trampoline.
Zamu parked his bike and took Zinathi by the hand. He helped his little brother climb onto the trampoline. Then he climbed up and sat beside Dad.
“Were you having fun?” Dad asked.
“Yeah!” Zinathi said.
Zamu lay back on the trampoline with a sigh. The sky above him was bright blue, and the sun felt warm on his skin.
“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” Dad said.
Zamu nodded. He closed his eyes and listened to the birds sing while Dad talked to Zinathi. He was getting sleepy.
“Zamu.”
He opened his eyes. Zinathi was leaning over his face.
“What?” Zamu asked.
“Let’s go!” Zinathi pointed to his scooter.
“Not now. I’m resting.”
Zinathi’s mouth slipped into a frown.
“Sorry,” Zamu said. “I’m too tired.”
Zinathi tugged at Zamu’s arm. “Come on!”
“No! I already played with you!”
“Zamu,” Dad said.
Zamu looked over at him.
“One day, when he’s older, Zinathi will remember how you used to play together. The memories you make now will live in his heart.”
Zamu looked back into his little brother’s big brown eyes.
“Please?” Zinathi asked.
Zamu still didn’t feel like playing. But he did want to make memories with Zinathi.
He smiled. “OK.”
Zinathi’s face lit up. “Yay!”
Zamu hopped down from the trampoline and helped Zinathi get back on his scooter. Then he swung his leg over his own bike.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yeah!”
Together they rode across the yard. “Zamu and Zinathi!” they shouted again.
Zamu was still tired, but it was a good kind of tired. His legs felt strong as he pedaled behind Zinathi. I hope Zinathi will remember this, he thought. I’ll remember it forever.

Sometimes the Lord works in other ways. Sister Sampson-Davis of Ghana was inspired to translate the Book of Mormon into her native language of Fante before the Translation Division was even assigned the task. While growing up, Sister Davis enjoyed associating with Christians. As a youth, she was so impressed with and grateful for Christ’s sacrifice that she felt a strong need to do something for him. Almost forty years later, after learning English in the Netherlands and returning home to Ghana, where she joined the Church, she found an opportunity to accomplish her girlhood desire.
One night after attending sacrament meeting, Sister Sampson-Davis realized that some of the people in the congregation did not sing from the hymnbook because they did not know English. She felt impressed to translate gospel materials for the benefit of her people, and that night she translated “I Am a Child of God.” The translation of other hymns followed.
Encouraged by accomplishing these small works of translation, Sister Sampson-Davis felt led to the enormous task for which she had been prepared over many years—translating the Book of Mormon into Fante. When the Church’s Translation Division reviewed Sister Sampson-Davis’s translation of the Book of Mormon, they were astonished that this schoolteacher, with little or no professional translation experience, had produced an excellent translation with a high degree of accuracy.
Sister Sampson-Davis is an example of the quality and dedication of translators the Lord has prepared, and is preparing for use by the Translation Division. Currently, the Division is working on translating doctrinal material in at least one major language for every nation of the world. This project, approved by the First Presidency in 1986 and called the Every Nation program, will result in reading material in many additional languages over the next few years.
The “every nation” title of the program is derived from a 1978 talk by President Spencer W. Kimball in which he said:
“If we only make a small beginning in every nation, soon the converts among each kindred and tongue could step forth as lights to their own people and the gospel would thus be preached in all the nations before the coming of the Lord.” (Regional Representatives seminar, October 1978.)
Eb Davis, director of the Translation Division, says of the program, “The Brethren are inspired in their direction of this work. Initially, we thought that many of the languages of the Every Nation program were so rare that we would have difficulties finding translators, but we discovered that the way was prepared for us. For example, we found twenty members of the Church from the Seychelles—islands between India and Africa—who could help us. We have forty members from Uganda that we can call upon, and we located four people in the Salt Lake Valley who speak Ethiopian.”
Lowell Bishop, who oversees the work in African languages, says that most of the translators for these languages have been members of the Church for only as long as the Every Nation program has been operating. He adds that for almost every language the Division has worked with so far, a member has indeed “stepped forth” to do the translation.
As an example, Brother Bishop describes the members the Division found to translate materials into two of the languages of Zaire—Lingala and Tshiluba. Church materials are translated into Lingala by Alfonse and Maguy Muanda, in addition to their being actively involved as stake missionaries and operating their own business.
Tshiluba is the native language of Ambrose and Louise Massala, but in their college days they lived in an area of Zaire where Swahili is spoken, and that became their daily language. Shortly after they were married, Ambrose suggested that they go back to speaking to one another in Tshiluba. Louise thought the suggestion strange because by then they had been speaking Swahili for a number of years. However, they began using Tshiluba again, and their children grew up speaking Tshiluba at home. Surprised when they were asked if they would translate material into Tshiluba, Louise said she finally realized why Ambrose was inspired to return to using a language they had almost forgotten.
But whether the language be Tshiluba, Hmong, or any of the many other languages that the Church Translation Division is directed to work with, the message must be “translated” into the daily lives of the individual Latter-day Saint. Like Brother Kua Lo, once we have the gospel, we need to share it with family members, neighbors, and friends, so that together we might all speak the eternal language of the gospel.
The importance of sharing the gospel has often been emphasized by President Ezra Taft Benson. On one occasion he said, “We are required to carry the gospel of Jesus Christ to every nation of the world … This commission to take the gospel to every nation, kindred, tongue, and people is one of the signs by which believers will recognize the nearness of the Savior’s return” (General Conference, April 1984.)

Arthur Parker walked and walked and walked. Even though he was only six years old, he sometimes helped his mother and father pull their loaded handcart. When everybody stopped to rest, he liked to explore. He wandered around to see other people, the prairie grass, a stream, or a grove of trees.
Arthur had one brother and two sisters: Max, 12; Martha Ann, 10; and Ada, 1. The Parkers had sailed from England to America that spring. Now they were traveling west with the McArthur Handcart Company. As Max helped his parents pull the handcart, Martha Ann walked behind, taking care of Arthur and Ada.
But one day Arthur’s father became ill. Martha Ann took his place helping to pull the handcart and sent Arthur to walk with a group of other children in the company. When Arthur sat down to rest beside the trail and fell asleep, the other children didn’t notice. The company moved on without him.
By the time Arthur’s family discovered that he was missing, it was too late and too dark to go looking for him. That night, the cloudy sky burst open. Thunder and lightning raged, and many tents blew over. Water ran across the ground in streams as people huddled in wet clothes. All night long, the Parkers worried about Arthur, lost out in the stormy darkness. They hoped somebody would bring him to their tent, but no one did.
The next morning, search parties went back along the trail to look for Arthur. The handcarts stayed camped all day so the searchers could continue looking. Where was the little boy? Was he hurt in the thunderstorm?
After searching for two days, the company could not wait any longer. They had more than a thousand miles left to go.
Arthur’s parents didn’t give up hope. They decided that Brother Parker would go farther back along the trail to look for Arthur, while Sister Parker and the other children would stay with the company and pull the handcart.
Before Brother Parker left, his wife pinned a bright red shawl around his shoulders. If he found Arthur dead, he would wrap him in the shawl. But if he found Arthur alive, he would wear the shawl on his shoulders or hold it in his hand to signal that Arthur was all right.
The worried father retraced the trail—calling Arthur’s name, searching everywhere he could, and praying. He walked and searched for 10 miles, determined not to leave without finding his son.
Meanwhile, the handcart company moved ahead. Two days went by. Sister Parker kept looking back anxiously, hoping to see her husband and son catching up with them.
At last, Brother Parker came to a mail-and-trading station. He asked if anyone had seen a lost six-year-old boy. Someone said that a boy had been found! He was being cared for by a farmer and his wife. Arthur’s father went to the farmhouse and found his son. How glad they were to see each other!
Arthur told his father that he had spent the first night under some trees, which protected him from the rainstorm. Then he had wandered until he came to the farmhouse. Brother Parker figured out that Arthur had walked about nine miles!
The handcart company was now 60 miles past where Arthur had disappeared. Arthur had been missing for four days, and his mother had hardly slept at all since then. She kept watching the trail behind her, looking for her husband, hoping he would be waving the red shawl.
A few days later, as the sun was setting, she suddenly spotted the red shawl waving in the distance. Arthur was alive! Captain McArthur sent a wagon back to meet the father and son. Everyone in the company rejoiced to see Arthur, but no one felt as happy as his mother. Completely exhausted, she slept soundly for the first time in days.
The Parkers continued on their journey. Arthur kept walking, singing, and exploring—but he stayed a little closer to his parents. Each night, they hugged him a little tighter.

Recently I searched through a journal I’ve had for years to ponder times I’ve relied on the Savior. I read about the despair I felt as I witnessed addiction in my family, experienced unemployment, navigated seasons of uncertainty and loneliness, and struggled with my physical and mental health. I read about some of the darkest moments in my life, when my spirit felt crushed by the weight of my challenges.

But as I reflected on these experiences, I was brought to tears as the Spirit showed me how Christ comforted and led me through my challenges—and still does! Despite the trials in my life, I’ve been able to find so much joy. I’ve experienced the healing balm of forgiveness, witnessed miracles, and learned how to hold on to hope each day—and I know it’s all because of my Savior, Jesus Christ. He truly helps us to overcome the impossible.

In June 2020 the young women of the Huddersfield Stake were thrilled when Sister Becky Craven of the General Young Women’s Presidency personally invited them to participate in a pilot project.
The project was to mark the 150th anniversary in 2020 of the organisation of the worldwide Young Women program.
Each young woman would be set a challenge to do 150 positive things.
Sister Craven said, “The Young Women sesquicentennial celebrates 150 years of growth in young women striving to improve themselves, develop their talents, serve others and strengthen their testimonies of Jesus Christ. Maybe you will choose to read 150 pages of scripture or index 150 names. You may decide to share 150 smiles or 150 encouraging texts with a friend who needs a lift or a boost.”
Girls ranging from 11 to 18, from all over Huddersfield Stake responded enthusiastically to the challenge and took to social media to share their inspiring and thoughtful projects. Some projects were creative; 150 origami flowers given out prayerfully, 150 bath bombs kindly given, 150 positive messages drawn and placed. Other projects were spiritual in nature, for example, 150 conference talks studied, reading The Book of Mormon in 150 days, and 150 names of ancestors found for temple work.
Some girls wrote to neighbours, prepared and performed favourite songs, baked treats, knitted squares, and sought for and completed service opportunities—one girl picked up over 500 pieces of rubbish from her local woods.
A beautiful feeling of helpfulness and searching prevailed as hearts were turned towards the Saviour in trying to become His hands.
Sister Craven was grateful for the effort shown and generously spoke to Huddersfield Stake Young Women in a special fireside at the beginning of November. The girls were excited to hear that she had presented and shared their efforts with President Russell M. Nelson.
Overall, the most exciting thing was that young women saw what a difference they could make to the people around them. They have had a glimpse of what they could all do when they listen to the Spirit and do what they are guided to do to lift those around them.
This collective offering seems to be a very fitting tribute to an organisation that focuses on personal growth and encourages young women to deepen their private relationship with the Saviour. You can follow their journey on Instagram by following #strivetobe and #my150.

However, I recently felt my trust in God’s peace falter when a horrible war broke out in the country where my best friend lives. I felt helpless. Hot anger like I had never experienced before bubbled up inside me. I didn’t know what I could do to help my friend or the other people being affected by this violence and hatred. The whole world felt dark, and I became fixated on the evil that was spreading chaos in so many places.
How could I feel peace knowing that so many people, including my closest friend, were suffering?
I recognized that the anger I felt was starting to consume me. I needed to find peace again. So I went to Heavenly Father as I always had before. I poured out my heart in prayer and told Him that I felt helpless because there was so much violence going on in the world. I asked Him if there was anything I could do to find peace again.
I received a simple prompting from the Spirit:
Read the Book of Mormon.
I was already reading my scriptures often, so I wasn’t sure why Heavenly Father would tell me to do something I was already doing. But I decided to trust the prompting. I began to pay closer attention to what I was reading in the Book of Mormon. I noticed how many times followers of Jesus Christ faced violence, wars, and evil and felt helpless against their challenges. But I also noticed that when they centered their lives on Jesus Christ during those turbulent moments, they seemed to feel peace—no matter what. (See 2 Nephi 4:16–35; Mosiah 24:8–25.) This scenario happens repeatedly in the Book of Mormon. The promises of finding peace in Christ are everywhere.
As I read truths like this during my study, I began to feel the peace of Christ again. And I understood that His peace is always available to all those who seek it, even those living through wars and conflicts.

In the tearful days after a wildfire devastated entire neighborhoods in California’s Sonoma County in October 2017, Elder Ronald A. Rasband of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles traveled to affected communities to be with the Latter-day Saints.
He was on a mission of ministering. He and Sister Melanie Rasband comforted fire-weary members in their meetinghouses and at the edges of their charred homes.
And wherever he went, members came forward to shake his hand. It was a gesture of appreciation. They thanked the Apostle for his support. But each handshake communicated a common sentiment: “I sustain you.”
This means that just as members deeply impacted by the Santa Rosa fires offered sustaining support to Elder Rasband, members worldwide can be lifted even as they lift each member of the Twelve.

In a recent news report we learned of the release of the grandson of one of the world’s wealthiest men by his drug trafficking captors for the incredible amount of nearly $3,000,000. The ransom money was paid by the boy’s mother, who had a love for her son that far exceeded any monetary consideration. As the mother was reunited with her son, she hugged and kissed him repeatedly. She was quoted as saying, “Only now I’m beginning to live again.”

Why do we need the Book of Mormon when we already have the Holy Bible? I’ve thought about this question a lot. As a teenager I was curious about the Book of Mormon, but I didn’t have the motivation to read it. For one thing, nobody encouraged me to read it at home because I was the only member of the Church in my family, except for my grandfather who had passed away.
One Sunday at a testimony meeting, many members testified about the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon, which I had recently begun to doubt. They challenged those who hadn’t read it to gain their own testimony that the Book of Mormon is true, that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, and that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the kingdom of God on the earth.
I pondered if my testimony of the Church and of Joseph Smith was strong enough to withstand the temptations and enticements of Satan. I realized that it wasn’t. My testimony was weak because I had depended only on the testimonies of Church leaders and members. I promised myself that starting that day, I would seek my own testimony.
I decided to read the Book of Mormon. In the introduction I read, “We invite all men everywhere to read the Book of Mormon, to ponder in their hearts the message it contains, and then to ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ if the book is true. Those who pursue this course and ask in faith will gain a testimony of its truth and divinity by the power of the Holy Ghost. (See Moroni 10:3–5.)” I knew I was personally being invited to read the Book of Mormon. As I continued reading, I felt the warmth of the Holy Ghost testifying of the book’s divinity and truthfulness.
I found that the Book of Mormon does testify of Christ, and I was ashamed for doubting its truthfulness. At school I had learned how judges of the law carefully study a case’s evidence before passing judgment. I had done the opposite with the Book of Mormon: I had judged it before I read it.
I finished reading with a humble heart and courage to defend what I believe. Also, I’m happy because I have a companion as I read the Book of Mormon again. My grandmother was baptized shortly before I finished reading the Book of Mormon the first time.
I have a firm testimony that Jesus Christ is my Savior, that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, and that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the true and living Church of God here on the earth.

R. Von Hanks, a member of the Pocatello 19th Ward, Pocatello Idaho Stake, found his father, Dr. Clair V. Hanks, a dentist, lying at the bottom of the basement steps, semiconscious and near death from an allergic reaction to a bee sting.
After calling an ambulance, Von treated his father for shock. Then following his father’s instructions, he injected his father with a local anesthetic from the dentist’s medical bag.
By the time the ambulance arrived, Dr. Hanks was already regaining full consciousness, and he fully recovered in the hospital.
Von was 16 at the time of the incident and had received his Eagle Scout award only one week earlier.

A week after Bishop Stone was sustained as the new bishop, his executive secretary arranged for an interview with Kevin Blake. Kevin was about to turn 14 and needed to be interviewed about his worthiness to be ordained a teacher.
Kevin waited after church to see the bishop. He didn’t expect it would take long, so Kevin asked his family to wait for him.
“Hello, Kevin,” said the bishop. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m here to be interviewed to be ordained a teacher,” Kevin said.
“Oh, yes. Of course. Let me ask you a question. Do you know where we find the duties of the office of a teacher?” Bishop Stone asked.
“I don’t know. In the teachers’ manual, I guess.”
The bishop smiled and opened his scriptures and handed them to Kevin. “Read Doctrine and Covenants 20:53–54 [D&C 20:53–54], please.”
Kevin began to read. “The teacher’s duty is to watch over the church always and be with them and strengthen them; And see that there is no iniquity in the church, neither hardness with each other, neither lying, backbiting, nor evil speaking.”
“You can stop there,” Bishop Stone said. “That seems like a tough job to me. How are you going to do it?”
Kevin sighed. “Well, I know that teachers go home teaching.”
“That’s true; they do. Good answer. That does help us to watch over the Church, and be with them and strengthen them. But let me ask you another question. As a teacher, how are you going to see ‘that there is no iniquity in the church, neither hardness with each other, neither lying, backbiting, nor evil speaking’?”
Kevin was stumped. “I don’t know.”
The bishop smiled. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know either. But we both need to find out. I’d appreciate it if you’d think about it this week and then come back next Sunday and give me some of your ideas.”
On the way home, Kevin’s mother asked him how the interview had gone.
“I can’t believe it. I have to go back next week.”
His 12-year-old sister, Emily, picked up on that. “I’m not surprised,” she said.
Kevin rolled his eyes.
“Would you like to talk to your mother and me in private?” asked his dad.
“I didn’t do anything wrong. The bishop just asked me to come up with a plan about how I was going to see that there’s no backbiting or evil speaking in our ward.”
Just before they ate, Kevin’s friend Todd called to tell him about the teachers quorum activity for the week.
“I’m not a teacher yet,” said Kevin.
“No, but you will be, right?”
“I have to go back and see the bishop next week.”
There was a long pause and then Todd said, “Oh.” Todd made a quick excuse that he had to eat and hung up.
Kevin wasn’t very hungry, but he ate a little and excused himself and went to his room. A few minutes later his dad knocked on his door and asked if he could come in. He pulled a chair up to Kevin’s bed and said, “Kevin, I don’t think the bishop is down on you. I think he is just asking for your help.”
“I don’t see how I can help him,” Kevin said.
“Well, the Lord did give teachers in the Aaronic Priesthood the responsibility to see that there’s no backbiting or evil speaking. Maybe the bishop is just honoring the responsibility you have as a teacher. We have a good ward, but we’re not perfect. There is some backbiting. Not much, but some. Why not honor the bishop’s request and see what ideas you can come up with?”
Kevin reluctantly agreed to do what he could.
At first he couldn’t think of anything, but then things started to change. On Monday after family home evening, he swallowed his pride and went to Emily. “Do you ever see any backbiting or evil speaking in our ward?”
“Sometimes.”
“What causes it?”
“Not every girl comes from a family with enough money for expensive clothes. That can cause people to talk.”
“I don’t see how I can stop that,” said Kevin.
“I try to stop it,” Emily said. “Whenever anyone starts saying bad things about a girl, I try to say good things. You could do that too.”
“That’s not going to stop it.”
“It will if more people look for the positive instead of the negative.”
Kevin felt a twinge of conscience. One of the boys in the deacons quorum was Justin Evanston. Everyone else in the quorum liked sports and camping, except Justin. The boys sometimes made fun of Justin, especially when he tried to play basketball. He was uncoordinated and awkward. Kevin himself had made fun of Justin. He felt bad about it now.
At school on Monday, Kevin saw Jon Dunford in the halls. Jon lived in their ward but didn’t come anymore. He’d gotten into drugs in the seventh grade and a few months later was arrested. He spent six months in a juvenile correction facility and then came back to live at home. Kevin had seen him the first day after he got back. “I’m going to start back to church,” Jon had said.
“Right,” Kevin had replied sarcastically.
Jon came to church once but never returned. Eventually he went back to his old friends. Kevin figured it was only a matter of time before Jon would be put away again.
Kevin decided to talk to Jon.
“Jon, that time you came to church after you first got back, what was it like for you?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I just want to know.”
“Okay. I’ll tell you,” said Jon, an edge in his voice. “A lot of cold stares, a lot of whispering behind my back, and nobody my age talking to me. A lot of the adults said they were glad I was back, but nobody my age did. Not even you.”
Kevin swallowed hard. “Sorry.”
“When I first came back, I really wanted to change my life,” he sighed. “But it’s too late for that now.”
“Give us another chance,” said Kevin. “Come to church with me next time. I’ll do better.”
Jon looked at Kevin for a long time. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“Maybe sometime,” Jon said, starting to walk away.
“What about tomorrow night? We’re going to a TV studio to see how they do the news.”
Jon pursed his lips. “That doesn’t sound too bad. Maybe I’ll go.”
The next day before school Kevin found Jon in the parking lot behind the school with the guys he partied with. “Is tonight still okay?”
Jon smiled. “I’ve never seen you out here before.”
“What about tonight? We could pick you up a little before seven.”
“That’d be okay.”
When they stopped by later that night, Jon wasn’t home, but Kevin wasn’t discouraged. He’d just have to keep asking until Jon gave in and went with him.
The next Sunday after church, Kevin waited to see the bishop. He no longer felt bad that the bishop had asked him to come back; in fact he was glad. This time, when the bishop asked him what a teacher could do to see that there was no backbiting or evil speaking, Kevin had some things to say.
He could hardly wait to see the bishop.

Several years ago my wife, Susan, and I had the opportunity to tour the New Zealand Christchurch Mission with President and Sister Melvin Tagg. President Tagg suggested that as part of the mission tour we include a preparation day and take a bus trip to see the beautiful Milford Sound. Part of the trip involved stopping at several beautiful scenic sites along the way. At one of those stops, as we walked back to the bus, I became curious about a group of passengers standing in a circle on the road taking photographs. As I peered over the people, I saw in the circle a frightened little baby lamb on wobbly legs. It appeared to be no more than a few hours old. I have seen a lot of sheep in my life, since my father-in-law was in the sheep business. Consequently, I had no interest in taking a photograph of a solitary lamb, so I boarded the bus and waited.
After all the passengers finally boarded the bus, the driver picked up the frightened little lamb in his arms, held it tenderly against his chest, and brought it on the bus. He sat down, closed the door, picked up his microphone, and said to us, “Undoubtedly a band of sheep has gone through here this morning, and this little lamb has strayed. Perhaps if we take it with us, we might find the band of sheep farther up the road and return this baby lamb to its mother.”
We drove through several kilometers of beautiful forests and finally came to a beautiful meadow of tall, flowing grass. Sure enough, there in the meadow was a band of sheep feeding. The bus driver stopped the bus and excused himself. We all thought he would put the lamb down on the side of the road and come back, but he didn’t. With the lamb in his arms, he carefully and quietly walked out through the grass toward the band of sheep. When he got as close as he could without disturbing them, he gently put the lamb down and then remained in the field to make sure the baby lamb returned to the fold.
As he returned to the bus, he once again picked up his microphone and said, “Oh, can’t you hear that mother sheep saying, ‘Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you for bringing my lost lamb back home to me!’”

As a young man having just finished my first year of college and needing to earn money for a desired mission, I spent the summer working at the new Jackson Lake Lodge in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Many college-age youths came to work in that pristine, beautiful area.
One such person was Jill, a young woman from San Francisco, California. Feeling that a young woman from a big city might be a little bit naive about her new environment, I and a few friends felt it our obligation to teach her about the ways of the real West. We decided to take her on a “snipe hunt.” For those of you who may not be familiar with a snipe hunt, it is a practical joke, as there is no such thing as a snipe, at least not in the western United States. The tools necessary for a snipe hunt are a stick and a cloth bag. The “hunter” is told to go through the brush, beating the bushes with a stick while calling the snipe in a high-pitched, ridiculous voice. The nonexistent snipes are thus to be driven into the cloth bag.
We gave Jill her cloth bag and a stick and an area to hunt across the hill. The plan was to return to our starting point in about 15 minutes, at which time we would supposedly count our snipes.
When she did not return at the appointed time, we gloated and took delight in the seriousness with which she took her hunt. After about 30 minutes, we felt it was time to rescue her, explain the joke, have a good laugh, and all go to dinner. However, it became apparent that she had taken her snipe hunt more seriously than we had expected—she was not to be found in her assigned area. After searching rather extensively and still finding no evidence of her, we began moving into the woods, calling for her at the top of our voices, but to no avail.
Hoping she might have gone back to her dormitory, we returned and asked some young women to search for her there, but this also was to no avail. It was now turning dark, and our concern heightened. We enlisted all the young men we could from the boys’ dormitory and with flashlights continued the search deep into the woods. Well into the darkness of night—frightened, concerned, and hoarse from calling—we decided it was now time to report our ridiculous deed to the park rangers. While we were standing in front of the dorms, trying to determine which brave soul would have the privilege of reporting her disappearance, Jill suddenly appeared—not from her dormitory, but rather from that of a friend with whom she had enjoyed dinner (which we incidentally missed) and a comfortable evening with her friends. Her first words to us as she approached said it all: “How do you fellows like hunting snipe hunters?” Well, so much for big city naïveté, and so much for the ways of the real West. The joke was on us, and I have never had a desire for any more snipe hunting.

Spencer D. of Alabama, USA, decided to give up some social events so he could get the most from seminary. For his first two years of seminary, he woke up at 4:00 a.m. to attend, and the last two years he woke up at 5:00 a.m. He says, “I couldn’t participate in a lot of late-evening activities with my friends because I would need to be in bed early. If I didn’t, I would not be able to fully participate and learn the next morning.” For Spencer, it wasn’t just about showing up to class, it was also about being awake and prepared to learn.

Of Swedish ancestry, Frances, with her native poise and graciousness, was easily integrated into the Monson clan at the Terrace. And at Tom’s first meeting with her parents, he acquired preferred status when it was learned that his great uncle, Elias Monson, had helped convert the Johnson family in Sweden. Tears filled the eyes of Franz and Hildur Johnson as they embraced their future son-in-law. Although the incident was tinged with mild embarrassment for Frances, who hardly anticipated such a reception for her young boyfriend, she and Tom reflected later that the relationship of their Swedish ancestors may have portended more than mere coincidence.

The quality and tone of this favorite are much like the kind of man my friend Leo Politi is—soft, warm, tender, and full of reverence for life.
Every day Rosa and Jose rode their horse Polomo to the village school. After school, Rosa saw an expensive doll in the store window. She longed for this doll, but she knew she could never afford it. At Christmastime her mother gave the family something better than the doll. Because of Leo Politi’s touch, no one forgets Rosa or her dreams.
This book is also available in a Spanish edition.

On April 3, 2022, faithful Saints all over the world gathered in their homes to watch general conference. In the Republic of the Congo, Brazzaville Stake President Belle-Vie Gayouele and his family were among millions of Saints who reverently followed the proceedings via live broadcast, when President Russell M. Nelson announced that a temple will be built in Brazzaville.
Of this sacred experience, President Belle-vie Gayouele said, “We didn’t really expect the temple to be announced at this recent conference. Nevertheless, saints all over Brazzaville and Pointe-Noire (two cities within the country) followed the prophet’s concluding remarks with a ray of hope. When the prophet unexpectedly announced the construction of the temple in Brazzaville, it had an incredible effect. My wife, for example, cried with joy, there were great celebrations everywhere, endless video and phone calls, and that night we couldn’t sleep! My family and I knelt in humility and offered a prayer of gratitude.”

I love to read books that show temples from around the world. When I had a friend ask me about temples, I knew that my explanation wasn’t enough to help her understand. So I brought my books on temples and showed her what the temple is, the purpose of the temple, and how thankful we are to visit the temple. I decided to invite her to church on Sunday, where the missionaries and Sunday School teachers could help her learn more.
Jessica A., age 18, Indonesia