Gospel Story Finder

When I was a freshman at BYU, I had very little money and it was hard to think of a present for my bed-ridden grandmother. She had always been so good to us grandchildren.
I decided my gift would be a promise. I would write her a letter every week during the coming year. I kept my promise and, although she was unable to answer all my letters, she wrote when she could and our relationship grew even stronger.
She told me often how she enjoyed her Christmas present. It also was a great joy to give.
—Carol LowryMagrath, Alberta, Canada

Stephanie Post isn’t about to take any credit. She’s just been a friend. It’s no big thing, she assures. Anybody would do it.
Serena Oddens doesn’t exactly see things the same way. Her thoughts on Stephanie? It is a big thing and, no, not just anybody would do it.
“Stephanie really supported me through some rough times, and she’s been a great example to me,” says Serena.
It’s a Saturday in Den Haag, Netherlands. Youth from stakes in the Netherlands and Belgium have gathered together for a day-long activity, and Stephanie and Serena are happy. Although they’re in the same stake, they don’t get to see each other that often. As they sit on the lawn, the talk turns to the beginning of their friendship a few years earlier.
Serena thinks to when her life wasn’t where she knew it should be. “At my school, nobody was studying, and it seemed everybody was smoking and drinking and using drugs. I didn’t stop going to church, but I was hanging around with the wrong friends and not doing everything I should have been doing,” she says. “I see what’s become of many of my former friends, and I think had I stayed at that school nothing good would have become of me.”
Enter Stephanie. At the same time Serena’s mom asked her to transfer schools and leave her friends, Serena met Stephanie, 18, a member of the Almere Branch in the Den Haag Stake. “Stephie’s really supported me while telling me good stuff about the Church. She taught me things about the gospel that I didn’t even know,” Serena says. “Stephie always bears her testimony and tells me of the things she’s been through. It’s great for me.”
“But it’s not just one way,” Stephanie says of their friendship. “It’s not that I only helped Serena, because she’s helped me too. She’s been a really good friend.”
Now Stephanie is making a path of her own, and Serena has joined her. Right at the time when things seemed to be falling apart for Serena, Stephanie appeared on the scene. Although distance keeps them apart—Almere is a one-hour car ride from Serena’s home in Alkmaar—they remain close. Thank goodness for phones.
“There are no other members of the Church at my school, and I often feel like I am the only one who is doing good and right things,” says 17-year-old Serena. “I sometimes feel like I am standing alone. Stephie was there along with all my friends from church who were supporting me. But the thing about Stephie is that she knows everything about me and I know everything about her.
“When I’m feeling down or upset,” she continues, “it’s like my school friends don’t understand me or what I’m feeling or what I’m going through. When I talk to her about it, we can get things off our chests and she understands.”
Stephanie knows teenagers in Holland aren’t much different from those all over the world. Once they hit their teenage years, they start experimenting and changing. She’s just glad she was there to help Serena.
“I think it’s really sad to see the youth we have hung out with in our stake go fully inactive or have other troubles that take them from the Church,” Stephanie says. “But it’s really nice to hear that someone who has been inactive for a while is active again or going on a mission. That’s what’s been so great about Serena.”
Serena agrees. “Stephanie helped me to understand that I don’t need to be ashamed of my standards. When I think back to my inactive stage, it isn’t that I’m jealous of Stephanie because she didn’t go inactive. But if I could turn back the hands of time, I would do things differently.”

I had been thinking about your genealogy for several weeks, and I felt that I should go to the address of your great-grandfather’s home to check the area.
After two hours on the high-speed train, I bussed to the city of Chi Kan, a place I had never been before. I fell asleep, and at the final stop the driver woke me up. I got off, looked around, and saw I was in a fishing village. I asked a young shop owner across the street for directions. He called a taxi for me and directed the driver to a place where an old man lived. When I arrived and asked that man where I could find the town’s genealogy record, he told me to walk a few blocks to a temple by the seashore.
At the temple, I saw a group of men having tea and chatting. They said that they were just starting an annual meeting of the Liu Shi family genealogy to prepare for a big conference in October. I explained that I was there to find family names for my friend.
“Usually no one is at this temple,” they said. “The door is locked except for the two to three hours when we hold the annual meeting. You are very lucky to meet us here.”
When I told the men I was looking for the name Liu Bei, they told me they had been collecting the Liu family genealogy for years and didn’t recall that name. One of the men kindly offered his genealogy records for me to take a look. They continued their meeting while I searched the records. After about 10–15 minutes, I shouted, “I found it!”
Shocked, they stopped talking and grabbed the book. I showed them the name, and they told me that it came from the family line of Mr. Liu Qiu Shan, who was attending their meeting that day. I purchased a copy of the genealogy book, which contained records going back 26 generations and 2,460 years of ancestors’ names on extended family lines.
Mr. Liu Qiu Shan later gave me a ride to the train station. He told me if I had come an hour earlier or the next day, I wouldn’t have found anyone or anything there. He said, “This place is always locked. It must be the ancestors’ blessing. It is truly a miracle.”

May I illustrate this truth with a personal experience. Many years ago, while serving as a bishop, I felt impressed to call upon Augusta Schneider, a widow from the Alsace-Lorraine area of Europe who spoke very little English, although she was fluent in French and German. For years after that first impression, I would visit with her at Christmastime. On one occasion, Augusta said, “Bishop, I have something of great value to me which I would like to present to you.” She then went to a special place in her modest apartment and retrieved the gift. It was a beautiful piece of felt, perhaps six by eight inches (15 by 20 cm) in size, to which she had pinned the medals her husband had been presented for his service as a member of the French forces in World War I. She said, “I would like you to have this personal treasure which is so close to my heart.” I protested politely and suggested there must be some member of her extended family to whom the gift should be given. “No,” she replied firmly, “the gift is yours, for you have the soul of a Frenchman.”

Shortly after presenting this special gift to me, Augusta departed mortality and went home to that God who gave her life. Occasionally I would wonder concerning her declaration that I had “the soul of a Frenchman.” I didn’t have the slightest idea what that meant. I still don’t.

Many years later, I had the privilege to accompany President Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994) to the dedication of the Frankfurt Germany Temple, which temple would serve German-, French-, and Dutch-speaking members. In packing for the trip, I felt impressed to take along the gift of medals, without any thought concerning what I would do with them. I’d had them a number of years.

For a French-speaking dedication session, the temple was filled. The singing and messages presented were beautiful. Gratitude for God’s blessings penetrated each heart. I saw from my conducting notes that the session included members from the Alsace-Lorraine area.

During my remarks, I observed that the organist had the name of Schneider. I therefore related the account of my association with Augusta Schneider, then stepped to the organ and presented the organist with the medals, along with the charge that since his name was Schneider, he had a responsibility to pursue the Schneider name in his genealogical activities. The Spirit of the Lord confirmed in our hearts that this was a special session. Brother Schneider had a difficult time preparing to play the closing number of the dedicatory service, so moved was he by the Spirit which we felt there in the temple.

I knew that the treasured gift—even the widow’s mite, for it was all Augusta Schneider had—was placed in the hand of one who would ensure that many with the souls of Frenchmen would now receive the blessings the holy temples provide, both for the living and for those who have passed beyond mortality.

Another incredible example of loving one’s neighbor comes from Coronado, California, where Sister Sabin and I used to live. We would often see the United States Navy Sea, Air, and Land (SEAL) recruits running along the beach and swimming in the ocean as part of their training to become members of this special operations force.

Michael A. Monsoor was one of those SEALs and a posthumous recipient of the Congressional Medal of Honor, America’s highest award for military valor in action. On September 29, 2006, when Michael was twenty-five, he and three other SEAL team members were on a rooftop in Ramadi, Iraq. This was just before Michael was supposed to return home. He had stayed to allow another SEAL to go home because his wife was expecting. The team had started to take enemy fire when a grenade was launched onto the roof. The grenade hit Michael in the chest and then fell to the ground. He was near an exit and could have saved himself, but he could see there was no way for the others to escape. Michael did not hesitate; in a split second he dove on top of the grenade in order to shield the others from the blast, and he died from his sacrifice. Since that day, many SEALs have named their sons Michael in honor of his memory. Also named after him is the super-stealth, guided-missile destroyer USS Michael Monsoor.

I have often thought how I would feel if I had been on that rooftop with Michael—seeing him dive on that grenade, knowing he could have escaped and saved himself but instead chose to save me. It would be impossible to ever forget him. Michael’s unselfish sacrifice for others was remarkable.

A few years after I had been baptized, becoming better acquainted with some duties in the Church, I was ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood. My father, who had baptized me, had died in the meantime with a heart attack, so the bishop conferred the Aaronic Priesthood upon me and ordained me to the office of a deacon. I remember that I had a wonderful feeling about that as he conferred the priesthood upon me, that I now had responsibilities and would be accountable for my actions and would have things to learn to do as I would progress through life. I did have a special feeling that I now was a little different, that I wouldn’t be exactly the same as friends who did not hold the priesthood or people that you would meet out in the world. I now had some responsibilities, things we would learn on Sundays in church as we would sit around the old coal stove down in the basement of the meetinghouse.

On Saturdays, we would clean out the church, fill the coal buckets with coal, and see that the building was ready for Sunday meetings. We had things to do in the lesser priesthood, in all the temporal affairs of the ward—collecting fast offerings and doing duties for the bishop. He and other leaders would teach us about the Aaronic Priesthood and the office of a deacon, then a teacher, and then, of course, a priest as we would advance in the priesthood. It seemed to me that I was developing an interesting understanding, a vision of the work to be done, and that I personally had some responsibility, even though I was just a young boy in a little country town. There was something very important about it.

I am reminded of a story about a couple who had been married for sixty years. They had rarely argued during that time, and their days together passed in happiness and contentment. They shared everything and had no secrets between them—except one. The wife had a box that she kept at the top of a sideboard, and she told her husband when they were married that he should never look inside.

As the decades passed, the moment came that her husband took the box down and asked if he could finally know what it contained. The wife consented, and he opened it to discover two doilies and $25,000. When he asked his wife what this meant, she responded, “When we were married, my mother told me that whenever I was angry with you or whenever you said or did something I didn’t like, I should knit a small doily and then talk things through with you.”

The husband was moved to tears by this sweet story. He marveled that during sixty years of marriage he had only disturbed his wife enough for her to knit two doilies. Feeling extremely good about himself, he took his wife’s hand and said, “That explains the doilies, but what about the $25,000?”

His wife smiled sweetly and said, “That’s the money I got from selling all the doilies I’ve knitted over the years.”

Not only does this story teach an interesting way to deal with disagreements in marriage, but it also illustrates the folly of jumping to conclusions based on limited information.

What am I going to do? I can’t bear my testimony. I don’t have a testimony! I thought.
It was family home evening, and Mom had taught the lesson. “I think it’d be very nice if we all took some time to share our testimonies with each other,” she said excitedly. “I’ll go first.”
At least she started on the other side of the room. It felt like Mom was looking right at me as she began. Who is Jesus, anyway? I wondered. I had heard all the stories, gone to Primary, but I still didn’t know Him. What if it is really just a story? Mom seemed to really feel what she was saying, like she really believed it was true.
Mom ended her testimony, and then it was Tiffany’s turn. She began, “I want to bear my testimony. I know the Church is true, I know there is a true prophet. …”
How does she know that? She’s only 10! I thought as I listened to her go on like it was so simple. It wasn’t simple, though—not for me. I didn’t know if I believed it, any of it. I had so many questions.
Tiffany finished, and it was Danny’s turn. He sped through bearing his testimony, and then everyone was looking at me.
I thought about just saying I had a testimony. But I decided I would just tell the truth. They are going to be so mad.
“Jennie, it’s your turn. Would you bear your testimony, please?”
“No. I don’t want to. I don’t have a testimony. I don’t know if it’s true. I’m sorry.” Dreading what they would say and how they would react, I ran to my room and threw myself onto my bed.
Mom followed quickly and sat down on the bed next to me. She reached forward and gently patted me on the back.
“Jennie …”
“Mom, I just don’t know if I believe it like you do. I’m sorry, but I just don’t know.”
“Well, it’s about time!” she said.
“What?” Surprised, I sat up.
“You’re 13 years old. It’s about time you started questioning and searching for yourself. You can’t live off of your father’s testimony or mine. You have to figure it out for yourself now.”
“You’re not mad at me?”
“No. It’s OK that you don’t have a testimony now, but you have to decide what you’re going to do about it. You must find out for yourself,” Mom said.
“What should I do?”
“Read the Book of Mormon. Then pray about it. Ask God.”
“How will I know?” I asked.
“You’ll feel it. He’ll tell your heart.” She smiled, got up from the bed, and left my room.
Moved by my mother’s advice, I determined to read the Book of Mormon and find out if what my parents had taught me was true.
A few months later I came to the last chapter in the Book of Mormon. I remember thinking about Moroni’s promise as I knelt down beside my bed. I wondered if it really could be that simple.
As I began to pray, a feeling of peace and assurance came over me—so much so that I felt guilty for having even doubted. In that sweet moment, the Lord planted a seed in my heart that has since become a growing testimony of the truth.

A woman I know—I will call her Suzanne—has persisted daily in a very different plan than she ever imagined as a young woman. She has an optimistic and positive attitude, finding joy in the ups and downs of life. She completed her degree in nursing, married, and began her family, which eventually included three daughters. As her second daughter began to grow, Suzanne realized she was not developing normally. After a period of time her daughter was diagnosed with a form of autism that severely affected her social and communication skills. The plan for Suzanne’s family was altered. A few years later Suzanne delivered her third daughter, who eventually was also diagnosed with autism. Suzanne’s husband was a supportive, involved father, and together they altered their plan, knowing that they could handle this challenge. When the girls were ages eleven, thirteen, and eighteen, their father unexpectedly passed away from a heart attack while out on his daily run. Again Suzanne’s plan was greatly altered. She continues to find joy as she has realized that life doesn’t have to be perfect to be wonderful. She is persistent and will continue to persevere over her lifetime.

“My parents were both musical, though untrained. While we had no musical instruments at home except my father’s ukulele, the family enjoyed singing together. I was in my teens when my parents first acquired a record player. And I remember what a great experience that was and how much we all enjoyed it. When I was older, the family did acquire a piano, and some of the younger children took lessons. My wife was a music major, and that was one of the things I enjoyed about her when .we were dating. I loved to sit and listen to her play the Bach Inventions.
“The name Poelman is a Dutch name,” Elder Poelman explained. “My paternal grandfather was born in Holland, and as a young man in his teens, he left Holland and went to South Africa. There he married my grandmother, a Scottish girl. She was working at the time as a governess for an English family living in South Africa. My grandparents had one child born in South Africa, then they went back to the British Isles. Another child was born in England, and they moved to Glasgow, Scotland, where my father was born. It was to their home in Scotland that the missionaries came tracting, and my grandmother answered the door. They were on the third floor of an apartment house with only cold running water in the working-class section, and a man named A. Z. Richards was one of the missionaries. He stayed close to our family until he died, and I have always been very fond of him.
“Subsequently, I was called to serve as a missionary in Holland, as did all three of my younger brothers. My father also served a mission in Holland. That missionary experience was a valuable one for me, because I had an opportunity to meet some of my grandfather’s brothers and sisters, and I was able to learn the language.”
I asked Elder Poelman what message he wanted to share with the children of the world, and he replied, “Your Father in heaven knows who you are and loves you unconditionally. Even when you do things that are bad, He loves you. It makes Him sad, of course, but it doesn’t mean that He stops loving you. I would encourage you to pray to our Heavenly Father often, knowing that no matter what you’ve done or how you feel about yourself, Heavenly Father will listen to you.
“Sometimes we may think that the Lord loves us only if we keep His commandments and that if we disobey His commandments, He loves us less. That isn’t true! This is something Satan would like us to believe because then we feel estranged from our Father in heaven. Remember, He loves you all the time wherever you are and whatever you are doing.”

“Hurry up, Jared, or we’ll be late for church,” Mother called from the bottom of the stairs.
Rushing down the stairs and out the front door, Jared remembered that he needed his scriptures for Primary. Rather than taking the time to go back upstairs, he grabbed an old set from the living room bookshelf.
On the way to church, he flipped through the Bible to find his favorite scripture about baptism. He wanted to recite it in Primary opening exercises. He was surprised to find that the scripture he was looking for was already underlined in red and that there was a date written in the margin. “What happened on July 2, 1982?” he asked, reading the date.
Mother pursed her lips. “Let me think,” she said. “That was about the time Samuel turned eight years old. Why, I believe that was when he was baptized.”
Samuel was Jared’s big brother. He had recently married and moved to another state to go to college. Even though Samuel lived far away, Jared loved him very much and still felt close to him.
Jared turned to the first page of the Bible and saw Samuel’s full name printed in a child’s scrawl. Jared realized this must be the set of scriptures his brother had used when he was in Primary. And he must have had the same favorite scripture about baptism that Jared had now. That made Jared feel even closer to Samuel. Turning to it in Matthew 3:16–17 [Matt. 3:16–17], Jared carefully wrote his own baptism date in the margin next to Samuel’s.
He happily carried his brother’s scriptures to his Primary class. When the teacher asked the students to open their scriptures to Doctrine and Covenants 4, he discovered that there was a bookmark there. It was old and worn around the edges.
Jared turned it sideways so that he could read the words written on it: “Every young man should serve a mission.” He thought about Samuel’s mission to Mexico and about how he had begun saving money for it while he was still in Primary. Jared wondered if Samuel started his mission fund when he got this bookmark.
After Primary, Jared carried Samuel’s scriptures to sacrament meeting. He was glad when one of the speakers invited the congregation to read D&C 131:2 with him. Jared was not surprised to see that the scripture was already underlined. He also found a card there on which Samuel had written five reasons why he wanted to get married in the temple. Jared thought about his brother’s recent temple marriage. Samuel must have started planning to get married in the temple when he was my age!
When Jared got home from church, he wrote a letter to Samuel.
Dear Samuel,
Thanks for letting me borrow your scriptures today. I hope you don’t mind that I wrote my baptism date in the margin next to yours. I’ve always wanted to be just like you when I grow up, and now I know how I can start. I want you to know I am going to save some money each week for my mission. And after my mission, I want to get married in the temple. Thanks for being a good example to me your whole life.
Love,
Jared

Everyone has to be converted. Everyone at some point in life has to know for themselves that Jesus is the Savior. At youth conference, the testimony was so strong that I began to feel it too. I prayed the night we got home, and the next day at testimony meeting, for the first time since I was a child, I bore my testimony. I felt for myself that Jesus is the Savior.
Rachel Yorke, 16Hayward, California

I would like to express my appreciation for J. Scott Henrie’s article “Harley-Davidson” which was published in the August 1985 New Era.
This story closely parallels the situation in my own family. I am about to complete my mission. When I came on my mission my youngest brother was 19 years old and totally inactive in the Church. His favorite pastime was motorbike riding, and he’d become involved with a “bad” group and was using drugs and was in trouble with the law.
When I read your story last year it really touched me. I could compare myself to Paul and my brother to Gus. At the same time as I read your story I also received a letter from my brother (the first in two months). He told me how proud he was of me for serving a mission and how he bragged to his friends about me. I never knew before how he’d felt about me and my mission. I had thought he didn’t care. But then I had hope for him—inspired by your story! I love that story. I posted it to my brother with my next letter.
A couple of weeks later he wrote me again and thanked me for the story and said it was great. Then he told me how he’d gone to church and seen the bishop and was trying to get his life straightened out. The next letter told me of his plans for a mission later this year. Since then he’s never missed church. Last May he was ordained an elder.
Of course I’m very happy. I know that my fasting and prayers have been answered. Your story has a place in my journal along with my brother’s letters. I wanted to share this with you because I thought you might enjoy a real-life story with a happy ending. Brother Henrie’s story was certainly inspired!
Name Withheld

An experience that I had on my mission shows how Heavenly Father watches over us. My companion and I had just taught and baptized a family in Leeds, England. Then we were transferred to Bradford, about a half-hour bus trip away. One day, my companion and I were getting ready to visit some missionaries in our district, but it seemed like we just could not get out the door. Each time we left, we realized that we had forgotten something.

After returning three times, we thought, Maybe there’s some reason we should stay here. We sat down, and within a few minutes, the phone rang. It was the mother of the family we had baptized in Leeds. She was very ill, and she needed us to come give her a blessing. We immediately left for the bus stop, where the bus was just about to leave. When we changed buses, we again caught our bus very quickly. When we arrived, the woman was so sick that she was shivering badly, and we couldn’t even understand her words. My companion and I gave her a blessing, and as I said the words, we both felt so much strength leave us that we had to sit down for almost ten minutes. During that time, she was able to stand, go to her kitchen, and prepare something for the three of us to drink. When we left half an hour later, she was completely healed and waved to us at the door. Not all priesthood blessings are answered so quickly and happily, but we were overjoyed for it to happen to this good sister.

John Taylor had great understanding and love of people. Once, while he was serving as President of the Quorum of the Twelve, two old and faithful brethren approached him about a bitter quarrel between them. They had resolved to abide by whatever decision President Taylor might render. So they called on him and asked if he would listen to their story.

He said, “Brethren, before I hear your case, I would like very much to sing one of the songs of Zion for you.” A very talented and moving singer, President Taylor then sang a hymn to the men. When he finished, he said that whenever he heard one of the hymns of Zion, he wanted to listen to one more. So the two brethren consented to hearing a second hymn. After the second one, President Taylor quipped that he had heard there was luck in odd numbers, so with their consent he sang still another hymn. Afterwards, he said with a smile, “Now brethren, I do not want to wear you out, but if you will forgive me, and listen to one more hymn, I promise to stop singing, and will hear your case.” By the time he had finished his fourth hymn, the two brethren were in tears; they stood, shook hands, and asked President Taylor to excuse them for taking his time. They left without even telling him what they had quarreled about. His singing had reconciled their feelings toward one another. (See Improvement Era, September 1940, page 522.)

When it was time for my little sister, Hannah, to get her cast removed, Mom and I took her to the emergency room at the hospital. They were very busy, and so we had to wait in the hall. A little girl came in, screaming in pain and bleeding. They led us to another section of the hospital where we had to wait a long time. They moved that girl to the room next to us. I felt very bad for her as she cried. I knew how she felt because I had to get stitches once, too. I also knew that Jesus knew how she felt. That day my mom had taken me to a store so that I could buy a stuffed fabric toy with money I had earned. I thought that if I gave it to the little girl, maybe it would help make her happier, and I thought that’s what Jesus would do. So I said, “Mom, would it be OK if I gave my new toy to that girl?”
My mom said, “Of course!” We walked into the room where the little girl and her mom were. When I gave her the toy, her face lit up, and she changed from being sad and crying to having a huge smile. They both thanked me. I felt happy inside, knowing that I had chosen the right. I was trying to be like Jesus.

I was born in Brazil with rickets—a disease characterized by distorted bones. At 19 I weighed 50 kilos (111 lbs) and was 1.64 meters tall. As a result, I was not accepted into the military, so I began looking for ways to improve my physical condition. I began a series of exercises and ate a balanced diet.
During this time, I met the missionaries. I became acquainted with the Church and learned about the commandments, including the Word of Wisdom. It was just what I needed. It gave me guidelines of foods to eat and a list of impure items to avoid, namely tobacco and strong drinks. By reading the Doctrine and Covenants, I learned about the need for rest and sleep (see D&C 88:124).
I gained strength and weighed 78 kilos (172 lbs). I became a champion weight lifter. I also did judo and swam. Today at age 73 I am a marathon runner and have finished 30 marathons. In 2005 and 2006, I was second in my age class in Brazil. I have excellent health, and I am very happy.
I am grateful to our Heavenly Father for giving us laws that, if obeyed, will bring us blessings of health.
Antonio Olívio de Oliveira, São Paulo, Brazil

In October 1980 I was riding my bicycle when I suddenly realized my foot brake was not working. I panicked, not knowing when or how I would be able to stop. When my wild ride ended and I finally coasted safely to a stop, I ended up next to Rodico Flores, a good friend and high school classmate. I explained what had happened, and then we chatted for a little while. During our conversation, he asked if I had time to come to his church. Since I knew he was a good person and I admired the other Latter-day Saints I knew, I decided to go the next Sunday.
On Sunday I noticed that the building his church met in was clean and beautiful. I felt something different there. I was met by a person who shook my hand and even put his arm around me, telling me he was happy to see me. I felt good, even though I was a bit shy and nervous. This brother took me to a class for investigators.
After the lesson two young women introduced themselves as full-time missionaries. They asked if they could visit me at my home. I quickly told them I was busy and started giving them excuses. But they still asked me to tell them when I was available, and I responded that I was available early Monday morning. I said they could come but only if they wanted to come at 4:00 A.M.
To my surprise, they looked at each other and said, “Brother Solomon, we will be there.” Then I insisted that it was hard to reach my family’s house, that it was located in the middle of a fishpond, that we had a lot of dogs. I told them they would have a hard time getting there. But they said again, “Brother Solomon, we will be there.” After I left, I forgot all about our appointment because I didn’t believe they would be coming.
Early Monday morning I was surprised to hear the dogs barking and a voice calling, “Brother Solomon! Brother Solomon!” I looked out the window, and I started to feel differently about the missionaries. I felt a confirmation that they were true servants of God. I invited them in and listened to their message. After a while I told them to come every day with a lesson, which they did. They taught me until I was prepared for baptism.
Just after my baptism on 31 October 1980, a friend invited me to a ward party. I said to myself, This Church is nice; they even throw a party for me. I later realized I wasn’t really the guest of honor. But at the party my friend introduced me to a young woman and told her to take good care of me. Annie Ortiz was indeed a good fellowshipper. At this time, she is still taking good care of me. We were married in 1985 and sealed in the Manila Philippines Temple.
Since my baptism, I have grown in the gospel as I have been given opportunities to serve. In 1983 I was called to serve full time in the Philippines Davao Mission, and four months after my marriage I was called as a bishop. I also served as a stake president and in a mission presidency. My wife and I are happily married and have two children, Ezra and Brigham, and we are looking forward to a lifetime of service.
I am grateful for the happiness I have found in the Church, for the dedicated missionaries who persevered, and for the broken bicycle brake that actually helped send me on my way.

“A lot of people wonder why I changed religions,” Kiruba says. “They say Hinduism is very nice, so why change?”
For Kiruba there is no question why she changed. The gospel has changed her life, and the lives of her family members, for the better.
“I had a special dream and knew we should join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” says Kiruba. “I told my granny about it, and she took my brother, sister, and me to church. We were baptized shortly after.”
Four months later, her parents were baptized, and the family has experienced the sweetness of the Spirit in their lives. It is a sweetness they are all willing to share with anyone who will listen.

Our family loved the trips we took to the mountains when our children were young. Standing on the edge of beautiful Jackson Lake, with the majestic mountain peaks reflected in its glassy surface, we would have contests skipping rocks across the smooth water. As the rocks sank, we watched while ripples moved out across the water as far as we could see. Even the smallest pebble tossed by our youngest child rippled on and on and on.