Gospel Story Finder

Q: Experience has a lot to do with that also, doesn’t it?
Freed: Yes, that’s a good point. At one point in my career I said to myself, “Well, I’ve lost plenty of matches by underhitting the ball; from now on, when the big point comes up, I’m going to lose it by overhitting. I’m really going to sock the ball.” So I started losing them by socking the ball! But I really did better in the long run by hitting hard. I lost some good points when I did that, but it loosened me up, and later I won a lot more because I was a little more cool.

I come from a small city in eastern Colombia. It was there that I was taught about the Church and was baptized, and it was also there that the desire to go on a mission was born. I was the only member of my family to accept the gospel.
I remember going out with the missionaries almost every night to help them in the work and at the same time to gain experience in the field. When the missionaries asked me where I wanted to serve my mission, I told them, “Anywhere but Venezuela.” My response was such because this was a time of great tension between my country and Venezuela, and I had little love or appreciation for the Venezuelan people.
Time passed, and I had my interview with the mission president. One of his questions was, “Brother, will you go where the Lord calls you?”
I responded without hesitation, “Yes, President.”
He then leaned forward, looked me in the eyes, and said, “And if the Lord calls you to Venezuela?” I knew then that the president knew my thoughts. After a short time I was able to tell him that I would go where the Lord sent me, but still inside of me I felt as if I could not accept those people.
Finally the day arrived when the mailman brought the large white envelope containing my mission call. I opened it. I was called to serve in the Venezuela Mission. That night I knelt and asked the Lord not to make me go to that country. After talking to him for some time, I said that I needed his help. I got up, turned on the light, and began to leaf through the Doctrine and Covenants. I stopped in the 53rd section. There was the answer from the Lord to me:
“Behold … I have heard your prayers; and you have called upon me that it should be made known unto you, of the Lord your God, concerning your calling …
“Take upon you my ordination, even that of an elder, to preach faith and repentance and remission of sins, according to my word, and the reception of the Holy Spirit by the laying on of hands;
“And also to be an agent unto this Church in the place which shall be appointed by the bishop …
“And again, I would that ye should learn that he only is saved who endureth unto the end.” (D&C 53:1, 3–4, 7.)
I closed the book and knelt once again, this time in the spirit of humility. The tears burned my cheeks, and in my prayer I asked the Lord to forgive me for telling him his will.
Now I was ready to head for Venezuela, this time in a white shirt and tie. I met many people who needed to be saved, and I had to fight for them. I learned to love them with all my heart, persons who today have gone to the temple, who are the leaders of the Church in Venezuela, and others who are missionaries themselves.
I received a great deal of love and satisfaction from the Venezuelan people, and I came to learn why I was sent to that part of the Lord’s vineyard. My greatest blessing came shortly after being released as a missionary when I saw my own mother enter into the waters of baptism. I know the joy that the Lord promises to those who bring others into his kingdom. I know that this is the work of Jesus Christ because I have felt his direction. I know that it is for us to bring the message of the restoration to the millions who are waiting. And I know that one of the best ways to do this is to serve a full-time mission wherever the Lord would have us to go.

Tamton and Taake feel they have been richly blessed by the Lord. Several years ago, Tamton wanted to build a large fish trap to support his family. But to build one, he needed to take thousands of rocks out into the ocean. The task seemed impossible. He had only a small canoe and just his sons to help.
“I prayed hard about the problem,” he says. “The next day I saw a float [a tangle of debris] beached on my land. In the float were some large pieces of styrofoam. With them, I built a raft, and with the raft, my sons and I built our fish trap. In fact, we built two.” The traps have been valuable family assets. When the traps catch more fish than the family can use, they sell the extra.

Even though Mom is a stay-at-home mom, it seemed like all of her time and energy was swallowed up by other things—church, Dad, and my two brothers, who always had games to attend and who needed extra help with their homework. It seemed like Mom never had time for me.
Usually that was OK, but then a big thing happened. We moved from a small southern town to this huge northern city. The weather is cold here, and my classmates seemed cold, too. I had a hard time making new friends. Everyone else already knew each other and invited each other over to their homes after school. No one invited me. They dressed differently than I did, too. I had the clothes I’d worn in the south; they dressed in blue jeans and sweaters. Whenever I said, “Yes, ma’am,” to the teacher, like everyone did in the south, the other students snickered. They usually just said, “Yeah” or “OK,” when the teacher talked to them.
No one invited me to play after school, or to eat lunch with them, or to be on their team at recess. I felt left out and lonesome.
One day I decided to do something about it. I thought I might make some friends by having a party. A party would be much more exciting than just inviting one person over after school. I tried to explain all this to Mom. I asked her first if I couldn’t please have a party. Then I begged. I even cried, though not on purpose.
“I can’t do it right now, Ann Kathryn,” Mom said. “Because of the move, I have too many other things that need to be taken care of first. Give it time. I’m sure you’ll make some new friends real soon.” Mom didn’t understand how important this was to me.
I gave it time and tried to be friendly at school, but nothing changed. One day seven girls from my class were sitting at my lunch table. Almost before I knew what was happening, I found myself saying, “I’m having a party Saturday afternoon … at … at two, and you’re all invited.”
I scared myself so much that I thought I’d fall through the floor. I didn’t have my mother’s permission, and yet I’d invited seven girls to my house for a Saturday afternoon party. How dare I? What was Mom going to say?
The girls looked at me like they saw me for the first time. “Is it a birthday party?” one of them asked.
“No,” I answered, “so you don’t need to bring presents or anything. It’s just a party.” I crossed my fingers and hoped it would all work out somehow.
The girls all got permission from their parents and told me the next day that they’d be coming.
Saturday came, and I still hadn’t told Mom. I spent the morning as usual, helping her clean the house. My job was dusting, and I dusted like my life depended on it.
Lunchtime came and went. How could I tell my mother? What would she say? I wasn’t excited anymore, only scared. I prayed in my heart that the girls would all call and say that they couldn’t come, but there were no phone calls. Next I prayed that they would come, but dressed in their regular clothes, like they just happened to drop by. I knew I was dreaming.
The hall clock ticked louder than it ever had, almost as loud as my heart. I almost passed out when the doorbell rang. I ran to open the door before Mom got there, but she was right behind me. Four of the girls, more dressed up than they would be for school, stood smiling at the door. “Hi,” they said. “Are we too early for the party?”
Mom, in her house-cleaning slacks, looked at them, then looked at me, and faded quietly into the kitchen.
The door bell rang again. The three other girls stood there smiling. This time my mother did not appear at the door. I could hear her bustling around in the kitchen. I guessed that she had decided to let me handle this mess on my own.
It was a strange party, but I did my best. We watched a new video my family had bought. Then we played games. I even gave away my new charcoal pencils to the winners. I began to have fun, and the girls laughed a lot and seemed to be having a great time, too.
After we’d played a few games, Mom called from the dining room, “Girls, it’s time for refreshments.”
Astonished, I led my new friends to the table. Our best dishes were out, and there were flowered napkins, a plate of Mom’s yummy cookies, and ice cream with chocolate sauce and nuts! Mom had changed into her best skirt and sweater. She was smiling! I couldn’t believe she was going to help me through this!
“It’s good to have you girls come over,” Mom said. “Ann Kathryn’s birthday is during the summer when we’re on vacation, so she doesn’t always get to have a party with her friends.” She smiled at me.
Everyone enjoyed the refreshments. The girls left soon after that, and I was alone with Mom. She didn’t say a single word. Not one. She just began clearing the table. I rushed to help.
My father and brothers came home from a ball game, saw the party stuff, and asked, “What’s going on?”
“Oh,” Mom answered, real calm, “Ann Kathryn and I had a little surprise party.”
That’s all she said. She knew that I knew that I’d done an awful thing. I didn’t need a scolding. I felt terrible inside, even though the party had been wonderful.
That night Mom came to my bedroom to say good night, as she often did. She sat on the bed and gently brushed the hair from my eyes. She looked at me real deep and said, “I’m sorry, Annie Kate. I didn’t know how much you needed a party.”
“Oh, Mom, I’m so sorry I didn’t get permission first. The invitation just kind of slipped out, and then I didn’t know what to do. You were so great! Will you ever forgive me?”
She kissed me on the forehead, “Of course, I do, darling. And do you forgive me for not understanding?” I nodded. “I think we both need to spend more time talking to each other,” she added. I smiled and she kissed me on the forehead, then left. I had done a dreadful thing to my mother, but she had understood and had forgiven me. Everything felt right again.
I sometimes just say the words when I pray, but that night I knelt and prayed with all my heart. I asked Heavenly Father to forgive me for not being honest with my mother, and I thanked Him that she was so understanding and forgiving. I went to bed that night knowing that all was forgiven, and that was the best feeling I’d had all day.

I carried a tray of food, prepared by my mother-in-law, into a cluttered and dusty home. The sole occupant sat where she always sat, on a big armchair positioned so she could see out the window. Her swollen legs were stretched in front of her and her cane, which she used only with great effort, leaned against her arm. She smiled when she saw me, thanked me for the food, and apologetically asked who I was. As I sat next to her and listened to her stories, I was filled with warmth and peace.
Three years later, I was on the floor with my two young children, bouncing them on my legs and singing a racehorse tune. Only a few feet away, my kitchen was in disarray and toys were scattered across the floor. I suddenly felt a reassurance from the Spirit that I was right where I needed to be. Warmth and peace flooded my soul, filling its worn edges and giving energy where there was none.
Another two years forward, I was lying on the bed. A pile of laundry was visible on the floor, and a stack of papers littered the desk to my left as I fed my newborn son for the fourth time that night. I brushed my fingertips against his long lashes, felt his soft bald head, and was thrilled when fingers curled around the lace of my shirt. I was so filled with warmth and peace that I didn’t even mind that I was sometimes awake at three in the morning.
In each of these cases, the Holy Ghost was with me, telling me I was in the right place and doing the right thing, and in each of these cases, I was in a messy home.

Also of utmost importance to Sister Whang was that the girls learn responsibility and be treated as equals. They were each assigned chores around the home—preparing food, washing clothes, and cleaning—and they were each expected to use the home’s resources wisely. Jessica remembers a time when one of the girls threw away a blouse that could have been repaired. When Sister Whang found it in the garbage, she lectured the girls on not wasting. Then, at the next home evening, she gave everyone a plastic sewing box full of needles and thread and taught them how to mend.

One of the greatest blessings we receive because of our faith in Jesus Christ is answers to our prayers. When Jim was a little boy, he had a pair of spurs. One day when he came in from riding his horse, he was disobedient, and his mother sent him to his room. He was so angry he threw his spurs down the stairs. Later he told his mother he was sorry. The next time he wanted to ride his horse, he couldn’t find the spurs. He looked everywhere. Finally he knelt and prayed to Heavenly Father. When he finished praying, he started looking again—and found them. This experience was the beginning of Jim’s testimony that Heavenly Father hears and answers prayers.

Nine-year-old Camille has lots of friends. “The thing I really like about my friends is that they are all different,” she says. “They come from different places, and they have different ways of doing things.” Camille loves to learn good things from her friends, and she likes to share things with them. The best thing she’s ever shared with a friend is the gospel. After sharing the first article of faith with her friend Yailin, Camille invited her friend’s family to meet the missionaries. Camille also taught Yailin how to pray. Now Yailin and her mother are members of the Church.
My friend Yailin got baptized in 2011. I love that we can go to church together. I am helping her memorize the Articles of Faith. We’re working on the ninth article of faith.

About halfway through my mission, my companion and I were struggling to work well with our ward mission leader. There had been various disagreements, so we decided to talk to the bishop to see what we should do. Deep down, I hoped that the bishop would just have a talk with him and fix our problems for us.
But instead, the bishop had told me that I was being prideful and overly critical of others. I went stomping home feeling misunderstood and frustrated—how could he say that about me? Did he even care about our struggles to share the gospel?
As we walked, I vented my feelings to my companion. But suddenly a phrase came into my head: “The guilty taketh the truth to be hard” (1 Nephi 16:2). It stopped me in my tracks. It was obvious to me that the thought came from the Spirit. My pride may have prevented me from accepting the bishop’s chastisement as truth—but could I really argue with the Holy Ghost?
I was guilty, and God was letting me know it.
In my case, I had convinced myself that I was complaining for the good of the missionary work in our area. And rather than accepting our ward mission leader’s faithful service—imperfect as it seemed to me—I suddenly saw that I was being ungrateful, impatient, and frankly, unkind. Because of the Spirit’s prompting, I could see my actions for what they truly were.
Receiving such direct chastisement from the Spirit was painful, but in the best way. It made me realize that I had to be honest with myself about my flaws.

While living in Salt Lake City in 1978, my wife, Linda, and I attended a reunion of returned missionaries. At one point, one of the former missionaries enthusiastically reported that his family had been rising early each morning to read the scriptures.
I had heard about people like that. It was all I could do to read the scriptures myself on a regular basis, let alone get the entire family our of bed early each day to read a few verses.
However, Linda and I knew it was something we should do. We realized that such a habit, formed when our family was young, could provide a great foundation for our children.
A few mornings later and a few minutes earlier than usual, we gathered the family to begin reading the Book of Mormon.
We chose the Book of Mormon because of its wonderful stories and plain presentation of gospel principles. It was also the only one of the standard works for which we had a large-type edition for the children. Angela was six years old, Jamie was three, and Dallas was newly born. At first, Jamie and Dallas had poor attendance, but Angela zealously showed up each morning.
About ninety seconds into our first morning, a few things became obvious: We were not going to finish for a very long time. Second, too much reading at one time would make this project miserable for all of us. And third, the children’s joy would come as much from reading to Mom and Dad as from the messages they learned from the Book of Mormon.
Keeping these things in mind, we decided to read one column of one page each day. We would each take a verse, in order, and read it aloud. For Angela, whose reading skills were limited, it usually meant that Linda or I would say one or two words and she would repeat them.
Discussions were prompted by questions from the children or the need for emphasis from Mom and Dad. Many times a short introduction to what was ahead made the reading more exciting. When a great prophet died, we felt sad and talked about it. When we came to a favorite story or favorite prophet, we mentioned it.
From the first, we recognized that reaching the book’s final verse wasn’t the point; the fun was in getting there. We soon lost any feeling of desire to get the book read in a hurry. If it took five years, so what? If the children, or even Mom and Dad, seemed to tire or become distracted, we would not read as much. We could always pick up the next day where we had left off.
We ended each session on our knees in family prayer.
As the weeks became months and the months became years, a miracle unfolded. We saw our children learning to read. Better yet, we saw them becoming acquainted with the prophets, stories, and teachings of the Book of Mormon.
As our family grew older, our children slowly mastered the text. They needed less and less help pronouncing words and names, and they rarely missed a word like Lamanite, even though they sometimes needed help with more common words. That large-type edition was soon passed from Angela to Jamie, from Jamie to Dallas, and then to our latest child, Jill. As the older children received their own copies of the Book of Mormon, their satisfaction grew even greater.
Along the way there were many triumphs. Whenever a child was able to read a whole verse without assistance, the family rewarded the effort with a spontaneous cheer. When we read 3 Nephi, we all sensed a special spirit. The children felt the importance of the verses. We read some of the passages more than once, pausing for discussion. As we read of the Lord’s love for the children and how he blessed them, our children felt that the Book of Mormon was written just for them.
We also had our setbacks. Summer was a hard time for our reading program. While the children had their school holiday, they had no need to get up as early as I did, and we missed many days during these summer months. Still, we had no trouble starting again once school started.
The greatest challenge came in 1983, when we moved. We lived outside of a city, and I commuted an hour each way to work. This meant that I had to leave home every morning before the children woke up.
We solved the problem by switching our scripture reading to evenings, just before bedtime. Reading then required much more discipline. Busy schedules, homework, television, and even Church activities competed for our time. But after a few weeks the routine was established, and we continued on our way.
About half-way through the Book of Mormon, it became obvious that we need to “quicken our pace and lengthen our stride” if the children were to have the Book of Mormon read before they left home for college, marriage, or missions. We had long since progressed to reading both columns on a page. Now we started reading two pages a night. By October 1986 we set a goal. We would have the book finished by Christmas!
It was a special night when we read the last page. We planned it so that Jill, who was five, could read the last verse. We didn’t say much, but the prayer that night was one of special thanks for our eight-year journey through the Book of Mormon.
We thought of having a celebration, but in the end we realized that this was only the end of the Book of Mormon part of our effort; it was not the end of our daily scripture reading. So we celebrated by going to the store for ice cream. Our real reward was the quiet satisfaction we each felt. We had read the Book of Mormon, and we had done it together.
We are convinced that the Lord provided a special blessing for our children. They have all learned to be fine readers. The have also learned to love the Book of Mormon. Above all, we are bound together by the knowledge that we have obey the prophet, by the strength we gained from the counsel in the Book of Mormon, and by the love we developed during those minutes every day when each child was the focus of attention and nothing else really mattered.

“It’s your turn to read, Papa,” Bernice said. She opened the scriptures. Maman and Papa sat next to her on the couch.
Papa read the first scripture. “I know that he loveth his children.”
“I know that he loveth his children,” Bernice repeated.
“Nevertheless,” Papa said, “I do not know the meaning of all things.”*
Nevertheless was a hard word. Bernice couldn’t read yet, and she didn’t know what all the words meant. But she loved repeating the words when her family read scriptures together.
The next day at scripture time, Papa had a surprise. “I have something special for you,” he said. He gave Bernice a book. It had a picture of people and a boat on the front.
“Is this for me?” Bernice asked. She hugged the big book in her arms.
“For you,” Papa said. “Look inside.”
Bernice opened the book. Her eyes got big. There were so many colorful pictures.
“What is it called?” Bernice asked.
Papa pointed to the words on the cover. “Book of Mormon Stories,” he said.
Bernice traced the words on the cover. “Book of Mormon Stories,” she said.
“It has the same stories we are reading about in the scriptures,” Maman said.
Bernice pointed to one of the pictures. “Who is that?” she asked.
“Hmm. Do you see the bow and arrows?” Maman asked.
Bernice nodded.
“Do you remember reading about someone who had a broken bow?” Papa asked.
“Nephi?” Bernice said.
“Yes, that’s Nephi,” Papa said.
Bernice smiled. “Thank you, Papa. Thank you, Maman. I love this book.”
Each night, Bernice read her scripture book with Maman and Papa. She pointed to the pictures. She learned to say some hard words. And she learned to read some easy words on her own!
Reading the scriptures made her feel happy. She was glad she could read them with Maman and Papa!
This story took place in the Democratic Republic of the Congo.
* 1 Nephi 11:17

During another transitional time as a newlywed couple, we moved into a ward that had an early church schedule, with Priesthood and Relief Society first and Sacrament meeting last. We were busy with work and school during the week, and we relished our sleep on the weekend. As it happened, we slept in one Sunday through the first two meetings, but made it on time for Sacrament meeting. Another week went by and we did the same, and another, until a month of Sunday’s had passed and we had only attended Sacrament meetings. Concerned ward members started reaching out to us, which quite literally awakened us to our poor pattern of worship. We realized that we needed to make a decision. Were we going to be full participants in the gospel or not? We were both returned missionaries and had recently been married in the temple. However these past experiences did not set the alarm clock for us each week. We had to make an obvious and simple choice to be active participants by better preparing for the Sabbath. We made a commitment to one another that we would. Our fatigue could have kept us from opportunities to grow which we enjoyed in that ward. If left unaddressed, that speck of dust could have developed into blindness and altered our journey from the gospel path.

The kilometers click by on the car’s odometer. After a few hours, you stop checking the odometer and start watching the clock. By Australian standards, the drive from Adelaide to Broken Hill, in New South Wales, is not that long. But it’s long enough that you look for any break in the monotony of the scenery.
A big pile of fluff at the side of the road flashes by and disappears in the rearview mirror. Abandoned feather duster? Dead emu, maybe? Roadkill started to become interesting about 100 kilometers ago.
Once in a while you pass a sign and a dirt road leading over the distant horizon to some station or ranch—places so isolated that the Flying Doctor makes house calls, mail is delivered by plane, and children get their school lessons by radio.
Finally! In the middle of nowhere, there’s Broken Hill, with houses, and real trees, and grass. After that initial feeling of relief, your first thought is, Why did people build this town in the middle of nowhere? The street names give your first clue: Tin Street, Silver Street, Cobalt Street. According to a tourist brochure, Broken Hill is “the site of one of the richest mines the world has ever seen.”
Usually, when gold and silver are discovered, the people who get rich are the ones who get there first and stake their claims. Fourteen-year-old Jared Kowalski came to Broken Hill a hundred years after the first miners, but he still struck it rich.
Before their move to Broken Hill, the Kowalski family lived in Ipswich, Queensland, on Australia’s east coast. It’s a nearly tropical area, green and lush and close to some of the finest beaches in the world.
Then Jared’s dad took a job as a dentist for one of the mining companies, and the Kowalskis moved to Broken Hill. In the middle of nowhere. Or at least on the edge of nowhere. And Jared couldn’t be happier.
To some, the red, sandy soil of the outback may be a poor trade for the golden beaches near Ipswich. But to Jared, the snakes and odd lizards and other creatures of the outback are fascinating. In addition to the dogs and fish and other pets that any family might have, Jared has a small backyard menagerie with a bearded dragon lizard, a shingle-back lizard, turtles, finches, and quails—oh, and his carpet python, Monty.
Jared’s interest in animals goes even further. On some Saturdays, he helps the local veterinarian in his surgery, handing him instruments. “I thought it would be interesting,” he says, “so I asked if I could help.”
And if Jared could travel, where would he go? He doesn’t have to think that one over for long. “The Amazon rain forest,” he says. “There’s all those interesting plants and animals. That’s where I’d like to serve my mission, too. I think the people there would be interesting as well.” As much as Jared likes animals, you find when you talk to him that his greatest appreciation is for people.
A good prospector must look beyond the surface of the rocks to see the treasures they might hide. Jared’s that way with people. When you ask him if he feels isolated here in Broken Hill, he says, “I like it. There are some good members here. The best ones are old. They’ve got a lot to tell you. Most of them are really spiritual.”
The branch in Broken Hill is small, and Jared is the oldest Aaronic Priesthood bearer. He’s conscious of the example he has to set for the younger boys, to show his brothers and the other boys “the right things to do.” And the priesthood itself? “It just feels good. You feel special—a lot more confident when you have to do hard things, like tests at school.”
One of those right things to do is home teaching. “I like to home teach,” Jared says. With his senior companion, Lee Robertson, Jared visits five families, offering the prayer when asked. Jared likes people, and home teaching helps him get to know these families better. (It doesn’t hurt that Brother Robertson is also an outdoorsman. He and Jared sometimes talk about hunting wild pigs in the bush, and Jared is looking forward to getting his own compound bow, maybe doing some hunting himself.)
Jared has struck it rich in Broken Hill, all right, but he would also be the first to admit that he brought his greatest treasure with him. The Kowalski home on Cobalt Street is modest, but it’s filled with family and love. As Jared puts it, “We have heaps of fun. We have family home evening, go to the movies. I go camping with my dad.”
The family also reads the Book of Mormon together. Sometimes it makes Jared feel inspired; sometimes it’s hard to understand. But it does help contribute to his growing testimony. “I’ve already got a big testimony of prayer,” he says.
When Jared’s mission call comes a few years from now, it may not be to the jungles of the Amazon. But you know that wherever he goes, he’s going to be happy and successful.
Some people look at a place and think of it as nowhere. Then a guy like Jared comes along and turns it into his own personal somewhere. Like those first prospectors, Jared has found a vein of treasure. He’s rich in the best possible way.

Kim Dohm was comfortable at her grandparents’ house in Fort Worth, Texas, 500 miles from her home and parents. Her father and mother were helping with relief efforts in Slidell. But when she heard the news that evacuees wouldn’t be allowed back home for weeks or possibly months, it was more than she could bear. “One day at school, I just started to sob,” Kim says. “Everyone told me things would be okay, but I couldn’t stop crying.” Anxious and uncertain, she prayed. “I felt the most overwhelming peace in my heart,” she says. “I remembered how the Savior calmed the storm and reassured the disciples on the Sea of Galilee. My heart was raging, but His example calmed and reassured me.”

In Oslo, the morning sun is hazy. It’s peering over rock walls, creeping down the cobblestone streets. For most teenagers, it’s time to get up and get ready for school.

But at the Oslo First Ward building, a group of teenagers is already studying. In fact, they arrived long before the first light peeked through their seminary classroom windows.
“I have to get up at 5:30 in the morning to get ready,” says Øyvind Andersen, 17. “My father drives me over, and class starts at 6:30. Then at 7:15 I take the subway to my school, which starts at 8:20.”
“At school we already have classes on Christianity and World Religions,” says Liv Austenaa, 15. “So some of my friends think I’m crazy to come to another religion class early every day.”
“But early-morning seminary has given me a lot,” says Thor Andre Eråk, 16. “I believe I’ve learned much more than if I had studied by myself at home.”
Is it worth the effort? “I cannot possibly express my gratitude for what the Church has done to my life,” Øyvind says. “I know what I have—the gospel—is extremely valuable. I’m convinced that programs like seminary and missionary work give you a solid platform for later life. They strengthen your testimony radically.”
His brother Geir, 16, agrees. “Seminary helps me to find out what the gospel is all about,” he says. “I think Christ is the best of all examples, and thinking about him makes me want to get up and go to seminary. When I come here, I always get more out of my day.”

Often our family counseled together in family home evening. On one occasion, we were concerned about some of the music our children were playing. We opened the scriptures and also read the words from our prophet from conference. We wrote down on paper some of the words in their songs and asked how they felt about them. One said he had not heard the words. Another said the words felt really bad. We then asked what we should do? Without any help from us, they decided to throw the music away. But one said, "We paid a lot of money for these tapes." However they quickly came together deciding this music should not be in our home.

One Sunday night we were giving a fireside and I was speaking on the topic of modesty. I was talking about how when I was seeking an eternal companion I wanted to marry a girl who not only had a testimony, but also showed her faith by her works (James 2:17). An indicator to me if a woman was converted or not was if she followed the counsel of the modern day prophets, more specifically, I was looking for a girl who read the Book of Mormon everyday and wore a one-piece bathing suit. One young woman who attended the fireside later told me that when I said that that was the type of woman I had been looking for, it made a profound impact in her life. She said, "I remember thinking that I wanted an eternal mate who would want me to follow the teachings of the living Prophet. So when I got home that night, I was thinking about the second piercing that I had in my ear. I remembered reading President Hinckley's counsel to treat our bodies as temples and limit piercing to one in each ear. So, I decided to take it out because I wanted to be that person and do what the Prophet wanted me to do. I wanted my life to be in Heavenly Father's hands. I also decided to give away my four bikinis and all of my short shorts. Then, I bought a one-piece swimming suit. After doing all that, I really learned about what a gift our bodies are and I definitely felt an increase in the Spirit."

I entered the airport in Brasilia and looked around with excitement. It was the last day of my mission, and I was returning to my hometown in another part of Brazil by airplane—my first time flying!
I could see dark clouds and drizzling rain outside the airport windows, and I looked hopefully for any break in the clouds. I wanted the sky to be blue and the day to be sunny so I would be able to see the cities, the mountains, the forests, and everything else we would fly over. “When you fly,” others had told me, “things look so tiny.” I wanted to feel like the birds feel and see the things they see when they fly so high.
After the plane took off, I peered out the window eagerly. But the closer we got to the clouds, the stronger the rain pounded down. I shrugged my shoulders and sighed with disappointment: I couldn’t see anything. My first plane trip is turning into a flop, I thought, turning away from the window.
All of a sudden, the airplane passed through the clouds, and the sun’s rays shone brightly through the window, catching my attention. When I looked out the window, I saw a sky so intensely blue that it hurt my eyes. The clouds below us were a cotton blanket of spectacular whiteness. I wanted to jump out and run on top of them.
For two hours I stared at the wondrous world around me, amazed that above the dense clouds and storms that had assaulted my vision was such beauty and light. When the airplane eventually dropped below the clouds and into the gray again, I had almost forgotten the storm below.
Since that day, I have passed through many storms in my life, including the pain and loneliness of losing my mother. But I know that there is a purpose for the storms; I know what lies above the clouds.

“Mom, I have a problem,” Addison said. She took Mom’s hand and led her to the bathroom mirror. She pointed at her frowning reflection. “See?”
Mom bent closer, squinting at the mirror. “I only see my beautiful daughter. She could use a smile, though. Is that the problem?”
“It’s the freckles!” Addison said. She leaned over the bathroom counter. Her nose almost touched the mirror. “Whenever I look in the mirror, all I can see are freckles.” She pointed at all the soft brown dots on her cheeks and her nose. “Bailey’s freckles look cute. But mine just look funny.”
Mom put her hands on Addison’s shoulders. “I think your freckles are beautiful.”
Addison nodded, but it didn’t change the way she felt. “You’re my mom. You’re supposed to think that.” She sighed.
“Let me show you something I learned once,” Mom said. She led Addison outside to the garden. Mom picked up a small pebble and gave it to Addison. “Hold this up close to your eye. What do you see?”
Addison studied the pebble in her hand. She turned it over to see if she was missing something. “Nothing. All I can see is a rock.”
Mom smiled. “Now put it down.”
Addison tossed the rock back into the garden.
“Now what do you see?” Mom asked.
Addison looked around. “Lots of things. I see the little rock, but I also see the ground, the flowers, and the grass.”
“Exactly,” Mom said. “It’s all in how you look at it. Just like with the pebble, try not to focus only on your freckles—otherwise you miss seeing all the other great things about you, like how smart you are and how patient you are with your brothers and sisters.”
Mom picked up the pebble and pressed it into Addison’s hand. “Think of yourself as a whole garden, not just one pebble. Then you’ll be able to see yourself the way the Savior sees you, as a precious daughter of God.”
Audrey went back to the mirror. The first thing she saw was the same old freckles. She felt the pebble in her hand and took a step back. Now she could see more of her reflection. She saw a girl named Addison who liked reading, singing songs in Primary, and playing with her family. I like me, Addison thought—and that meant liking her freckles too because they were a part of her.
She felt happier as she thought of herself as a precious daughter of God. That made her smile, and when she did, she saw something by her mouth she’d never noticed before. Dimples!

That was when the first miracle happened. It started with one young man who had a strong desire to be closer to Jesus Christ and be baptized, and he shared it with a friend, and they shared it with another friend. These three young men were the start of the new growth in this area of the Lord’s vineyard. But the elders knew they needed families to lay a solid foundation and establish the Church in Guaymate, so they fasted and prayed to be led to a family ready to learn about the gospel.
One day they felt impressed to go to the farthest part of the town, out along the edges of the sugarcane fields. As they walked down the street, they saw two men sitting on their porch, and they stopped to talk with them. This was the first time they met Julian and his son, Victor. Julian immediately invited them in to have some yuca with butter and listened to the message they had to share. He was interested and asked them to come back and teach him more.
The following day the elders were in the town center doing street contacting when they met Carmen, Julian’s partner. As they started talking with her, they learned that Julian had told her all about what he had learned the day before. The elders returned that afternoon and taught Julian and Carmen how families were part of God’s plan. They learned that the couple had been together for over 30 years, with children and grandchildren, but had never gotten married. The elders asked what they thought about getting married. At first, Carmen was eager, and Julian was hesitant. Two weeks later, when they were married, he was emotional about finally being married to the woman of his dreams.
We met Julian and Carmen a few months after they were baptized when we visited their home with President Chaverri and the same missionaries who had taught and baptized them. We sat on their front porch, listening to their amazing conversion story as the rain sprinkled around us.
The Spirit was strong as Julian retold his story. Shortly before their baptism, Julian told the elders about a dream he had the night before that first day they met. In his dream, two young men in white shirts walked down his street. When they passed his house, he went out to invite them in and fed them yuca. He thought the dream strange but forgot about it until he saw these young men in their white shirts walking down his street just as they had in his dream. As he learned about the gospel of Jesus Christ, he knew the dream was a significant sign from God, and he felt grateful he had followed the prompting to invite them in for yuca.
Today, Julian, Carmen, and their family are part of the new Guaymate group that is meeting in an apartment below where the elders live. This little group is evidence that the Lord is involved in the details of all our lives. He loves us and wants us to make eternal covenants with Him.