Gospel Story Finder

Tony Williams, 13, is the only LDS student in his junior high school, so he took advantage of the situation. During the school’s social science fair he set up a display telling the residents of Kennett, Missouri, about the Church, and he walked away with first prize.
Tony’s display included three panels. One part told of the apostasy and restoration while another explained the Church’s First Presidency, Council of the Twelve, Articles of Faith, and the standard works. Details of the pioneer trek from Nauvoo to Salt Lake City was on another panel.
After winning first place in his school’s fair, Tony’s display won third place in the district social science fair held at Cape Girardeau, Missouri.
Active in the Hayti Ward (Memphis, Tennessee), Tony serves on the bishop’s youth committee and is president of his deacons quorum.

The two things I remember from the conversation played a huge role in my conversion. When I joined a video call (late) Elder Beam was reading Moroni’s promise (see Moroni 10:3–5). His companion, Elder McIntosh, and he carried a sweet and sacred Spirit which impacted me. I didn’t recognise it at the time (two months would pass before I’d learn to recognise it) but it drew me to them. I wanted to know them; I wanted to know what they had to say.
From then on, I started meeting with them and learning of the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ, of the Book of Mormon, of the Prophet Joseph Smith. Everything was so foreign to me, but I felt the Spirit every time. I started reading it for myself when (newly transferred in) Elder Baldwin invited me to read the Book of Enos. From there, I couldn’t stop reading. Even though I still didn’t believe it, I couldn’t stop. I knew something was different about the Book of Mormon. I thought about it constantly. It strengthened my faith in a loving God.
Over the next few months, I did a deep dive into researching the Church of Jesus Christ, the positives and negatives. In doing so, in meeting the missionaries and following through on the commitments I made, in praying, in reading the Book of Mormon alongside the Bible, every single question I had was answered fully. The biggest questions such as the nature of God (I was never fully satisfied with descriptions of a triune God) were answered. The smallest questions I had were answered just the same. It was a miracle.
When I was finally blessed with the foundations of a testimony in this great latter-day work, it was not yet the end of my journey to baptism. Why? Because I was aware I would have to sacrifice many friendships and relationships I’d had with people my entire life. I knew there were people who meant a great deal to me who would never want anything to do with me again — and they didn’t. I had spiritual leaders in my life tell me I was turning my back on Jesus Christ and what He’d done for me. More than anything else, that hurt me deeply. I investigated and learned more of the Church because I love my Saviour so much. If I didn’t love and believe the Bible as much as I did, or have the foundations I had, I would never have believed the Book of Mormon.
A few weeks later, I realised something: Jesus Christ walked the walk to Calvary for me, the least I could do is walk the walk to the baptism font, and beyond, even if I had to do so alone, without the friends I’d had for decades. I did so. Every sacrifice I made to join the Church of my Lord Jesus Christ was far outweighed by the bounteous and sacred blessings He gave me.
It was a long journey which took very close to 10 months. But the walk through the valley took me to the truth, to the temple, to my beautiful wife, and closer to my Saviour, Jesus Christ.
I know this is His Church. I know He is the Saviour and Redeemer of mankind. I know God is our loving Heavenly Father. I know we can come closer to them by reading the scriptures. I know we can be blessed and come closer to them by living the covenants we make in the font and in the holy temple. This is the true Church of Jesus Christ.

I approached Luan, and we became fast friends. After his surgery, I visited him in his home, along with his bishop, Ozani Farias, and his stake president, Mozart B. Soares. These good leaders were a blessing in Luan’s life. They were always there to comfort, support, and help him.
I felt the Spirit very strongly in Luan’s home. Luan, along with his mother and sisters, had joined the Church eight months earlier. There was no father in the home, and Luan’s mother worked hard to provide for the family. Their small house was tidy and clean, and I knew that simple home sheltered a very special family.
During our visit, we noticed the family lacked many basic things. Luan had to sleep on an uncomfortable couch because he had no bed. But when we asked what the family needed, they replied, “We have the gospel, our friends at church, and a happy family. Thank you, but we need nothing else.”
A short time after our visit, Luan’s condition worsened, and his doctors found a large tumor at the base of his spinal cord. It could not be removed surgically, so Luan went to the hospital for another round of chemotherapy.
One night when President Soares and I visited Luan in the hospital, we found him in a lot of pain. He asked us several questions, including, “What is death?” and “What is dying like?”
I explained that dying is part of eternity and that death is not a closing door but a door that opens for us as we go back to the presence of God. Luan understood and smiled. He said he was prepared. Then he asked us to give him a priesthood blessing, and we did so.
In the bed next to Luan was a 14-year-old boy named Pedro. Pedro asked us to bless him too. I asked if he had faith in Jesus Christ, and he said he did. We explained what the priesthood is and that we would be blessing him in the name of Jesus Christ. He closed his eyes and smiled as we blessed him. Next an 18-year-old young woman asked us to give her a blessing too.
I found out Luan and his mother had comforted Pedro and many of the other young cancer patients and their parents. As I left the hospital that night, I was edified to see that Luan and his mother, though suffering themselves, found the strength to visit others and minister to their needs.
When President Soares asked Luan what he would like to do when he left the hospital, Luan said he would like to perform vicarious baptisms in the Recife Brazil Temple. After Luan left the hospital, President Soares and Bishop Farias helped him fulfill this desire. Luan performed as many baptisms as his strength would allow. At the end of his day at the temple, even though he was in great pain, he was happy he could do something for others.
Luan Felix da Silva died on August 20, 2001. Whenever I think of my friend and fellow servant, I am reminded of the Savior’s words:
“Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you …
“For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:
“Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: …
“And the King shall … say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matt. 25:34–36, 40).

Fifteen-year-old Renata Araujo’s footsteps echoed forlornly as she walked down the cold tile floor. Renata knew that when she reached the end of the hallway and entered her Young Women class, she would be the only one there. The formation of her new ward had made her the only active girl in the Young Women program. “I felt very lonely,” she remembers.
Renata isn’t lonely anymore. The once quiet and almost empty classroom now reverberates with the enthusiastic voices of 10 active young women of the Botafogo Ward, Rio de Janeiro Brazil Andarai Stake. This change took place over only one year. The story of these young women illustrates what can happen when Church members follow President Gordon B. Hinckley’s counsel (included throughout this article) to reach out—especially to new converts, less-active members, and nonmembers.
“There are those who were once warm in the faith, but whose faith has grown cold. Many of them wish to come back but do not know quite how to do it. They need friendly hands reaching out to them” (“‘Reach with a Rescuing Hand,’” Ensign, November 1996, 86).
It all started with 18-year-old twins Camila and Sabrina Reis, who had been less active for months. When Vera Pimentel, Young Women president of the new Botafogo Ward, began calling each of the less-active girls, offering rides to church and to activities, that was all it took for the twins.
“We had been wanting to come back but just didn’t know how,” says Sabrina. “Vera made it easy.”
“The member … will be there to answer questions when the missionaries are not around. He will be a friend to the convert who is making a big and often difficult change” (“Find the Lambs, Feed the Sheep,” Liahona, July 1999, 119).
Soon after Sabrina and Camila returned to church, they began reaching out themselves. When Ana Carolina Batista, age 14, began investigating the Church with her mother, the twins were there to help. The first time she attended church, Ana Carolina’s anxiety melted when the twins sat by her and showed her how to look up scriptures in the lesson. “This made me feel good, because I didn’t know what to do. I felt relieved to see there were people to help me,” she remembers.
Ana Carolina says the twins’ friendship made her decision to join the Church much easier. Sabrina and Camila were also happy; their little class was growing.
“Coming into the Church can be a perilous experience. Unless there are warm and strong hands to greet the convert, unless there is an outreach of love and concern, … he may drop by the side” (Liahona, July 1999, 122).
The chain reaction continued as Ana Carolina reached out to a new investigator. Tatiane Pimenta, age 16, began attending church when she and her family were introduced to the Church by Sister Pimentel. “I felt very timid because I didn’t know anyone,” Tatiane says. “I quietly stayed in the corner.”
But soon things began to change for Tatiane. “I started feeling good because I made a friend.” In one class, Sister Pimentel introduced a game in which all the girls put their shoes in the middle of the floor, put on someone else’s, then got to know the owner of the shoes they had picked. “That’s how I started talking to Ana Carolina,” remembers Tatiane. “She became my first friend, a friend who encouraged me a lot. Because of her, I felt able to join the Church.”
“Every new convert needs … a friend. … Every convert must be ‘nourished by the good word of God’ (Moro. 6:4)” (Liahona, July 1999, 122–23).
Carolina Caetano began coming to Young Women class when her parents returned to church after years of inactivity. Although she had enjoyed Primary as a child, Carolina had never been baptized and was now unfamiliar with the Church and its members. “When you come back, you feel really shy because you don’t know anyone anymore. So at first I didn’t go much,” she says.
But soon the missionaries and Sister Pimentel began to visit Carolina’s home to teach her the gospel. “Whenever [Sister Pimentel] prepared a lesson, she came to my house to explain it to me. And she always helped me read the Book of Mormon,” says Carolina.
Carolina also started making friends. “The thing that helped me come back the most and what helped me want to get baptized was the strong friendships I made here. The girls were always around me, always calling me to say, ‘Hey, come to the activities. Come this Sunday.’ They were always reminding me.”
“Every convert deserves a responsibility. … Of course the new convert will not know everything. He likely will make some mistakes. So what? … The important thing is the growth that will come” (Liahona, July 1999, 122).
Like Carolina, 16-year-old Katarina Echaniz quickly made friends after being introduced to the Church by a ward member. Through the missionary discussions and her friends’ example, she also quickly gained a testimony. Shortly after her baptism, she was called to the Mia Maid presidency. “I felt responsible because there were girls depending on me to do my calling,” she says. “I wanted to do everything well.” Katarina says the assignment has helped keep her strong in the gospel.
“I am making a plea for us to reach out to our brethren and sisters who have known the beauty and the wonder of this restored gospel for a brief season and then for some reason have left it. …
“If [members] respond to this challenge, I honestly believe that they will taste the sweet and wonderful feeling which comes of being an instrument in the hands of the Lord in leading someone back into activity in His Church and kingdom” (“Becoming a Better Home Teacher or Visiting Teacher,” Liahona, September 1998, 37).
From the first time she came to church, 16-year-old Moema Duberley loved it. “The girls were very receptive and tried to help me get to know everybody,” she says. “It made me feel like the Church was my second home.”
But it became difficult for Moema to come to church when her mother stopped attending a few months after their baptism. Partly because of her calling but mostly because of their friendship, Katarina began calling Moema.
“Sometimes I felt like I was bothering Moema,” says Katarina, “but I kept trying because I felt it was important, and I knew God was going to help because I was also praying.”
After months of Katarina’s and other girls’ fellowshipping, Moema returned to full activity. “I came back because I was missing everything I had been learning at church and my relationship with God and the members.”
Now Moema and Katarina share a special bond. “I’m really grateful because I needed a friend when I was less active,” says Moema. “I’m very thankful for Katarina being like this for me. When you spend time away from the Church, you begin to feel that maybe you won’t be accepted. But when people call, it feels good to know you’re not forgotten.”
As for Katarina, “I feel really happy and thankful that Moema came back,” she says. “And it worked! I prayed and it worked.”
“Every convert is a son or daughter of God. Every convert is a great and serious responsibility. It is an absolute imperative that we look after those who have become a part of us” (Liahona, July 1999, 122).
Their seminary friends helped recent converts Daniele Ramalno, age 14, and Pamela Silva, age 16, after they moved into the ward.
“When we’re around nonmembers, some guys will start making fun of us. But the boys from seminary always look after us and treat us nice,” says Daniele. “They encourage us, too.”
“They are very good friends to me,” says Pamela. “They always give us rides to seminary and to activities.”
“It is our obligation to reach out in helpfulness, not only to our own but to all others as well” (“Thanks to the Lord for His Blessings,” Liahona, July 1999, 105).
Not only are the young women of the Botafogo Ward helping each other, they also continue to reach out to others who are not yet active, as well as to members of their community. Whether they are serving in a city park or a shelter for homeless teens, whether they are writing cards to or calling less-active girls, whether they are talking with each other or standing together as they repeat the Young Women theme—there is a singular bond among these girls as they strive to be living examples of the prophet’s words.
“You young men and young women, … I plead with every one of you … to find out about the converts to the Church and put your arms around them and make friends of them. … Please, please, reach out to every convert in the Church and help him or her to become established in the faith” (meeting, Guadalajara, México, 10 March 1998).

In the summertime, Elder Asay and his brothers spent some time with their father on the mountain range. He was a forest guard with the U.S. Forest Service each summer, and the boys loved to go with him. This was another ideal time for teaching and training. “We spent a lot of time in the canyons and the parks, repairing, painting, clearing trails, and doing other things for the Forest Service. It was great to be together out in nature,” Elder Asay recalled.
One such learning opportunity took place one day in a park where they were all working together, repairing some tables and benches at one of the camp picnic facilities. “My brother, who was about twelve at the time, found a full pack of cigarettes. And Dad must have seen him stealthily put it into his pocket. He called us together and asked him what he had picked up. My brother pulled the cigarettes out of his pocket. Dad said, ‘Open the pack.’
“Dad instructed each one of us to take one, saying, ‘Put it in your mouth and see how it tastes.’ Very quickly he had four spitting boys on his hands. Dad asked if any of us had liked the taste. We all said no. Then he told us to remember this experience, and added, ‘Tobacco doesn’t taste good, it isn’t good for you, and it isn’t in accord with God’s law.’
“We made a pact then and there that we would never touch cigarettes again.”

Terri is a fluffy pet that resembles a small dust mop. She is very quiet. Although Terri does not bark or meow, she jumps, scoots, and crawls as she follows her owner around the house.
Terri was bought in a pet shop. She is black and has orange circlets on her legs. Quiet and well mannered, she has never been mistreated and has had no reason to bite. Terri’s owner says she thinks that her tarantula would bite if she were tormented. “The needlelike fangs can hurt about like a bee’s stinger, but the bite is not poisonous unless you are allergic to it.”
Terri seems to like attention. She will scrunch down on the floor and wait for her owner to caress her glossy black head.
A tarantula seems to know when there is danger. If a strange dog comes into the room, Terri scoots behind the sofa. When the dog leaves, she jumps happily back into the middle of the room.

Three weeks after my return, my sister Shawna and her daughter came with a cousin from Brigham City to spend a few days. Bob, her husband, drove down in the Lincoln and spent an afternoon. Michele, their five-year-old, said, “You’re a General Authority now, aren’t you, Rick?” I tousled my niece’s blonde hair and smiled. I hadn’t seen Shawna for three years because before my mission she was at the University of Arizona. She and Michele wore designer clothes, and Shawna had her hair swept back, with curls on one side, kind of unnatural. Mother brought out the Harris family histories, and we sat around the living room; but Shawna, who had majored in interior design, daydreamed and looked at Mom’s furnishings and made faces at some of the color arrangements. When Bob came he lounged on the sofa and talked about the demise of the Dallas Cowboys, not my favorite early summer subject. He had played linebacker at BYU. About all he could stop now was a bowl of chocolate pudding. At dinner he ate thirds of both casserole and salad. He was full of good cheer about his younger brother’s prospects in the Deseret News Marathon. Of course Bob didn’t run anymore. After they left I asked Mom what had happened to my sister and her family.
“What do you mean?”
“They seem different.”
“You’re the one who’s changed, Rick.”
“I have?”
“Yes, you’re a lot more serious now.”
“Really?”
Two months now. Michele and Shawna were gone, Dad was in Houston on business, Mom was playing golf in Provo—and I sat under the locust taking in the dance of monarch butterflies along the hedge. So peaceful, so quiet, so dull. I amused myself by considering that the Savior was never a “returned missionary.” I had come to distrust the phrase. His mission was a mere three years, and he never went back home with nothing to do. Returning from a mission was a personal loss. You had to go on from there—become a goshawk and keep flapping your wings. I decided to make myself useful by helping Dad. He wanted the locust limbs trimmed away from the chimney before summer school.
On the roof I caught my breath after tossing off limbs. Gracious, I was thin! Wiping my forehead I saw Sister Hunter, two backyards away, bent over a rototiller—just as I had seen her husband do. Oh—it struck me: Brother Hunter had died of a heart attack a few weeks into my mission. How could I—I hated to even think the word—forget? Certainly he still hoed his beets and flooded his yard. Had he and Sister Hunter made it to the temple? Since my little medical problem I saw the temple as the abode of Deity, the place where, whatever the need, one found solace. Mom and Dad had worked with them after Brother Hunter joined the Church. But I hadn’t heard the results. As I grew up Sister Hunter offered me candy and nursed a bruised knee. She used to give me ice cream bars and a hug.
I climbed down from the roof and walked quickly down the block and into the driveway leading to her fence. After catching my breath, I said, “It’s the carburetor.”
“This pesky machine,” she said, “I want to kick it.” She was not old, only about 65, a small woman with hair the color of a fresh Oregon waterfall. She liked to wear a white cardigan sweater in cooler weather. Her eyes were green. She had a small, doll-like mouth that gave an appearance of youth. She loved to make vegetables and flowers grow.
With a screwdriver I adjusted the carburetor. But the short, frayed cord came taut under my jerked pulls. Nothing happened. I checked the oil—nothing wrong. Sister Hunter hovered above me like a mother eagle, watching first here and then there. Finally I got a spark plug out of our own lawn mower and, after more tinkering, the rototiller started. She said, “You’re a wonder. I never could have done that.”
After tilling her garden, which was deftly situated between the bank of grapes and the gray shed in the back, I helped her hand weed the corn against the side fences. I hadn’t had this much fun with dirt since the preparation day in Salem when I helped Brother Goss tie up his tomatoes. After a few mornings weeding by hand, we stood by her prospering garden as water filled the rows. She smiled and said, “Wouldn’t Henry be proud?”
Several “situations”—she refused to call them problems—plagued Sister Hunter. The grimy red pickup gathered heat in the driveway, and the water pump had quit in her washing machine on the back porch. I asked Mike Nelson, a young acquaintance at church, to help me, and within a few days we had installed a new fuel line in her ancient pickup. We road tested it through town with Jack, Sister Hunter’s faded-blond retriever. He wasn’t much help when I stalled at the Suprette Market. All he did was hang his head and loll his tongue. We ended up at the back of the store giving him water out of a discarded paper cup. Back at Sister Hunter’s we guzzled lemonade while taking breaks from her washing machine. I bought some frozen cans of lemonade to replenish her supply—and threw in a small pot roast for good measure. Mike thought I was nuts, but I wanted to do it. I found out she hadn’t had a special Sunday dinner since her husband died. Sure enough, at church she invited us over, and I graciously declined, not wanting to negate my good deeds. But she insisted. The next Sunday we arrived, and I discovered the table set with stunning china and sparkling silverware, a bouquet of peonies, and the steaming roast. Afterward I teased her about such a nice meal. Then we listened to a tape of a general conference talk by Elder James E. Faust on temple work while Mike fell asleep on the couch.
The next Tuesday I cornered Mike in an aisle of Pay Mart with a brilliant idea.
“Clean every one of her windows?”
“Yeah. Why not?”
“Inside and out?”
“Sure. It’s a small house.”
“You’re out of your tree.”
“So?”
So we armed ourselves with squeegees, clean rags, and spray bottles of glass cleaner and assaulted Sister Hunter’s windows, Mike outside, me inside. Her place sparkled, not a book out of place, not a dog hair on the couch, the islands of throw rugs floating on the polished hardwood floors. I spied on a lamp table a photograph of her husband, taken years ago. It stood behind an opened Bible which had on it a red pencil and glasses and which lay on an intricate doily. A hallowed feeling lingered in the house.
Both Mike and I figured our small act of kindness was finished. But one afternoon as I drowsed under the locust and thought about Sister Hunter, a strong feeling came over me that we hadn’t done enough. Her pickup ran, her washing machine purred, her windows shone, and her garden was a showpiece, the cool upturned earth mellowing in the furrows. What more could we do?
By now summer school was heating up, and I was busy as an instructor in the elders quorum. For diversion I hiked a few miles above Strawberry Reservoir, until I was too tired to go on and had to return. In the solemn hours I picked out lonely love songs on my guitar. Then late one evening as Mom and I endured our brewer’s yeast milk shakes I asked her about the Hunters’ temple sealing. Mom shrugged. “I don’t know what happened. Since her husband died she has stayed pretty much to herself.”
That night, in the privacy of my room, I poured out my heart to the Lord for courage to finish our task.
On a Friday after class at the Y, without Mike, who was shopping for a quick-action .22, I found myself enjoying the pungent aroma of cut apples in Sister Hunter’s blue kitchen.
“I appreciate you and Mike so much,” she said over her apples. “I’m an old sourpuss, I know. I’m too set in my ways. Won’t even talk to Bishop Thompson that much, but the home teachers are a blessing. Those young rascals think I can’t do for myself. But I can.” She glanced up at me. “Since Henry passed away, I’ve had to.” She went back to slicing apples, their whiteness glistening under her knife. Then she stopped and looked up at me again. “I never had a more trying time than when I waited for Henry to join the Church. I thought he never would, and I kind of gave up. But through it all I had to stay true—true to what I felt. You know, you’re the first one to take a real interest. And I don’t know how to say thanks.”
Like the goshawk, Sister Hunter had fierce eyes. They were light like a hawk’s, but green. She had learned to take care of herself—to keep her eyes alive by the spirit of life. She had flown into the cold recesses of fear and come back. She had fought harsh winds and long boreal hours of loneliness. The contempt I had read in the goshawk’s eyes, as in Sister Hunter’s, was a disdain for giving up—for anything vulgar or hurtful—a disdain for anything that kept him from flying freely through his northern forests.
I told her thanks were not necessary, and then I said good-bye, without having asked her about going to the temple. In Grants Pass, Oregon, I had strenuously challenged a hardened truck driver to quit smoking and he did, but I had not yet brought up the matter of the temple with Sister Hunter because I hadn’t found the words. We had talked about the temple, and we had listened to the words of an Apostle, but just what I should say had not come to me, short of simply asking, “Why haven’t you gone to the temple?” Tomorrow I would ask her.
On the back porch she stopped me. “You wait here. I want to show you something.”
She came from the house with a flat, white box, tattered and crushed, but still with its lid. She sat down beside me and opened it. She lifted out a lace veil from the box.
“This was my mother’s temple veil.” The veil, pure and white, held a sacred aura.
Sister Hunter’s eyes were intense, sparkling. For some time we sat on the back porch steps. Quietly, still composing herself, she asked, “Would you—and your folks—come with me to the temple some day? If I am worthy? Would you stand in for Henry?”
“Need you ask?” I replied, in hushed voice. “Of course.”
For days I thought about Sister Hunter’s temple veil. I had spent too much time worrying about myself. I too wanted to attend the temple and consecrate my service. The goshawk, Dad said, had to keep flying, and it too, after long hours, must have wondered about going on, wondered how it might finish what it had started. Sister Hunter had somehow shown me the continuity I sought between my mission and my present life—simply by being available to serve.
A few days later, in the Provo Temple, I experienced an extraordinary event. As I participated in the ordinances of salvation a powerful thought came: covenant, covenant—the word echoed deeply. Covenant grows out of the faith that we can keep on going by serving others. I could fly out of the woods. The sensation I lived with before I spotted Sister Hunter from our roof was one of being lost in a dark woods, with no clear path for certainty, only the shadows of tall trees, and the sunny meadows behind me. I clearly envisioned my father’s goshawk, poised, eager, attentive, ready.
It was a special afternoon. I wanted to share the spirit of the temple with my parents—and especially Sister Hunter.
Outside the temple the air was fresh but warm. A couple, hand in hand, the man carrying a suitcase, strolled into the sunlight from under the white portico. I shouldered my blue canvas pack and walked down the hill. Utah Lake sparkled in the sunlight. The lake was incandescent. The mountains beyond shone faintly, hazed by a lingering mist. All of Provo became a green sea converted for a passage to the holy hills. Looking over this domain, I wished the goshawk might find, in his wanderings, such a place to light.

As a member of the Buckhorn High School marching band in Huntsville, Alabama, for more than three years, 17-year-old Jennifer Hunt (center, with other members of the band) has had plenty of opportunities to share her music. Since she is also the only member of the Church in her band, she has also had plenty of opportunities to share her testimony.
Starting with her freshman year in high school, when she would carry her seminary manual with her from early-morning seminary to school, friends from the band have been full of questions about the gospel. Later, during a band tour of Washington, D.C., Jennifer got to explain about temple worship and the importance Latter-day Saints place on it.
Although there aren’t many LDS students in Jennifer’s school, she realizes that, “because of the Church, I have friends all over the world who are as busy as I am and are still getting to all their meetings and trying to do all of the things they should. That helps me do it.”

At the end of my second year playing college football, we had a coach who was not a member of the Church. He didn’t understand why young men served missions, and he discouraged us from going. But a certain number of players committed to serve missions anyway. Thanks to the good examples around me, I was one of them.
Looking back, deciding to serve a mission turned out to be a wonderful blessing. It was one of the greatest decisions I’ve made in my life, and it contributed so much to the blessings and the testimony that I have now. I know that the Lord’s hand was in all of the decisions I made throughout my life that allowed me to be influenced for good.

Unspeakable joy came over me as my husband walked to the stand to be sustained second counselor in the stake presidency. As he bore his testimony of his love for the Savior and of the gospel, he also gave thanks for his wife. I recalled the time I came home and found a poster my husband had made that said, “I love my wife because she has faith in me!”
It seemed not long ago that he emphatically announced, “They’d better not ever ask me to give a sacrament meeting talk, because that’s something I’ll never do.” He now is one of the favorite speakers in the stake.
I remembered, too, that my husband had said: “Just because you’re into dramatics, don’t think you can persuade me to be in a play. I’m just not an actor.” He was great in the lead part of a stake play.
“I’m not a reader,” he had insisted. Now he reads the scriptures faithfully every day and teaches them to all of us each morning.
“I don’t understand how to use the priesthood,” he once said. But since then he has blessed our family with the power of the priesthood on numerous occasions.
Yes, my husband has changed! Sixteen years ago he was a prospective elder.
What brought about this mighty change? For my sisters who stand in the puzzling situation of being missionary to their husbands, I would like to share a few insights. Since I speak from experience, I speak as a wife. But the principles could be used as well by a husband who has need of being missionary to his wife.
It is not easy to have faith in your spouse if he has disappointed you over and over. And for the woman who enjoys spiritual truths, it is frustrating not to be able to openly share them. Her desire to have her husband understand and appreciate the gospel becomes almost unbearable at times. And this is normal; for having achieved great joy, the natural consequence is to want to share it with loved ones.
But in these cases, a very delicate situation can arise. The man is the head of the house—the one who should lead, not be led. The woman, while being an equal partner in the marriage, should support and sustain her husband in his leadership role. But if he is not active or isn’t a member of the Church, she is placed in a very frustrating position. Often, if she wants to attend Sunday services, family home evenings, and other Church activities, she faces an inner battle and may even have open conflict with her husband—thus defeating her purpose to bring unity and spirituality into the home.
Where can a woman go for guidance and direction in her role as missionary to her husband? Great insights can be found through studying the scriptures. For example, I learned an important lesson when I studied about the council in heaven and the issues discussed there.
Satan proposed a plan of forcing everyone to obey the principles of their Father in Heaven. “I will redeem all mankind,” he said, “that one soul shall not be lost, and surely I will do it.”
But Heavenly Father did not want “to destroy the agency of man, which I, the Lord God, had given him.” Instead, he made available the plan of salvation through his Only Begotten Son, whereby we could enjoy freedom of choice. (See Moses 4:1–4.)
From this scriptural account we can conclude that trying to force another to accept the gospel is not pleasing to our Father. He cares not only that they return again to him, but also that they do so of their own free will and choice. He wants them to discover for themselves that the truths he has given are right and good and will bring the greatest joy. In order to do this, everyone needs to be free to experience and discover for himself.
Some true methods of exerting influence are listed in the Doctrine and Covenants:
“Only by persuasion, by long-suffering, by gentleness and meekness, and by love unfeigned;
“By kindness, and pure knowledge, which shall greatly enlarge the soul without hypocrisy, and without guile.” (D&C 121:41–42.)
These qualities, the Lord’s methods of persuasion, can become part of our very nature if we live worthy to obtain an endowment of his Spirit. I’ve learned that although a wife can encourage and be a light unto her husband, it is still the Spirit of the Lord that changes lives.
In Galatians 5:22–23 [Gal. 5:22–23] we find: “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance.”
There are those who would counsel wives to pretend to have these qualities of love, gentleness, and meekness in order to establish a better relationship with their husbands. But in this pretense or guile, they bypass the Savior, who condemned hypocrisy.
I have found that the very core of our being must be purged of its natural inclination to criticize and to lose faith. To do this, we must obtain greater power than we alone possess. Heavenly Father can give us this ability to change—to make a faultfinding, sour disposition sweet again, as a little child’s. “Create in me a clean heart, O God,” we might plead; “and renew a right spirit within me.” (Ps. 51:10.) He can bless us with the ability to see better, to uncover beautiful and loveable qualities of character in our spouses.
Although it may not be easy to love those who have disappointed us, we are promised that the Spirit can endow us with the power to love even those whose actions make them difficult to love:
“Wherefore, my beloved brethren, pray unto the Father with all the energy of heart, that ye may be filled with this love, which he hath bestowed upon all who are true followers of his Son, Jesus Christ.” (Moro. 7:48.)
One woman who attained this loving nature with the Spirit’s help expressed it in this way: “There was a time when I was so frustrated with what my husband wasn’t doing that I didn’t appreciate the good he was doing. I was hung up on the letter of the law and forgot the more important things, such as love, patience, forgiveness, and faith. I seemed obsessed with impatience for him to change.
“Then somehow, I realized I was wrong. I knew my attitude towards my husband was without hope. I sought Heavenly Father for a change of heart, praying and fasting. Like a miracle, gradually my heart began to change. The more I felt the warmth of the Spirit in my life, the more I lost the compulsion to criticize. Not only that, but I was able to love and respect him in ways that I had overlooked before. I began deeply appreciating his patience with the children, his tolerance for others, his cheerful disposition, and his way of working with his hands—he could accomplish in one hour what many men would in half a day!
“Oh, of course I still wish he would become active in the Church, but I’ve gained a real tolerance for him to grow in his own way, and I pray that I will be the example of love that he needs in order to feel free to grow. I want him to see by my actions that the gospel of Jesus Christ is really wonderful, sweet, and exciting.”
Contrast this with the woman who uses bitterness, anger, hopelessness, and the spirit of contention as her tools of persuasion. In her frustration to have things right, she displays an example of what the gospel of Jesus Christ is not—pushing her husband further away and leaving him without a taste of its goodness.
Satan would thwart us in our attempts to influence with love, for it is truly our most powerful tool. He would have us be contentious and exercise coercion. He would have us neglect our own spiritual nourishment—prayer, fasting, study—for a fury of impatience. He would have us be as the Pharisees, nit-picking over practices and forgetting principles. It is right, for example, to have family home evenings. But it is not right for a wife to force her husband, through embarrassment, into this practice. There are times when wives of inactive or nonmember husbands must be content to leave part of the law undone and patiently wait for their husbands to lead the way. In such cases, the “weightier matter of the law” (Matt. 23:23) need not be left undone—for these are the gifts of the Spirit, which will help a wife “have no more disposition to do evil [complain, preach, judge], but to do good continually” to her husband (see Mosiah 5:2).
We have all probably experienced being caught up in the spirit of a meeting and enjoying the feelings of warmth and love. As we drive home, the feeling lingers. The whole world looks different—filled with love, excitement, and promise. The same children whose chatter may have disturbed us on the way to the meeting now seem to glow with angelic countenance.
Such is the influence of the Spirit, which is love, peace, and joy. We should plead for this influence daily. Only with it are we able to overcome and block Satan’s efforts to destroy our marriages.
One woman came up to me in tears after Relief Society one day and said, “I’m about ready to give up on him. I thought a year would bring some changes, but he’s not more ready to become active than he was last year. I feel like the Lord has failed me. Why should I keep trying if he’ll never change?”
After listening and searching for understanding, I asked, “You say you are still trying. Have you been devoting yourself to your own spiritual nourishment lately, as you were a year ago when you felt such promise for the relationship?”
“No,” she answered, “I haven’t felt like praying, and with moving to another home, I haven’t felt like I’ve had time for studying.”
“Well,” I confided, “I know that when I begin to lose faith in my husband and in our relationship, or when I start to become critical, I find that I have been starving my own spirit. But as I begin to restore a sweet spirit within me, I see my husband with new faith and love.”
A few weeks later, this woman called to tell me that through recommitting herself to a program of spiritual feedings, she once again had hope in her husband and in their marriage. She said, “I was wrong. There has been a change in him. It is so slight that I had overlooked it before.”
Each week when we partake of the bread and water in remembrance of the Savior, we are given the promise that if we keep his commandments, we will have his Spirit to be with us. And with his Spirit, spouses may know how best to truly be a help and a strength to each other.

When President David O. McKay was a young missionary in Scotland, he was homesick, discouraged, and low in spirit. As he walked down the street with his companion, he noticed an inscription chiseled in a stone lintel of an unfinished building which read, “Whate’er Thou Art, Act Well Thy Part.” From that moment, he began to act the part of a good missionary and became a great one. This was a learning experience that helped him in numerous important callings he received later in life. (See Cherished Experiences from the Writings of President David O. McKay, comp. Clare Middlemiss, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1955, p. 174.)

As a young missionary serving in Strasbourg, France, Jan E. Newman had a special spiritual experience that strengthened his testimony and allowed him to feel Heavenly Father’s love. This experience came as he read the prophet Alma’s words in the Book of Mormon about planting the seed of the gospel in our hearts (see Alma 32:28; 33:22–23).
“I read that if you make room for that seed in your heart, it will grow, and you will actually feel these swelling motions,” Brother Newman said. “I remember reading that and the Spirit just testifying to me so strongly that it was true. I felt those swelling motions. I will never forget that as long as I live.”
This and other experiences helped solidify Brother Newman’s testimony of the gospel and prepared him for a lifetime of service as a husband, father, and disciple of Jesus Christ.

I pitched my helmet onto the shelf in the garage, hung my pads on a hook, and scuffed into the kitchen.
“What’s the problem?” Mom asked as I came in.
I flopped down on the nearest chair. “I was ten minutes late for practice and Coach Cooper gave me a lecture on being reliable and prompt.”
“Did you remember to take the bread over to Mr. Sams?” Mom asked as she poured me a glass of lemonade.
“Yes, and that’s why I was late,” I replied. “That old man just kept on talking and I couldn’t get away.”
“He’s rather lonely,” Mom said, “and seeing you in your football uniform probably reminded him of when he was a young man and able to play ball too.”
“If he’s so interested in the game, why doesn’t he come and watch us?” I asked. “The park is just around the corner, and the fresh air and exercise would be good for him.”
“He’s probably afraid to go down the stairs alone,” Mom said. “That’s how he broke his ankle last year.”
I took a big gulp of lemonade.
“Anyway,” I went on, “I was so late I don’t get to start in Saturday’s game. All the guys are mad at me because we’ll be playing the toughest team in the league.”
“Didn’t you tell Coach Cooper you were on an errand for me?” Mom asked.
“No,” I answered. “He would have said I was using you as an excuse, and then I’d get another lecture on responsibility.”
It was a long three days before that big game, but Saturday finally arrived. I was up early that morning to straighten the garage and take out the trash. I even checked with Mom to make sure there wasn’t anything I had forgotten.
On Saturdays I usually take soup to Mr. Sams, so I left ten minutes early to allow some extra time to visit with him.
“Well, you’re early today,” Mr. Sams said when he opened the door.
“Yes, sir,” I answered as I carried the soup over to the stove in his kitchen. “Today is a big game and I don’t want to be late.”
“You’re right,” Mr. Sams began. “That would never do. Why, I remember when I played back in …”
He sat down by the table and motioned for me to join him. Then he started to tell me again about some of his experiences playing football years ago.
When I figured that the ten minutes were over, I slowly got up from the chair and said, “Mr. Sams, I’d better get going so I won’t be late. I’ll pick up the soup pot after the game.”
“I’ll bet you play a good game,” he said as I gathered up my gear. “You’re a strong-looking boy.”
“I do my best,” I replied, heading for the door. He hustled along after me.
“I remember once when I was playing,” he said. “We were up against the toughest team in the state. It was the third quarter. I remember it like it was yesterday! Jason Clemons, our left guard, was …”
“Why don’t you come over to the park and watch a game sometime, Mr. Sams,” I suggested.
“I’d like to,” he said, “but I don’t get out much anymore. I watch all the games on television, but it’s just not the same as watching a live game.”
When Mr. Sams said that, I looked at him for a minute and I thought he might start to cry. He turned his head away and stared out the window. I remembered Linda and how unhappy she had looked and what she had said about being proud.
Now I knew what Mom meant when she told me that sometimes you have to listen with your eyes.
“Look, Mr. Sams,” I blurted out. “Why don’t you get your sweater and come to the game with me right now?”
I was late again! The team was on the field warming up when I came through the gate with Mr. Sams walking beside me. Coach Cooper looked upset. I took Mr. Sams to the bleachers and got him seated. Then I ran to the dressing room and put on my gear.
Just as I reached the bench, the referees blew their whistles signaling the team to clear the field.
I won’t get to play anyway, I thought, so it doesn’t matter if I did miss the warm-up.
“Tim! Coach Cooper shouted, and I ran over to him. As I got closer, he lowered his voice and asked, “Were you late for practice the other day because of the old gentleman you brought with you today?”
I looked over at Mr. Sams. His whole face was covered with a big grin as he sat on the edge of his seat eager for the game to start.
“Yes,” I admitted, and I was actually glad about the whole thing.
“Why didn’t you say so?” Coach Cooper asked.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t understand,” I replied.
“I’m a lot more understanding than you think,” he assured me.
Then Coach Cooper motioned for the team to come and join us. After explaining the circumstances, he said I could play in the game after all. Everyone seemed pleased about that—especially me!
I waved to Mr. Sams as I ran out onto the field for the kickoff, and he was smiling bigger than ever as he waved back.
Mr. Sams didn’t make a sound, but I could hear his happiness all the way across the field.

My family and I arrived in Dubai, United Arab Emirates, in the fall of 2013, and we were excited to attend church. Our experiences as we have attended church in different locations have always been comfortably predictable. We love being able to walk through the doors for the first time already understanding what will take place and instantly being part of a group of people we have never before met.
Our expectations were fulfilled as we became part of this loving group of expatriate Latter-day Saints from many countries, and our faith and commitment grew during our time in Dubai. I will never forget my time in Dubai and the wonderful people I met as a consequence of being able to attend church and worship in the way I have always been fortunate to do. I hope that the leaders of the UAE understand what a gift they have given to us to allow us to worship.

As a boy growing up in Nauvoo, George Q. Cannon learned to cope with those who would do harm to others. In his own words, he tells how he and a group of boys his age did their part to defend the Saints against potential troublemakers:
“It was … a common practice … , when engaged in conversation or in making a bargain, to take out … pocket knives and commence whittling; frequently, … accompanying the whittling by whistling. No person could object, therefore, to the practices of whittling and whistling. Many of the boys of the city had each a large bowie knife made, and when a man came to town who was known to be a villain, and was there for evil purposes, a few of them would get together, and go to where the obnoxious person was, and having previously provided themselves with pine shingles, would commence whittling. The presence of a number of boys, each [harmlessly] whittling … was not a sight to escape the notice of a stranger. … His first [reaction] … would be to … ask what this meant. The boys would make no reply, but with grave faces, keep up their [harmless] whistling. … What could the man do? If he was armed, he could shoot; but the resolute expression of the boys’ faces, and the gleaming knives … would convince him that discretion was the better part of valor. … The most we ever knew them to do was to stand for awhile and curse and threaten. … Then they would walk off … , followed by the troop of boys vigorously whittling and whistling.”
Now, I’m not suggesting that we begin issuing bowie knives to our deacons. But I am suggesting that George Q. Cannon and his youthful associates exhibited great courage and faith by their actions. They saw something that needed to be done, and they did it safely within the context of what was appropriate for the times. I’m impressed by their willingness to take a stand against wicked intentions of others.

Some years ago I coached a high school basketball team through a rather unusual season. The season began with a number of disappointing losses. Some of the fans and townspeople didn’t make a secret of their unhappiness over the team’s failures. There was considerable public comment, and it was a challenging time for members of the team. Several of them finally became discouraged and withdrew from the team. Those who remained didn’t lose faith in themselves or in their coach. The rough going seemed to be an incentive for them to try even harder.

At mid-season the team began to win their games. They qualified for the district tournament and surprised everyone there by winning a place in the state play-offs. To the amazement of everyone, they went on to win the state championship—the first ever to be won by that school!

Following the celebration and the awarding of trophies after the championship game, I drove several of the team members back to our city. There was silence during much of the ride as we each reflected on the incredible outcome of our season’s efforts. Finally, one of the young men spoke. (He had been honored for being one of the outstanding players in the tournament.) “Coach,” he said, “I think we were supposed to win tonight.”

I was curious to know what had prompted this conclusion. “Why do you think we were supposed to win?” I asked.

His response was simple and direct—and I will never forget its impact. “Because we paid the price,” he said.

Indeed they had, and I am sure the lessons learned by those young men during that eventful year have been valuable to them throughout their lives.

I am an American exchange student in Bateman’s Bay, Australia. I am the only Latter-day Saint in the town, and the nearest branch is 100 miles away, so I don’t get to church very often. I wrote to my mother and told her how much I miss the Church, and to help me out, someone is sending me the New Era every month. I love the New Era. It’s brought me so much closer to the Church, even though I’m the only member for miles. The New Era has motivated me to start reading the Book of Mormon, and I can hardly wait to get home and participate in the Young Women activities.
Lisa MatsonBateman’s Bay, Australia

My wife and I have twelve children. When our daughter Sarah was two years old, I was a mission president, and missionaries ate with us at every meal. Sarah always found something to fuss about, and she would cry and kick and scream. Usually we would take her away from the table and discipline her. One time my wife took her to the bedroom and said, “Now, Sarah, you don’t feel good. You’re angry.” And when you’re angry, you aren’t happy, and others aren’t happy. Let’s ask Heavenly Father if He can help you feel happy instead of angry. So they prayed, and she felt happier. The next day, she fussed at the table again, and they prayed again, and she felt happy again. After a while, this two-year-old learned that to feel better, she prayed. Today Sarah is a young woman, and people love to be around her because of her sweet personality.

Not long after our friend Carolyn Rasmus joined the faculty of Brigham Young University, a group of her new teaching colleagues invited her to join them on a Saturday hike in the mountains above Provo. Carolyn was not a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but she had felt particularly welcome in her new circle of associates. She eagerly joined them for the climb.
As the sun steadily rose, so did the hikers on the mountainside. Then, as the ten o’clock hour approached, the group began to find places to sit down. Carolyn thought, “This is wonderful. How did they know I needed the rest?” and she, too, looked for a comfortable spot to stretch out. But the participants seemed unusually earnest about this particular break, some pulling out pencils and notebooks while one intently dialed a transistor radio.
What then happened would be a turning point in her life forever. One of her friends said, “Carolyn, we need to explain something. This is the first Saturday in October, and for us that means not only lovely weather and bright fall foliage, but it also means a general conference of the Church. As Latter-day Saints, wherever we are or whatever we are doing, we stop and listen. So we are going to sit here among the oak and the pines, look out over the valley below, and listen to the prophets of God for a couple of hours.”
“A couple of hours!” thought Carolyn. “I didn’t know there were prophets of God still living,” she said, “and I certainly didn’t know there were two hours’ worth!” Little did she know that they were going to stop again at two o’clock that afternoon for another two hours and then invite her to tune in at home for four more the next day.
Well, the rest is history. With the gift of a leather-bound copy of the scriptures from her students, the love of friends and families in the LDS ward she began to attend, and spiritual experiences we want all who make their way into the light of the gospel to have, Carolyn was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church. The rest is, as they say, history. With her introduction to general conference that day sitting high atop Y Mountain, Sister Rasmus had seen her own personal fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophetic invitation: “Come ye, and let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob; and he will teach us of his ways, and we will walk in his paths: for out of Zion shall go forth the law, and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem.”

When I was 17, a friend of mine told me she was a Mormon. At that time I had no idea what a Mormon was. My parents didn’t make me go to church, so I didn’t know much about the Bible or about God, nor did I want to. I told my friend, “If I want to know anything about it, I’ll find out on my own.”
Seeing that I wasn’t too concerned with the Church, she just gave me a copy of the Book of Mormon. Then she asked me to read and pray about it. She didn’t pressure me or get upset that I didn’t want to hear about the Church. All she wanted me to do was read and pray.
Later that night as I opened the book, I noticed her testimony in the front. As I read her testimony, I felt that I should learn more about this book. So I started from 1 Nephi. I could not put the book down. I needed to know more.
Soon after, I went to a family home evening with her family where they taught me about the gospel of Jesus Christ. Even though I knew nothing about the gospel, everything seemed to make sense. As I learned more, my attitude about church, God, and Jesus Christ changed. For once in my life I wanted to do what God wanted me to do. Soon I was taught by the missionaries and baptized and confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
The Book of Mormon changed my life. As I look back, I can see how the Holy Ghost helped me want to learn more. The gospel helped me to know who I am, where I came from, and where I can go if I’m faithful. I’m thankful for my friend who shared it with me and showed me that a true friend shares gospel truths.