Gospel Story Finder

When 12-year-old Malachi Priest of Nottingham 1st Ward heard about the Captain Tom Moore’s 100 Challenge, he was very keen to take part. Malachi’s school, the Priory Ruskin Academy, had encouraged pupils to do a sponsored activity one hundred times and to donate the money to the St. Barnabas Hospice Trust, that supports people across Lincolnshire.
Malachi has enjoyed dancing from an early age and with the suggestion of his mother, Elaine, he excitedly decided that his fundraising activity would be 100 video dance games. He did four sets of 25 dances over three days, taking five hours 28 minutes and 21 seconds to complete. He said he felt exhausted after each session but, thinking of being able to help others and the encouraging support from his family, helped him carry on. Malachi’s four older siblings Rebekah, Rachael, Joseph, and Ethan supported him by taking turns dancing along with him in some of the sessions. This inspired Malachi to finish and raise over £1,000 in sponsorship.
Malachi’s charitable work caught the attention of the local media. A picture and report appeared in the local newspaper, The Grantham Journal. The local radio station, Radio Lincolnshire, interviewed Malachi and his mother. Malachi also appeared on two television news programmes: ITV Central News, and ‘Make a Difference’ on BBC East Midland News.
Some of the comments made to the local media by Malachi included: “I will be celebrating the extraordinary spirit of Captain Tom my way and help my chosen charity. Please donate to help me reach my goal, or even go beyond” and “Thank you everyone who has supported me. I did it! I followed in Captain Tom’s footsteps and danced my way down the path. I danced 100 dances from Just Dance 2021 (animated dances for downloading on electronic games ‘boxes’).”
Elaine said: “He absolutely loves dancing. It’s lovely. He’s such a kind boy, he always has been.” After he completed the challenge, she added: “Malachi feels great. I asked him when he finished if he still enjoyed dancing? Bless him, He smiled a great big smile and replied, ‘Yes, I still love dancing’” (Grantham Journal, 6 May 2021).
On Malachi’s fundraising site he gave the reason he wanted to participate and do the 100 dances, “Because I love dancing, and being kind.”

When the time came for me to choose a major, I was nearing the end of my mission. This thought came to me: “I keep teaching, ‘If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God.’18 Am I living that?”

And so I prayed to know what I should major in. In a missionary apartment in Döbeln, Germany, I started flipping through the course catalog and reading about all the majors that were offered at BYU. I finally turned to statistics. And suddenly I felt the Spirit very strongly. I read about statistics, and it seemed interesting. I kept reading about different majors until I finished the course catalog. I had never taken a stats class. I didn’t know a lot about it, so I thought, “Maybe I’ll go through this course catalog again. Maybe I’ve missed something.” When I got to statistics, the same thing happened. I felt the Spirit. I decided to take the introductory class in statistics and, ultimately, I majored in statistics.

This experience taught me that the Savior wants to speak to us through the Spirit. As we seek Him, He will guide us and reveal His will to us through the Holy Ghost. That personal revelatory process through the Spirit is often different for each of us, but my experience provided me with hope that God would be involved in my life and that I could trust in the Spirit.

“Hurry, Cathy,” Anne called over her shoulder. Her tennis shoes pounded along the side of the road, and her ponytail swished from side to side.
“I am hurrying!” Cathy yelled back, barely three steps behind her. Laughing, they turned away from the road and ran across the gravel parking lot of Mr. Parkins’s Plant Place. Breathing hard, they burst through the front door into the rich smells of potting soil and damp, growing things.
“Well, hello, girls.” Mr. Parkins had a smile in his voice as he looked up from the cash register. “Did you come to work?”
“Yes, please,” Anne said. “Today and tomorrow.”
In the early spring Mr. Parkins often paid the neighborhood children to help transplant seedlings. “Where is your cousin Emmy today?” he asked.
“She went to help Granny,” Cathy said.
“Well, come along.” Mr. Parkins led them through the back door and into one of the long, low greenhouses. “We’re working on the petunias right now. I need all the help I can get. Are you saving up for anything special?”
Anne and Cathy exchanged a secret smile. “Yes,” Cathy answered. “A Mother’s Day present for Mum.”
“I know where you could get her some nice bedding plants at a good price.” Mr. Parkins winked at them.
“So do we!” the girls said together.
At the end of the greenhouse, Mr. Parkins opened another door and led them into another greenhouse. There, long tables were covered with solid flats of young petunia plants. Allen, Tom, and Lance were already working and laughing loudly.
Mr. Parkins stayed only long enough to make sure that the girls knew what to do, and to check on the boys’ work. “I’m sure glad the five of you could come,” he said as he left.
The greenhouse smelled warm and damp. The potting soil was crumbly and moist on Anne’s fingers as she carefully separated the tiny plants. Cathy worked silently beside her, filling each of the tiny container compartments with soil and planting the seedlings. For a long time no one said anything.
Then Lance elbowed Allen and whispered something in his ear. Allen laughed loudly, then whispered in Tom’s ear. Tom snorted.
Anne’s fingers started to shake, and she felt slightly sick. They were doing it again. “I wish Emmy was here,” she whispered to Cathy.
Cathy nodded. “So do I.”
In the next few minutes, Lance stopped whispering and started saying nasty things out loud. Some of it Anne didn’t understand, but she knew that it wasn’t good because of the way it made her feel. Again she wished Emmy was here. Emmy would know what to do. She was as brave as Nephi.
Just last week, Anne and Emmy had been walking home from school with several other girls. The sun was shining, but they all walked with their hands in their pockets, moving quickly to keep warm. Then someone started singing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” in a really silly way. Everyone laughed and joined in. The next song they sang even sillier, singing high and then low. It was fun until one girl started singing “I Am a Child of God” in the same way. It hadn’t felt funny to Anne anymore. It had given her the same sick feeling then as the bad talk in the greenhouse was giving her now.
But Emmy had known what to do.
“Hey, let’s not make fun of Church songs, OK?” she had said quietly. She made it sound friendly.
The other girls had looked surprised for a moment, but one said, “OK,” and started singing the song the right way.
But Anne wasn’t Emmy, and she didn’t know what to do. She was afraid that if she asked the boys to stop, they’d just get worse. Now they were using words that Anne knew were not right.
She looked over at Cathy. Her sister’s lips were pressed tightly together, and she looked as if she was going to cry.
“Shall we leave?” Anne whispered to her.
“But I want to buy something nice for Mum,” Cathy said quietly.
“Yeah. Me too.” They were silent for a few seconds, trying to not listen to the boys. “Besides,” Anne added, “Mr. Parkins said he needs all the help he can get.”
Cathy nodded and blinked as two tears slid down her cheeks. She tucked her chin down so that Lance, Allen, and Tom wouldn’t know that she was crying.
Anne moved closer to her. She was angry now. It was hard to remember to be gentle with the plants. If only Emmy was here! she thought. If only I knew what to do! Suddenly she had an idea.
Softly, almost too softly to hear, she started humming “A Child’s Prayer.” When Cathy heard the first few notes, she looked up at Anne in surprise. She smiled. By the end of the song, both of them were softly humming together.
The boys were still making ugly jokes, but Anne didn’t feel angry any more. She started humming “I Am a Child of God,” only just a little louder. By the end of that song, Lance was quieter, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. Anne, feeling braver, gave him a big smile as she started singing “Nephi’s Courage” out loud. Cathy joined in, and their two voices echoed sweetly off the walls and ceiling, while the boys’ voices softened to silence.
Anne and Cathy were still singing one Primary song after another when Mr. Parkins poked his head in an hour later. “Sounds good, girls.” He came over to the long table. “Your work is good too. But it’s almost dark—you’d better get on home. I’m glad you’ll be coming back tomorrow—I can always use good, cheerful help.”
Rubbing the soil off their fingers, the children followed Mr. Parkins out of the greenhouses and into the early evening light. Lance, Allen, and Tom scooted past Anne and Cathy.
“Primary babies,” Lance hissed as he went past. Anne just smiled at him again.
The air was cooler now, and goosebumps dotted the girls’ arms, but they didn’t feel cold.
“I feel all warm and happy,” Cathy said, looking up at the pink sky.
“Me, too,” Anne said. “Race you home!”

A few years ago, Alice E. Smith, of Yuba City, California, wrote of a faith-promoting experience in finding a record of her great-grandfather’s death. She and her husband were returning from their annual trip to visit their daughter who lived near Seattle, Washington. Although Sister Smith knew how much her husband disliked making stops during their return journey, she asked him if they could stop briefly at a cemetery to see if there were any record of her great-grandfather’s death. She was surprised and delighted when he readily agreed to the side trip in a little town along the Columbia River.
On a hunch they drove to the nearest of three cemeteries, parked in the middle of an older section, and started to search. Within ten minutes, their youngest daughter called, “Here’s a Bailey. I think this is the one!”
With a can of water and a rag from the car, her husband carefully began to scrub away the years’ accumulation of moss, revealing the name, dates in full, and a little inscription: Note the significance of the inscription: Here’s my heart, O take and seal it; Seal it for thy courts above. Surely it was heaven-sent help that had brought them to this message from her devout Methodist ancestor to the family today.
Another family member was able to identify the inscription, taken from the old hymn “Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing.”3 The divine message of that hymn will sing in the hearts of an expanding family forevermore. The word sealing will take on greater significance.

“But, Pa, I’m bigger now! See?” Joshua said as he stood on his tiptoes.
“I do see how big you are,” Pa said. “Come over here to the measuring wall. We’ll measure again.”
Joshua ran over to the measuring wall and stood as tall as he could. Pa took a pencil and put a mark on the wall just above Joshua’s head. It was a little higher than the last one.
“Well, I’ll be!” Pa said. “You’ve grown one-eighth of an inch!”
“I knew it! Can I ride Dugan today?” Joshua asked as he jumped up and down.
“I think you just might be big enough to ride the horse,” Papa said.
Joshua was so excited! He went to the corrals with Pa and watched as Pa put a bridle and harness on Dugan.
“Why didn’t you put a saddle on her?” Joshua asked.
“Because today we have work to do with her,” Pa explained. “We are building a fence. You and Dugan will get to help.”
“Really? How?” Joshua asked.
“We will put a chain around the poles that are in that pile by the barn. Then we will hook them to the harness on Dugan and she will pull the poles where they need to go,” Pa said.
Joshua sat on the fence as Pa put a chain around the poles. He looked at Dugan. “She is a really big horse,” he thought. He began to feel nervous.
Pa finished chaining the last pole. “Ready, Joshua? Come over here and I’ll lift you up.”
Joshua climbed down the fence slowly and walked over to Pa with his head hung low.
“What’s the matter? Have you changed your mind?” Pa asked.
“Maybe I better wait until tomorrow,” Joshua mumbled. “I’ll be even bigger then.”
“I bet you won’t be scared anymore after you get on the horse. I won’t let you get hurt. I’ll walk beside you and lead Dugan to the place where we unload the poles,” Pa said.
“Really? You’ll be with me?” Joshua asked.
“You bet I will,” Pa said. He reached down and lifted Joshua onto Dugan’s back in one big swoosh.
“Wow! Look how high I am!” Joshua said. He grinned from ear to ear.
As he rode, Joshua looked at Pa. He realized that Heavenly Father would always be there to help him too. He would lift him up. He would walk beside him. And knowing that, Joshua could do anything—even ride a really big horse.

If you had met Elder Jason Brown just twenty months ago, you might have described him as a quiet, shy and camera-averse young man. But today, those who know him witness the remarkable transformation that has come through his dedicated service as a missionary.
Spend even a single day with Elder Brown now and you’ll see a bold disciple of Jesus Christ—sharing his testimony with strangers at bus stops, on public transport and on the street. His journey is a testament to the power of missionary service to shape character and strengthen faith.
Elder Brown is a member of the Dudley Hill Ward in the Leeds England Stake and serves in the England Leeds Mission. His family plays an active role in missionary work—welcoming teaching missionaries into their home, helping at open houses, and supporting Elder Brown’s mission by studying the Book of Mormon with him regularly, often daily.
His mother, Tracey Brown, recalled learning about service missions in a joint Relief Society and priesthood meeting. She immediately recognised it as a wonderful opportunity for her son. When the call came for Elder Brown to serve as a service missionary, she shared:
“He was shy about his new assignment, but he knew it was what the Lord wanted him to do and where the Lord wanted him to be. So, he just stepped up—because he knew the Lord was with him.”
Elder Brown has fulfilled a number of impactful service assignments. He has contributed hundreds of gravestone transcriptions to the BillionGraves website, aiding individuals around the world in their family history efforts. He volunteers weekly in two local charity shops, where he has become a valued team member and has also served at the Thackray Medical Museum, where he frequently shares gospel messages with those he works alongside.
One of Elder Brown’s museum supervisors, Ross, was particularly influenced by these conversations. Ross now has the Gospel Library app on his phone and has even visited the Preston England Temple grounds—an experience inspired by his time with Elder Brown.
Elder Brown has also volunteered at For the Strength of Youth (FSY) conferences and looks forward to returning again this summer.
He was called to serve as a district leader among the service missionaries, a role in which he prepared agendas, conducted meetings, assigned responsibilities and contributed meaningful ideas to improve district council meetings.
Since the integration of service and teaching missions in January 2024, Elder Brown has forged lasting friendships with full-time teaching missionaries. He cherishes time spent with them during preparation days, zone conferences and collaborative missionary efforts.
Initially, he lacked confidence in finding and street contacting, but that changed after a simple but powerful moment with one of the assistants to the president, Elder Ferrel, who encouraged him: “You can do it, Elder Brown.”
That phrase stuck—and Elder Brown embraced the challenge. Today, finding, contacting and teaching are some of his favourite parts of missionary work.
He often shares what he calls “Joy Moments” in his zone’s online chat, recounting spirit-led conversations he’s had with strangers. He shares gospel principles, his testimony of the Book of Mormon and the love of the Saviour, Jesus Christ. He extends invitations to attend church or meet with missionaries, often recording names and contact information and ensuring follow-up by teaching missionaries. One of the individuals he invited even attended his home ward—and Elder Brown had the opportunity to help teach him a lesson, an experience he describes as thrilling.
Elder Brown is due to complete his two-year mission in September 2025, but he has said he would gladly serve another year if given the opportunity.
His life is a powerful example of the growth that comes from trusting the Lord, stepping into inspired callings and serving with love and faith. Elder Brown shows that no matter where we begin, the Lord can shape us into instruments in His hands.

As a young man of Primary and Aaronic Priesthood age, I attended church in the grand old St. George Tabernacle, construction for which had begun in 1863. During very lengthy sermons I would amuse myself by gazing about the building, admiring the marvelous pioneer craftsmanship that had built that striking facility. Did you know, by the way, that there are 184 clusters of grapes carved into the ceiling cornice of that building? (Some of those sermons were really long!) But most of all I enjoyed counting the window panes—2,244 of them—because I grew up on the story of Peter Neilson.
In the course of constructing that tabernacle, the local brethren ordered the glass for the windows from New York and had it shipped around the cape to California. But a bill of $800 was due and payable before the panes could be picked up and delivered to St. George. Brother David H. Cannon, later to preside over the St. George Temple being built at the same time, was charged with the responsibility of raising the needed funds. After painstaking effort, the entire community, giving virtually everything they had to these two monumental building projects, had been able to come up with only $200 cash. On sheer faith Brother Cannon committed a team of freighters to prepare to leave for California to get the glass. He continued to pray that the enormous balance of $600 would somehow be forthcoming before their departure.
Living in nearby Washington, Utah, was Peter Neilson, a Danish immigrant who had been saving for years to add on to his modest two-room adobe home. On the eve of the freighters’ departure for California, Peter spent a sleepless night in that tiny house. He thought of his conversion in far-off Denmark and his subsequent gathering with the Saints in America. After coming west he had settled and struggled to make a living in Sanpete. And then, just as some prosperity seemed imminent there, he answered the call to uproot and go to the Cotton Mission, bolstering the pathetic and sagging efforts of the alkali-soiled, malaria-plagued, flood-bedeviled settlers of Dixie. As he lay in bed that night contemplating his years in the Church, he weighed the sacrifices asked of him against the wonderful blessings he had received. Somewhere in those private hours he made a decision.
Some say it was a dream, others say an impression, still others simply a call to duty. However the direction came, Peter Neilson arose before dawn on the morning the teams were to leave for California. With only a candle and the light of the gospel to aid him, Peter brought out of a secret hiding place $600 in gold coins. His wife, Karen, aroused by the predawn bustling, asked why he was up so early. He said only that he had to walk quickly the seven miles to St. George to give $600 to Brother David H. Cannon.
As the first light of morning fell on the beautiful red cliffs of southern Utah, a knock came at Brother Cannon’s door. There stood Peter Neilson, holding a red bandanna which sagged under the weight it carried. “Good morning, David,” said Peter. “I hope I am not too late. You will know what to do with this money.”
With that he turned on his heel and retraced his steps back to Washington, back to a faithful and unquestioning wife, and back to a small two-room adobe house that remained just two rooms for the rest of his life. (See Andrew Karl Larson, Red Hills of November, 1957, 311–13.)

Another person whose light greatly influenced my life was Jeff Thomason, my teammate and fellow tight end with the Eagles. The whole team loved Jeff because he earned their respect through hard work. He had a magnetic personality that made all of us want to be around him.

Jeff took his job seriously and was a professional in every way. He could handle mistakes on the field and keep his chin up better than anyone else I knew. A great example of this happened during a play at training camp. Jeff ran “22 Texas Y Out,” which required a ten-yard vertical sprint with a sharp cut to the outside. He ran a nice route, and Donovan McNabb threw a sweet pass. When Jeff reached for the ball, it jammed his left pinky finger, which caused him to drop the ball and also resulted in a boutonniere deformity. That’s when the pinky remains bent down; it’s fairly common among football players.

Andy Reid blew up. He yelled that Jeff had just run the worst route he had ever seen. It was not typical of Andy to do that. Jeff smiled through the pain and even laughed behind his face mask as he held his finger. He knew Andy really liked him, and he didn’t lose confidence over Andy’s outburst.

Jeff’s reaction caused me and the other tight end, Mike Bartrum, to crack up. Even though Andy was on fire, it was a humorous scene. We were exhausted from training camp, and anything funny was made funnier by the sheer physical and mental exhaustion we were experiencing. Jeff’s ability to smile and laugh in times of trial and even pain lifted the spirits of those around him.

My weakness as a player was in blocking. Jeff not only helped me improve my physical technique by showing me how to do it but also always encouraged me to get better. Even in the highly competitive culture of the NFL he took the time and made the effort to help his teammates.

When Michele and I would go out to dinner with Jeff and his wife, Blake, Jeff would ask me to share stories of my mission in Taiwan. He said he loved hearing those stories. We gave them a copy of The Other Side of Heaven, the movie about Elder John H. Groberg’s mission in Tonga, and he loved it. After watching it he said, “I wish I could have played at BYU and gone on a mission to Tonga!”

We gave the Thomasons a leather-bound copy of the Book of Mormon with our testimonies written to them inside the cover. Since we loved them, we wanted to share what meant most to us and what brought us peace and joy.

People will love to hear your stories. Don’t be afraid to reach out and share them. Your stories did not just happen for you; they are meant to be shared. Sharing them is a great way for you to let your light shine for others.

Jeff finished his career and went to work for a national construction company. Two years later, when the Eagles played the Atlanta Falcons in the National Football Conference Championship Game, I broke my foot at the very end of the game, which made it impossible for me to play in the Super Bowl.

Andy called Jeff and signed him out of retirement to play in the world’s biggest football game! The next two weeks were a media circus for Jeff. His story of going from construction worker to the Super Bowl was a big hit. He was on The Today Show, Good Morning America, CBS’s The Early Show, and a 60 Minutes special. He handled it all with class and humility.

The Eagles did not win Super Bowl XXXIX against the New England Patriots, but Jeff played a great game. It marked the end of our football careers together. The game is over, but we will be friends forever.

The light of friendship I felt from Jeff in challenging situations was illuminating—like a car driving at night with the headlights on high beam! I saw how important it was to be around someone who could maintain a positive outlook no matter the situation of the game, if there was a setback, or anything else. I learned it was vital to surround myself with greatness, and I invite you to do the same.

That night he had a dream. In his dream he was fishing from a boat with Jed as they had done many times. It was the same lake in the mountains that they had been to that summer. At first he was catching fish, laughing with Jed, having a good time. Then the dream changed, and he was alone in the boat. The boat was leaking, and all he had was a plastic drinking cup. At first he was able to stay ahead of the water, but then it got worse. He bailed furiously to keep the boat from sinking, but he could see the water filling the boat. When he looked up, he saw Kim and Fitzie on the shore laughing at him, yelling for him to let the boat sink.
Suddenly he wrenched free of his dream. He was sweating, and his covers were in disarray. He got out of bed, turned on his light, and looked at the time. It was 12:30.
He lay down and tried to go back to sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come. All the offending thoughts poured down upon his mind in rapid succession.
He threw back the covers and got out of bed. Putting on a pair of slacks and a shirt, he walked outside on his front steps and sat down. The sky was free of clouds, and he could see the stars clearly. He found himself identifying some of the constellations that he had learned in Scouting.
Sitting there, he relived in his mind what Jed and he had gone through in order to both earn their Eagle Scout rank. He remembered how Jed was always in front, leading the way.
Suddenly he found an answer to his problems: “I’ll call Jed and ask if I can move out with his family!” His mind raced, picturing himself back again with his friends.
He hurried inside and went into the family room where there was an extension phone. He dialed the number of Jed’s home.
The sleepy voice of Jed’s mother answered the phone. He apologized for calling so late and asked if he could talk to Jed.
Jed answered the phone, and they talked for a few minutes about small things. Then Jed asked, “Is anything wrong?”
“I want to move back there. Do you think your parents will let me move in with your family? I could get a job and pay them for room and board. My parents would probably help too.”
“I’ll ask them in the morning,” Jed answered. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t like it here. The people are really different.” He told Jed about the drugs and loose morals, painting it in as bad a light as he could.
Jed was unimpressed. “So what? I can find the same attitudes back here in our high school. Have you forgotten?”
Kevin felt as if his last hope was being yanked away. “No! It’s different. I’ve got to get out of here, or I’ll end up being just like them.”
“Why don’t you try to set a good example?” Jed asked.
“I can’t. They’ll laugh at me. Let me come back.”
“Okay, if you need to, we’ll work it out. But Kevin, maybe you’ve got some missionary work you can do there.”
“No, not me. How can I convert them? They’ve nearly converted me.”
“Look,” Jed continued, “since we were in grade school, you’ve been somebody I’ve looked up to for help. You practically dragged me through to become an Eagle. You were always the one who was out ahead yelling for us to catch up.”
Kevin was stunned to hear Jed say that. “No, not me. You were the leader.”
“I had to hustle to stay up with you,” Jed insisted. “Didn’t you know that? Now find some friends there who will lift you up the way we helped each other.”
Kevin pictured in his mind the way the halls overflowed during a class change. “How will I find them? There are 2,000 kids in the school.”
“I don’t know. You’ll find a way. You always have before when you faced a challenge.”
They said good-bye, and Kevin hung up. He walked slowly to his room, lost in thought. Kneeling down by his bed, he began a long prayer: “Father in Heaven, I’ve got a problem …”
The next night after supper he went with Fitzie and some of his friends to play basketball in the school gym. They played for two hours.
Afterward they were all in the locker room. Kevin had already showered and was just putting on his shoes. The others were in various stages of getting dressed.
Suddenly the lights went out.
“Okay, who’s the clown?” Fitzie yelled. “Turn the lights back on!”
“I didn’t turn ’em off,” someone answered. “Where’s the light switch anyway? … Ow! My toe! … The switch doesn’t work.”
“There aren’t any lights anywhere in the building,” another voice added.
“Oh no,” Fitzie groaned, “another blackout. Do any of you guys have a lighter?”
“I do,” someone volunteered. “It’s in my shirt pocket if I can find it.” Kevin could make out a figure fumbling in a locker near him. “Here it is.”
A small glimmer of light shone in the otherwise dark room.
“Hurry up, you guys! I’m low on lighter fluid.” Kevin sat on the bench and watched unknown figures make use of the small light as they finished preparing to leave the room.
“Man, I never thought I’d be glad somebody had a cheap lighter,” a voice drawled.
“What do you mean, cheap lighter? It cost me two bucks.”
“Yeah, well it sure seems bright in here.”
Finally they were ready. “Kevin, what are you doing sitting there? Let’s get out of here.”
On Sunday Kevin went with Jenny to class, mainly to be with her. He had already discounted any possibility that their teacher could teach him anything, so he sat with his shoulders hunched over, his head down, wrestling with his problems.
It wasn’t until Sister Mattson called on him that he looked up. “Kevin,” she said, then read aloud from the manual, “this can best be seen by examining what the Savior said. Will you read Matthew, chapter 5, verses 14 through 16?” [Matt. 5:14–16]
Jenny loaned him her Bible and helped him find the reference. “‘Ye are the light of the world,’” Kevin began mechanically. “‘A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid. Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light …’” He stopped and stared at the words on the page.
“Yes, go on,” Sister Mattson urged.
“‘… and it giveth light unto all that are in the house.’”
“Kevin, there’s one more verse,” Jenny quietly prompted.
“‘Let your light so shine before men,’” he read slowly, “‘that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.’”
“Yes, and what can we learn from this scripture?” Sister Mattson asked.
He didn’t say anything. He pictured the small light in the darkened locker room and the dim figures of people moving around, each attracted by the light and using it as their reference point.
“Jenny, do you know what we can learn from this scripture?” Sister Mattson asked, thinking that Kevin did not have an answer.
“We can learn a lot,” Kevin said quietly, almost to himself. “The first thing is that in order to be a light, we have to live the commandments. You have to set your standards. You can’t re-decide what to do every time someone asks you to do something wrong. You’ve got to make a mental list: This is what I will do. This is what I won’t do. You have to decide what your life is going to mean, or it won’t mean a thing.”
“Thank you,” Sister Mattson said. “Now we should get on with the rest of the lesson.”
Kevin interrupted. “The problem is, I keep thinking that if I didn’t live here, it would be easier. It doesn’t really matter where you live. What matters is that you set your standards once and for all. If you do that, you can be a light.”
“Yes, thank you, and now we’d better get on to Ephesians,” Sister Mattson said.
“You’ve got to be a light to the people around you. Do you know how much light one small lighter can throw in a completely dark room?”
“No,” Jenny replied.
“Enough. That’s the point. Enough for everyone in the room to find his way out of the darkness. And the darker it is, the more the light is noticed. And people who enjoy the light will come nearer to it. That’s how I can find friends who will help me live my standards! We can gather friends around us who will help us, and the light will get even brighter.”
Sister Mattson by now was just looking at both of them.
“Do you know what I’m going to do?” Kevin burst out. “I’m going to memorize jokes from my brother’s Boy’s Life magazine. It has some of the corniest jokes in the world. Every time I hear someone starting a dirty joke, I’m going to bombard him with corny jokes. And I’m going to have a party of my own, at my house, with kids from school and the missionaries. In a nice friendly way, they’re going to know I’m a Mormon.”
“Thank you, Kevin,” Sister Mattson broke in. Turning to Jenny, she asked confidentially, “Jenny, what did he say?”
Jenny put her hand on his arm and answered proudly, “He said that he’s going to be okay.”
“How nice,” Sister Mattson said. “Well, we’d better get on with the rest of the lesson.” She looked at the page of the manual, paused, and then shut the book.
“No. I think Kevin’s story can teach us the same thing. What were you saying about the light in the dark room?”

Something that happened during a Book of Mormon class years ago has had a great impact on my life. Our teacher, Brother Fernando Aguilar, told us an experience that had happened to his father, Santiago Aguilar II, who had been working hard to find genealogical information about his ancestors. He had been successful in submitting many family names for temple ordinances. Nevertheless, on one of his family lines, the information he could find stopped with his grandmother. Despite many trips and continual research, he had not been able to find the necessary information about her. But the Spirit gave him a sense of urgency to keep looking.
Brother Fernando Aguilar, currently a part-time coordinator for the Church Educational System in Chile, recalled: “One day my father had an impression that he should return to a small village 90 kilometers east of the city of Osorno—some 500 kilometers from his home in Talcahuano—even though he had recently visited our relatives there and had received genealogical information. He knew of no reason to return, but the impression would not leave. So with a prayer for guidance, he returned to the village. When our relatives saw him, they were surprised he had returned so soon, and they assured him they had given him all the genealogical information they had. He simply explained that he felt an urgency to return, even though he didn’t know why.
“My father spent the following day seeking—but not finding—additional information. After a tiring day, as he was walking to an uncle’s home, he felt impressed to change his route. My father followed the impression, even though he didn’t know where he was going or why. His new route led him to a large vacant lot filled with trash, and he felt a strong impulse to take the path through the lot.
“After entering the lot, he stopped suddenly and began to look around, seeking the reason for being in that spot so far from home. Looking down at his feet, he saw a yellowed, dirty piece of paper and picked it up. After shaking the dirt off, he recognized it as his grandparents’ marriage certificate, which included the names and other family information he was missing. This certificate was the key he needed to bring to pass the temple work for our ancestors.”
When Brother Aguilar finished his story, he took from his pocket the marriage certificate, which he had covered with plastic. He passed it around the room so each of us could read it. None of us could speak, for our emotions were great.
Then he bore his testimony and told us that the Spirit of Elijah had continued to encourage his family’s efforts. He said the Spirit of Elijah is given to those who pray for it and we should earnestly seek to obtain it.

The answer has to be in that room. Maybe I missed a false wall, Jackson thought.

“How do you spell kiwi, Jackson?”

“Uh, what, Miss Grouder?”

“Kiwi. How do you spell it? We’ve been talking about the spelling test for the past 10 minutes. Where have you been?”

“Trying to rescue the princess of Mendoza,” Chester whispered from his seat behind Jackson.

Jackson felt his face getting hot. He had no idea how to spell kiwi.

Miss Grouder sighed as she gave Jackson’s spelling test back to him. He had spelled most of the words wrong.

On the way home, Jackson crumpled the spelling test and stuffed it into the bottom of his backpack. Chester ran up behind him. “Do you want to come to my house and play soccer?”

“No,” Jackson replied. “I think I’ve figured out how to rescue the princess. Do you want to come watch?”

“Sit there and watch you play?” asked Chester. “No thanks! Seems like all you think about lately is video games.” Chester turned the corner toward his own house.

At home, Jackson turned on the computer and started the video game. I’ll play one game, he thought, and then I’ll get going on my homework.

Two hours later his mother called, “Time to eat, Jackson. We have to hurry or we’ll miss the start of the movie.”

“Coming, Mendoz—uh, Mom.” If I can just get past this guard, he thought. His hand deftly moved the joystick back and forth. Too late. The figure on the screen toppled over. No fair! I’ll play just one more. I know I can do it.

Suddenly the house seemed awfully quiet. Jackson grabbed his jacket and ran to the front door. His family was gone. There was a note on the table: “Gone to the movie. Wish you had come. Home by 8:00. Call Grandpa if you need anything.”

It’s all the guard’s fault! Jackson thought angrily as he stomped to his bedroom. His unfinished homework was on his bed. Beside it lay his scriptures. He hadn’t read them all week. And there was the family home evening manual. He was supposed to give the lesson next Monday. But he didn’t feel like doing any of those things tonight.

Good thing it’s Friday, Jackson thought as he headed back to the computer. I’ll catch up on everything tomorrow.

But he didn’t catch up the next day—or the next. And it wasn’t long before the sound of the piano interrupted Jackson’s concentration on his latest attempt to rescue the princess. It was his sister playing the opening hymn for family home evening.

Family home evening! He had intended to prepare the lesson on Sunday, but he had gotten closer to rescuing the princess than ever before. Now it was too late to prepare.

Jackson grabbed his scriptures and ran to home evening. He would fake it. After all, they often read a scripture and talked about it so long they never got to the lesson. He would make sure they did that tonight.

“And help us apply the lesson to our lives,” his little brother said as he finished the opening prayer.

Jackson opened his scriptures to where he had last read. “Dad, could you read a scripture for us?” he asked. “How about Ether 12:27?”

His father read: “And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.”

“What do you think that means?” Jackson asked.

“Well,” said his father thoughtfully, “I think it means that we are given weakness to help us be humble. If we acknowledge our weakness and ask Heavenly Father to help us overcome it, it will become a strength to us.”

Mom raised her hand. “Soap operas were my weakness. Some days I didn’t do anything but watch my shows. The television was like a magnet, drawing me to it. It wasn’t until I admitted I had a problem that I figured out a solution.” Then she told how she had prayed and asked Heavenly Father to help her give up those shows.

Jackson squirmed in his chair. This wasn’t going quite like he wanted it to. He began to think about how much time he spent playing video games.

“When I worked at the candy shop,” his older sister began, “I practically ate my paycheck each week in candy. I prayed about it, then decided to set a candy quota for each day. If I stuck to my quota, I rewarded myself by putting the money I would have spent on candy toward a new pair of jeans. Some days I didn’t make it, but gradually I ate less candy.”

Jackson thanked everyone for their participation and bore his testimony that while we all have weaknesses, we can overcome them with Heavenly Father’s help. In fact, those weaknesses can even become our strengths.

After the closing prayer Jackson went to turn on the computer. Maybe a video game would help him forget the growing uneasiness inside him.

But he couldn’t ignore the feeling he had. Did he really have a problem with video games? He didn’t spend much time with Chester or his other friends anymore. He had gotten a bad grade on a spelling test for the first time. He hadn’t read the scriptures all week. And he had missed the family movie. He knew it was time to apply tonight’s lesson to his own life.

Jackson turned away from the computer and went to his bedroom. He flopped down on his bed and opened his scriptures to Ether. The princess would have to wait. Right now he had some reading and thinking to do.

They Care about Scriptures
The children of the Charlottetown Branch on Prince Edward Island add links to a paper chain when they read their scriptures. In the picture below, they are spelling out “P.E.I.” for Prince Edward Island, surrounded by their giant chain.
“It helps us learn good things,” said Nikalaus N., age 4. To earn his links on the chain, Nikalaus and his parents started reading and repeating an article of faith before bedtime each night. He has memorized the first nine articles of faith, and now his family has started reading Book of Mormon Stories together too.

Because of a car accident, Martin Verman, 17, of the Wednesfield Ward, Lichfield England Stake, was not able to play with his football team in the finals for the Town Cup. But he won a medal anyway.
Martin played so well during the rest of the season that organizers decided he deserved recognition too. This year he is the team captain.
Martin would like to attend Oxford University after his mission. He is a fourth-year seminary student and says, “Seminary has been a major source of spiritual inspiration for my life.”

A true story from the USA.
Hi! I’m Bristol. Being a witness at my brother’s baptism was the BEST!
When I was baptized, I had two witnesses: my big sister and brother. A witness is someone who stands by the font to make sure the baptism is done the way Jesus Christ taught.
If you don’t go all the way under the water or the prayer is said wrong, the baptism has to be done again. At my baptism, my foot almost popped out of the water.
I was so nervous, but the witnesses were watching closely, and it turned out my foot didn’t come out of the water after all.
I was SO EXCITED when I found out I could be a witness too after I was baptized. My little brother Ryland got baptized a year after me. He asked me to be a witness!
I said yes (of course), but deep down, I was a little worried. I had so many questions! Where should I stand? What should I say?
You don’t have to worry, though! I asked all my questions, and I have advice for you:
There may be a mirror to help see inside the font. But you should watch the baptism, not the mirror. Stand close so you can see everything!
When the baptism is performed correctly, smile and nod your head. If you notice that the baptism needs to be done again, quietly tell the person performing the baptism.
Don’t be afraid to ask questions! When I was worried, I talked to my dad. He explained the whole thing to me.
I am so happy that I got to be a witness for my brother. Maybe one day you can be a witness too!

A large crowd had braved snowy, treacherous weather conditions and a two-hour drive to Nephi, Utah, to cheer for our high school state championship girls’ basketball game. I felt honored as I watched the townspeople troop in from our small, mountain community of Morgan, Utah. So many had come to watch us play. And boy, did they get a show! Little did I realize at that time the great lesson in life I would be taught at the end of that day.
The score teetered back and forth between the teams in that game on February 17, 1990. It was a tough game, physically and mentally. Early in the second quarter I found myself sitting on the bench, with three fouls. My position not only forced me to become an observer to the battle on the court, but also allowed me to notice the order in which the players were being substituted.
Coach, what are you doing? I thought to myself as he repeatedly put Jodi Rees, a sophomore, into the game before Trisha Garn, a junior. Trisha had been the first person off the bench all season, and now, at state, Coach Wade Fiscus was giving Trisha’s time to Jodi. Jodi’s abilities were certainly par, but changes like this in such an important game weren’t characteristic of Coach Fiscus. I finally decided he must have a good reason and didn’t question his motives.
Throughout the third and fourth quarters the game remained close. While Jodi played her best game, Trisha sat on the bench smiling and cheering her heart out for her friend. Trisha only played a few seconds of the entire championship game.
It came down to the final 30 seconds and the teams were tied. We went up by one, and then two, and finally three. A missed three point attempt by the opposing team gave us the ball with nine seconds remaining. We were still cautious, but could taste the win. The seconds ticked down as we passed the ball to midcourt and the buzzer sounded naming us state champions with a score of 53–50! Bedlam broke out as our fans and teammates swarmed to the floor and surrounded us. We had just achieved the goal we had worked for all year. The trophy was ours and we reveled in our moment of glory.
After the presentation of the trophies, the ladders were brought out to cut the nets down and each team member made the climb to the top to cut a string. Finally, the net hung by one, lonely string. Hal Rees, Jodi’s dad, had the honor of cutting it. He struggled awkwardly up the ladder and, gripping the scissors firmly, managed to snip the last piece.
As the net dropped to the floor tears rolled down the cheeks of our Morgan fans, and when it was placed around Mr. Rees’s neck, members of the Rees family held each other tight.
I soon came to understand why Jodi had played more than Trisha. It was not because Coach Fiscus was crazy, and it was not because one player was a lot better than the other; it was because our friend and teammate had done the most unselfish thing possible—she had asked Coach to let Jodi have her playing time. Trisha Garn understood what many in the room didn’t. Jodi’s 40-year-old dad would not live to see her play again. He was dying of a cancerous brain tumor.
Trisha’s selfless act and the sight of Hal hugging Jodi really put our state championship in perspective for me. Sure, it was nice to have the honors of men, but compared to eternal matters of family and Christlike love it didn’t seem so significant.
“I don’t feel like I made a sacrifice,” Trisha comments. “Jodi is an outstanding athlete. I wanted to do this for my friend.”
Two-and-a-half weeks after the game, Jodi’s dad died. At his funeral the song “Wind beneath My Wings” was sung. Every time I hear the line from that song “Did you ever know that you were my hero?” I think of Trisha. She is my hero. And she’d probably say, “No big deal.” But it’s a big deal to me.

In the spring of 1832, Joseph and other Church leaders traveled to Missouri to visit and teach the Latter-day Saints living there. After finishing their work, Joseph Smith, Sidney Rigdon, and Newel K. Whitney boarded a stagecoach to return to Ohio.
It is good to rejoice with the people of God.
While traveling at full speed, the horses pulling the stagecoach got scared. Brother Whitney tried to jump, but his coat got stuck, and he caught his foot in the wheel. He broke his leg and his foot. Joseph jumped out of the coach unhurt.
Brother Rigdon traveled ahead while Joseph stayed with Brother Whitney for four weeks and took care of him while he recovered.
Joseph and Brother Whitney ate and slept at an inn. One day after dinner Joseph started feeling very sick.
He had been poisoned.
Brother Whitney gave Joseph a blessing.
Joseph was healed immediately, even though the poison was very powerful. He knew Heavenly Father had blessed him.
Thanks be to my Heavenly Father.
Though Brother Whitney had not moved from his bed for nearly four weeks, Joseph asked him to start traveling again the next morning. Joseph promised him that the journey would go well.
If you agree to start for home, we will take a wagon to the river, and there will be a ferryboat waiting to take us across.
Then we will find another boat waiting for us, and we will have a prosperous journey home.
I will go.
Joseph and Brother Whitney started on their journey home.
It went exactly as Joseph had promised.

José sat straight and solemn in his seat as he looked around at his classmates. He was lonely and homesick for the beloved land of his heart—South America. It seemed to him he could almost smell the fragrant air and see the colors of the dazzling tropical flowers around the Jesuit mission (now part of Argentina) where he had been born. He longed again for the sunny days of play with his brothers and sister and their Guarani Indian friends in the rich fruit orchards that bordered the banks of the great Uruguay River.
He remembered the friendliness of the boys in Buenos Aires, Argentina, where he had gone to school briefly. But now his father had been transferred to Madrid, Spain, and he had been enrolled in a school attended by boys from rich and influential families. Every day he felt more an outsider, more the disliked Creole son of a poor family.
None of his classmates, nor José himself, could have known that this shy, silent boy from South America would one day become one of its greatest leaders! Even though he was only seven years old, José vowed that someday he would return to the land of his birth. Twenty-six years later he did. Between that promise he made to himself and its fulfillment, José prepared well for all he had to do.
When he was only eleven he was accepted into the Spanish army, where his three older brothers were already serving. Three years later he was sent with an infantry battalion to Africa to defend a fort against the Moors. There he fought in bloody battles, the heat was exhausting, and an earthquake shook the town to pieces.
Records show that José was cited often for heroism, that he was an unusually capable young officer, and that he soon became a respected and honored colonel in the Spanish army. Then, after more than twenty years of service, José learned that the South American colonies had broken with Spain. The year was 1811.
José resigned from the army, and with a group of eager young men he set sail for the land of his birth. Soon after their arrival in Buenos Aires, they became friendly with other young men who were anxious to fight for freedom. José de San Martín became their leader; they were glad to be his followers. He was a soldier of worldwide experience, young enough to be on equal terms with his men, and one who was firm but always fair.
He once gave an order that no one could enter the munition lab wearing military boots or spurs, for fear that a spark struck by the iron might cause an explosion. A guard was stationed at the door to enforce the order.
One day José appeared wearing both boots and spurs. The guard stopped him. “You cannot pass, my general,” he said.
“I was the one who gave the order,” answered José, “so I can change it.”
“True,” replied the guard, “but up to now the order stands. You cannot go in.”
The next day José came back but again the guard refused to let him enter the lab wearing his boots and spurs. José left and later returned wearing a pair of sandals.
In a few minutes the guard was summoned to the general’s office. José de San Martín put out his hand in greeting and said, “I have brought you here to congratulate you. It is always good to know a man who obeys orders.”
Even more amazing than José’s dependable fairness was his total unconcern for personal glory. He had the officers and men under him agree on rules of conduct and then enforce these rules themselves. On the first Sunday of each month José called a meeting to urge them to keep high standards and to rededicate themselves to liberate South America.
This group was successful in winning battles in Argentina, and then José began to plan to free Chile. In order to do so, it was necessary to take his army of 3,500 men across the rugged snow-topped mountain ranges of the Andes. The Andes have an average width of 150 miles and an average height of 12,000 feet. The only roads were narrow, steep, and dangerous paths that wound around deep gorges and over jagged peaks.
Even the women and children in and around Mendoza, Argentina, where the march began, participated in the final preparations. The women brought their precious jewels to José to be exchanged for food and equipment. The children went from door to door collecting blankets, clean rags, and whatever could be used for bandages or for protection against the intense below-zero cold of the Andes.
One man had room in his saddlebags for nothing but the medical supplies for José, who was almost always ill with asthma, rheumatism, stomach ulcers, and various other ailments. But neither impassable mountains, severe illness, lack of money, lonely separation from his young wife and little daughter, nor other obstacles could stop this man whose dream was to free the people of South America from what he believed was the unfair government of Spain.
Finally all was in readiness. The night before the army left Mendoza, mule packs and oxcarts went through streets that had been strewn with flowers, as everyone gathered to hold special prayers and to pledge again their dedication to freedom.
The army made an unbelievable crossing of the Andes despite storm, cold, illness, and other hardships. This march prepared the way for the establishment of independence for both Chile and Peru.
In the meantime another great general, Simon Bolivar, was successfully leading an army that was fighting for the freedom of Spanish colonies in the north. José felt that the armies should join together and arranged a meeting of the two leaders. He offered to give up his command and serve under Bolivar. Both men were sincere patriots, but they had very different ideas. San Martín’s only desire was to free the people; Bolivar had ambitions to rule after the military victories were won. José decided he must avoid any possible conflict that might hurt the cause of freedom. During a party given in honor of the two generals, he slipped quietly away. As soon as he could, he resigned from all command and invited Bolivar to carry on his work.
José’s lovely young wife had died while he was away. José took their little daughter, Mercedes, and went with her into exile in Europe. She became the joy of his life. He planned what he must teach her, just as he had always planned his battles. On a chart he wrote his ideals for her:
To make her kind and gentle.
To make her love truth and hate lies.
To inspire her with a feeling of confidence and friendship.
To arouse in her a charity toward the poor and unfortunate.
To arouse in her respect for other people’s property.
To accustom her to keep a secret.
To inspire in her a respect toward all religions.
To teach her to speak little and to speak accurately.
Her father was Mercedes’ great example.
During his lifetime José de San Martín refused salaries, promotions, prizes, and honors. The government of Chile once gave him money that he immediately returned for a public library. A farm he was given was used as a hospital for women. He died in Boulogne, France, a poor and almost unknown man. He knew that others with whom he had fought were enjoying fame and fortune, but he cared only for the freedom of the people of South America.
In the past few years the world has come to know José de San Martín and to honor him as one of the great men of all time. Statues have been raised to his memory and many public buildings have been named for him. With special love and gratitude the people of the countries of South America that he helped to free refer to him as the “Saint of the Sword.”

During the recent flood disaster at Rexburg, Idaho, one man was separated from his family by the raging torrents. He feared the worst but six hours later found that all had survived the ordeal. The next day he remarked: “I have lived my life under the false illusion that security was achieved by the accumulation of this world’s goods; but now, with all that swept away by the flood and my wife and children spared and at my side, all is well. I feel like a millionaire, and we are ready to start all over again.”

Much of Brother Bollbach’s service has been as a missionary in the land of his birth. In 1969, six weeks after Fritz had opened the workshop, Fritz and Elli’s bishop called them into his office and asked them a question. The bishop had to repeat the question three times: “Fritz, the Lord wants you and your wife to serve together in the mission field. What do you think about that?”
“I was shocked,” Brother Bollbach remembers. “I could say nothing.”
Unable to answer the bishop’s question, he asked Elli, “Well, Mama, what do you think?”
She glanced at Fritz and said, “The decision is yours. I will be your eyes.”
He turned back to the bishop and replied, “Bishop, we will go where the Lord wants us to go.”
The Bollbachs were soon serving in the Germany Central Mission. Their main responsibility was to help bring people back to church. “Many of them did not want to pray because they said they had nothing to be grateful for or they just didn’t need anything,” Sister Bollbach explains. “However, Fritz inspired them and helped them to be grateful for life and for God’s blessings.”
One of his first assignments was to serve as branch president in Gelsenkirchen. At first Brother Bollbach was hesitant when the mission president called him to the position. “But you know that I’m blind,” Brother Bollbach told him.
“Yes, of course I know that,” the mission president replied. “God knows it as well.”
Brother Bollbach labored as branch president there until he had a mild heart attack a year later. “I wondered if I should go home after that,” he recalls. “But the doctor examined me and said it was all right for me to stay. So we stayed.”
After they returned from the mission field in 1971, Elli went back to working in the Salt Lake Temple, and Fritz reopened the workshop and put his wood pieces on display. As people flocked to see Brother Bollbach’s carvings, many thought it impossible that a blind man had done such splendid work. “Unbelievable, but not impossible,” he told them. “You must have faith in the Lord and confidence in yourself. All people—no matter what race or creed—are children of God and brought talents with them to earth. It depends upon the individual to discover and realize those talents through diligent effort.”
In 1975, the Bollbachs were surprised by another mission call, this time to the Germany Frankfurt Mission. About the same time, Elli discovered she had cancer. “No one can imagine the fear we felt,” Fritz explains. “Within one week, she underwent three operations. The curious thing was the blessing the bishop gave her. He said to her, ‘Elli, you will recover, and you will again go into the mission field with Fritz to serve God.’ We wondered how he could say such a thing.”
Sister Bollbach recuperated from the operations, and they served an eighteen-month mission in Pirmasens, Germany, near the French border.
Less than a year after returning home, the Bollbachs locked up their house and workshop a third time to serve in the Germany Munich Mission, where Brother Bollbach was called to be branch president in Nürnberg. Although the branch had more than 450 people on its records, only about 20 members attended regularly.
The Bollbachs knew they had challenges, but they also knew how to overcome them. With faith, prayer, obedience, and diligence, they concentrated on visiting less-active members. “A miracle happened,” Brother Bollbach exclaims. “The branch grew. Several months later, the branch was divided into three branches—Feucht, Fürth, and Nürnberg. I know it was the blessing and help of God. We were just the instruments in his hands.”
After coming home, the Bollbachs served as Sunday School teachers for about ten years. Because Fritz could not read the lessons, Elli recorded the lesson manual and passages of scripture onto a tape. Fritz would then listen to the tape several times and would study with Elli for up to eight hours. “I searched out the questions and had them put on tape,” he says. “Then I learned them by heart so we could teach the class together.” They finally were released when Brother Bollbach became too sick to continue the weekly assignment.
The Bollbachs say all their Church assignments have made them happy. “We used our time only for the Church and for God and for learning,” Brother Bollbach comments, “and we were glad. But it was not ourselves, but the power of prayer and the help of God that allowed us to do the work. Without God and Elli, I could not have made it. Without His help, I could not see spiritually with my heart.”

For fans of true crime, here’s a personal story related to forgiving our enemies. I love riding bikes. I love the feeling of riding on my own power wherever I want to go. I love the challenging physics involved as well, but I won’t subject you to that today. The first bike I ever bought was a forest green mountain bike that I got when I was about 14 years old. I rode it every day. One day, I took it to a youth activity and parked it outside our church building. When the activity ended, I went outside and saw that someone had stolen that beautiful, green bike. I felt gutted. I don’t remember if I cried, but I probably did. I could not understand why anyone would do something that hurt me like that, and I remember being so angry as I slowly walked home from the church that night. I try not to make enemies, but during that bitter walk home, I’m sure I considered that thief my enemy.

I told my friends to keep their eye out for my stolen bike. Weeks later, I got a knock on my door. Two of my older sister’s friends had seen their neighbor riding a bike that matched my description. When they followed him home and confronted him about it, he admitted that he had taken it. They gave me my bike and revealed the identity of the thief. He was someone I knew. He was a member of the church, and I was friends with his little sister. Even though I was relieved and happy to have my bike back, I was still angry with him. Not long after, there was another knock on my door. I opened it to find the thief—my enemy—on the doorstep. He seemed nervous—even on the verge of tears; he said he was sorry and asked me not to call the police. I don’t remember if I had even considered doing that, but I told him that I wouldn’t report it to the police. Then, I was surprised to hear myself say that I forgave him and I was even more surprised to feel like I meant it. He seemed relieved, thanked me, and left. I don’t remember ever talking to him again. I’m convinced that God gave me the help I needed to frankly forgive this person who had caused me so much grief. I promise you that He will also provide a way for you to accomplish whatever He asks of you.

Here’s a twist ending to my bike story: five years later, while I was a student here at Ricks College, I learned that the guy who stole my bike had died. He was only 20 years old. I remember feeling profound relief that I had been able to forgive him when he had asked me to; I didn’t have any regrets or doubts about the way I had responded to his apology.