Gospel Story Finder

Children are so capable of learning the significant things of the kingdom. As we listen to them we can better understand how they are applying what they are learning about the gospel. A father explained to his four-year-old daughter that the family had spent most of the day cleaning the house and every room was clean except one.

“Do you know which room is not clean?” he asked her.

“Mine,” she quickly replied.

“Do you know anyone who could help clean your room?” he asked, expecting her to answer that she could.

Instead she replied, “Well, Daddy, I know that any time you are scared, worried, or need help, you can get down on your knees and ask Heavenly Father to help.”

It is interesting to note that as we listen to our children, they can also teach us.

Stephanie Cole and Tiana Karren have been close friends since they were two years old. Even going to different schools hasn’t gotten in the way of their friendship. This year, the two Laurels from the Saratoga Ward, in the California Saratoga Stake, decided to turn that friendship into good works with a joint Personal Progress project.
One day last fall, Stephanie was talking about how much her younger cousins like to sing and how they wanted to be in a choir. Stephanie, who loves music and has played piano since kindergarten, suggested she might organize a children’s choir. When her mom casually mentioned the conversation to the ward Primary chorister, the chorister jumped at the opportunity and signed Stephanie on in short order.
The children’s choir seemed like the perfect Value Project—until Stephanie counted the children in the Primary. “I knew right away that this was a bigger task than I could handle on my own,” says Stephanie.
Knowing that her friend Tiana loved music, she enlisted her help. “Sometimes it was really challenging to get the children to even listen and pay attention,” says Tiana.
When the day finally arrived for the program, Stephanie accompanied the children on piano, and Tiana directed. The children sang beautifully!
“Our teamwork really paid off,” says Stephanie. “So many people came up after and told us how much they enjoyed the program.”
After 12 hours of work, the Primary program was done. The girls continued to hold practices with the children’s choir to finish the project’s needed hours—and for fun! But they didn’t stop there.
“Ashley, my younger sister, was always trying to talk me into coaching her basketball team,” says Stephanie. “I’ve been playing on a basketball team since fourth grade, and I love the game so I figured, why not?” Once again Tiana responded to Stephanie’s call for help. At first, it looked like another good opportunity for a Personal Progress project. In the end it became a labor of love in which they ended up working beyond their required hours.
“Not only did we get to be involved in something we both love,” says Tiana, “but it was even more fun when we found out that all but three of the girls on the team are members of our ward and the other girls are all their friends.”
Needless to say, coaching the young team has not been without challenges. For starters, Tiana and Stephanie had to make time in their busy schedules for three full months of weekly practices and Saturday games, not to mention time spent making phone calls to keep parents updated.
Tiana laughs when asked about the other challenges they faced, noting that “the players are the best of friends, and sometimes they love talking even more than they love basketball!”
Stephanie says the hardest part of coaching was teaching basketball skills that are second nature to her and Tiana but are new to the team and especially the younger girls who have never played before.
Tiana added that coaching this team has made her think about what it means to be a good example. “We had to be careful to treat each player fairly and impartially even though we both have younger sisters on the team,” she says.
Tiana and Stephanie taught the girls to work together as a unit, just as they had to learn to work together as coaches. On this team, no girl is a stranger, and no girl is left out.
When asked about her coaches, 11-year-old Leah Williams says, “I totally look up to them. Not only are they really good basketball players and my coaches, but they are also my best friends. I know that when they tell me what to do I can trust them.” She added that someday she would like to coach a team herself.
Eleven-year-old Abby Hulme, who had never played on a basketball team before, said she was more comfortable with Stephanie and Tiana than she would have been with a coach she didn’t know.
Linda Williams, the Saratoga Ward Young Women president (and Leah’s mom), commented that she was impressed that Stephanie and Tiana are so willing to share their talents and what they love with others.
A Primary choir. A girls’ basketball team. Who knows what’s next for these two Laurels? One thing is sure, though—they know that when they are in the service of others, they are in the service of their Heavenly Father. Understanding that principle helped them to see that Personal Progress doesn’t have to be an unwelcome chore or extra work.
“Find a way to do the things you are interested in anyway,” suggests Stephanie.
Of course, not all Personal Progress projects are meant to be done as a team. But as Tiana says, “Doing it with a friend makes it more fun.”

If you’ve ever been through the checkout line at a grocery story, you can relate to Chelsea Goodrich. Chelsea, from the Mountain Home Idaho Stake, was tired of the sexually explicit words and images on the magazines lining the checkout areas in stores.
“My little brother would say, ‘What does that mean?’ and I felt uncomfortable trying to explain.” Chelsea says the children who go through the checkout lines are exposed to inappropriate images and words, along with many adults who would prefer not to see that kind of material.
So she decided she could do something to help her community. Writing to the American Family Institute, Chelsea requested a kit that helped her learn how she could get something to put on the racks to block the magazine covers. She worked hard and got many people to sign petitions, which she then took to store managers to help her state her case.
She expected the managers to be hard to convince, but they were all agreeable to her idea and ordered covers to place over the magazine racks. Chelsea’s Laurel project was a success, and she feels like she really did some good in her community.

And now another example. [Some of the actual names and places have been changed.] In March of 1978, a letter was received by the Wilson family, who live in Idaho. It began, “Dear Brother and Sister Wilson, Just a short note to see how things are going with you and let you know how things are with me.”
This letter was written by the Wilsons’ Lamanite foster daughter, Celia Red Horse, whom they had not heard from for several years.
The seeds of their relationship had been planted in 1965 in a talk delivered by Elder Spencer W. Kimball, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve. Brother Wilson, who was a bishop at the time of Elder Kimball’s address, was impressed with the words of a scripture from the Book of Mormon: “I will soften the hearts of the Gentiles that they shall be like unto a father to them” (2 Ne. 10:18). As the meeting continued, Bishop Wilson was further touched in his heart and determined within himself to help with the Indian student placement program. In the fall of 1967, a wonderful new experience came into the lives of the Wilson family when sixteen-year-old Celia Red Horse came to live with them for the school year.
To quote the Wilsons: “We enjoyed Celia and had some special times with her. She was a good student and very obedient. When she went home to the reservation, we communicated with her for some time, but gradually, as the years passed, there was less communication.”
After Celia left, the Wilsons had several other young Lamanites in their home over the years, all of whom they came to love, appreciate, and have a special relationship with. By 1978, when Celia’s letter arrived, eleven years had passed. The Wilson family had grown to include ten children of their own, and they had not participated in the placement program for two years. May I continue to read from Celia’s letter:
“Right now, I am working as a secretary. I am saving a lot of my pay so that I can buy clothes for my daughter before she can go on placement.
“I guess I haven’t seen you or your family for about ten years. I know everyone has changed quite a bit. I imagine the kids are all grown up and gone. …
“I have one little girl. Her name is Margaret. She is seven and will be going on placement this fall. She wants to go. I have told her all about the program. She has never been away from home in all her seven years.
“Do you remember my brother David? Well, he has already been on his mission, and now he is at BYU. He is coming back this summer to baptize Margaret. He came home in December for the Christmas vacation. Then, while he was back for Christmas, he blessed my brother’s little girl. Before that, he baptized two others in our family.
“How old are Joy, Curt, Rhonda, Gary, and Jenny? I remember them all—Joy and her allergy, Curt and his accordion, Rhonda and her ballet lessons, and how Gary used to swim like a little frog in the swimming pool. I can still remember Jenny and her red hair. All of these kids are probably teenagers or older. How are they all doing?”
Celia goes on to mention that the problems of modern youth having to do with alcohol and drugs have infiltrated the reservation as seriously as they have the inner city. She indicates deep gratitude for the Church and its teachings, which have such a profound effect in keeping young people from some of the mistakes of their peers. She also indicates that through the teachings of the Church her family is closer and more secure. She tells us that most of her little brothers and sisters are going to be involved in the placement program this year, and then she goes on to ask:
“Are you still participating in the placement program?
“Please write and tell me all the news. …
“I think I better close here. Take care, and may the Lord bless you in all your righteous endeavors. Love. …”
As Brother and Sister Wilson read this lovely letter from Celia, Brother Wilson vaguely remembered a portion of the address he had heard Elder Kimball deliver twelve years earlier. “Elder Kimball had said that success would not be felt in the first generation, but real success would come in the second, third, or fourth,” Brother Wilson recalled. “When this statement came back to me, I felt that we should invite Celia’s daughter to come into our home, for this would be the second generation of the same family in the same home.”
An inquiry was made through the Indian placement program as to whether it would be possible for Margaret to live with the Wilsons. When Celia found out this was possible, “she immediately called us and with tears said how pleased she would be to have Margaret come to the home where she had once lived,” Brother Wilson said.
Margaret spent the 1978–79 school year with the Wilson family and, like her mother before her, brought as much to the Wilson family as she received from them.
“She is very generous with others,” Sister Wilson said. “If someone comments on something that she has and says, ‘I like that,’ then Margaret will give it to him. Each of our children receives an allowance, and since Margaret is considered one of the children she also gets an allowance.
“Last Christmas we talked about doing something as a family to help somebody else. Margaret had saved up quite a bit of her allowance, which she gave to the family project.
“She helps out with household chores just like any other member of the family. She and Angela, who is also eight, share kitchen duties one night a week. They also have other responsibilities in the home.”
Brother Wilson recalled that when Margaret first came into their home, she was very quiet and did not express herself very well. Her mother, Celia, had asked the Wilsons to help Margaret learn how to pray and express her feelings.
Now “she asks if she can ask the blessing on the food or if she can offer prayers,” Brother Wilson reports. “And when she prays, the rest of us really listen because she has some very good thoughts.”
As the end of the school year approached, the Wilsons made arrangements for Celia to visit with them in Idaho, and a special reunion time was held with her at that time as she came back to her foster home and stayed with her daughter and her foster family. She took Margaret home with her and, in discussion with the Wilson family, decided that Margaret should remain home with her family this year and attend school on the reservation.

In 1993, I began five years in the Nigerian Army, where I served as a peacekeeper in Liberia and Sierra Leone. I had enlisted after finishing school at age 16. I had many experiences at such a young age, but one I will always remember—it serves as a defining incident in my life—happened while I was in Liberia.
My commanding officer, a captain, learned I was a Mormon. He asked me, “Trooper Arungwa, are you a Mormon?”
“Yes, sir,” was my reply. “I am a Mormon.”
My punishment was to run five times around the camp, which was a total of about 25 kilometers. As I finished on that hot, tropical day and reported to him, he told me in stern language that I had received the punishment because I was a Mormon.
He explained his understanding that members of the Church worshiped Mormon as their God. I replied just as sternly, “No, sir!”
“Good night, trooper,” he barked back at me. “I will see you tomorrow.”
This conversation was very upsetting to me because I did not know what tomorrow would bring.
Eventually I was invited to his home and had the privilege of discussing the Church and my testimony. We discussed Adam’s transgression, the Apostasy, and the need for a restoration. At this young age, I discussed with him the coming of the Savior. I was thrilled as we talked about who Mormon was—an abridger, a prophet, and one of the writers of an ancient record.
I presented the commander a copy of the Book of Mormon. He was amazed that I was not afraid to share these things with him. He said I was the only one in the Nigerian Army he had seen preaching of Jesus Christ. He asked me if it was because I was a Mormon. I answered yes.
A year later this same commander, then a major, was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I experienced the deep joy of helping someone gain a testimony. I felt the happiness of bringing “save it be one soul” (D&C 18:15) into the fold.
This event was a great inspiration to me, and after my military service was complete, I obeyed the call of our prophet to serve a full-time mission. I answered that call in April 1998 and served with much enthusiasm in the Nigeria Enugu Mission.

Soon after moving to Frankfurt, I was called as a presidency member of our area’s center for young adults. The calling involved coordinating institute classes, family home evenings, and other activities. It required a lot of work, but it was worth it because the center is a great blessing to young adults in the area.
Because of this calling, I learned about and joined a young single adult choir. The choir went on a concert tour to Poland and the Czech Republic. It was a great experience, and I loved having the opportunity to share my testimony through music. I was even happier when I received an e-mail several weeks later telling me that someone had joined the Church as a result of one of our concerts.

When I was a junior in high school, I struggled with my testimony of the Church. I loved school, my social life, and athletics. I was a “three-sporter”—football, wrestling, and baseball were my sports of choice. I loved competition and the social appreciation that came with a job well done.
Unfortunately, this love of social appreciation influenced me to get involved in other activities that were not as productive—activities that I knew were clearly not acceptable in my home or in the Church. But I felt like a popular kid at school, and if participating in certain activities provided this attention, then I wanted to be involved, regardless of the consequences.
One young woman in my high school could be described as my polar opposite. Her life was filled with the scriptures, seminary, prayer, and active attendance at church and Mutual. She was also captain of the drill team.
She and I were in the same ward, but I rarely saw her because I didn’t actively participate in the ward. We really didn’t speak much. She knew who I was and I knew who she was, but we just didn’t have a lot to talk about. Although I never told anyone, I had a great appreciation for her commitment to the gospel. In a way, I wanted it, but I wasn’t willing to go get it and give up what I needed to give up.
One day we were about to pass each other in the hall. I didn’t want to talk with her, so I tried not to make eye contact. Then she said, “Hi, Mike. Can I talk with you for a minute?” I didn’t know what she was doing. She continued, “Mike, I’ve had an impression that I need to share with you. I know that if you were to just give up some of the bad things you’re doing, then you could be such an incredible influence for good. I just felt like I needed to tell you that. See ya.”
She continued to walk down the hall in her direction and I in mine. But I was not the same. Her courage had planted a seed, and I started to reflect on my life and the truth of what she said. And then I started to change.
At the end of my senior year, someone presented me with the question “What’s so bad about being good?” My answer is nothing! Everything I have in life that is good can be attributed to my doing something good. I have never received something good from doing something bad. I am grateful for this young woman and her willingness to stand up and testify of truth.
I am now happily married in the temple and have six beautiful children. My wife and I are trying to teach our children what this young woman taught me: that being good is great and that it allows us to have a positive impact on so many around us.

What’s going on?
Shhh! Let’s go talk in my room.
Don’t you think Mom and Dad have been acting weird lately?
Yeah. Sometimes when I come into the room they stop talking.
Last night when I got up for a drink of water—I mean, it was really late— they were in the kitchen whispering and looking at some papers.
I tried to find out what’s going on. The other day I asked Mom if she’s mad at me. Or if somebody’s sick or something.
What did she say?
She said nobody’s sick, I’m not in trouble, and nothing’s wrong. Of course I didn’t ask if you are in trouble …
You’re so funny.
C’mon, didn’t she tell you anything?
She said there’s nothing to worry about. They just aren’t ready to talk about it yet. I still don’t know what’s going on, but I kinda feel like everything’s OK.
Why?
Well, for one thing, I believe Mom. Plus, I’ve been praying about it, and … I dunno … I just feel more peaceful.
Kids, could you two come in the kitchen for a minute?
We know you’ve been wondering what’s going on. Well, now we can finally tell you the exciting news.
(To be continued next month.)

As an introduction to my topic, allow me to share an important childhood memory. I was sitting on a bench with other children waiting for Primary to start. (I must have been about four or five years of age.) Admiring the brand-new shoes I was wearing for the first time that day, I was not bashful about sharing my pleasure with the other children. Helene Jones (I still remember her name) could take only so much bragging. She finally responded, “We don’t like new shoes. We like our old shoes.” What a shock that was for me. How could anyone not like new shoes? Then it occurred to me that my new shoes looked different through Helene’s eyes than they did through mine—a lesson in empathy. I was forced to borrow Helene’s lenses and ask myself how I would feel if she were bragging about her new shoes to me.

Everything was starting to work out perfectly. I had graduated from Oxford University with a degree in music and had started working for a professional orchestra in Edinburgh, Scotland. My career was progressing, and I was making lots of friends.
While studying, I had decided to delay full-time missionary service. Now the idea of serving was far from my mind. Fear of many things, especially the fear of stifling my career plans, made me think that I was an exception and that I didn’t need to serve. The sacrifices involved seemed too great.
Good friends and sweet experiences with the Spirit, however, began to change my heart. The love of a caring, watchful bishop helped me gain a stronger, deeper testimony of the restored gospel. Soon I knew that I needed to accept a call to serve. I had no idea how I would pick up my career in a competitive environment after a two-year break, but I trusted that the Lord would bless me for my decision. I left my job not knowing how things would work out.
I was called to serve in the West Indies Mission, speaking French. The challenges were hard, but I loved serving the people and seeing their lives change. During those two years I focused solely on seeking the will of my Father in Heaven. Serving others selflessly brought me more joy than I had ever experienced.
After returning home, I saw the world from the perspective of new priorities and values, and I sought to keep my life centered on the gospel of Jesus Christ. I immediately sought employment, but opportunities were few. After a string of unsuccessful job interviews, I realized that my two years in an unrelated field of work had scared off many potential employers. Would my mission really cost me my career?
I’m thankful that the answer was no. Almost three months later I spotted a vacancy that was perfect for me. I had just the right set of skills for the type of work involved. Not only that, but job candidates were required to speak fluent French! My mission opened the door for this opportunity. Three interviews later I was offered the job. My career was even further ahead than it would have been had I not served. I felt the Lord’s mercy and love. I know that He prepares blessings for us when we do our part.

Although Adam likes to have fun, he can be very responsible. Once when Adam, Mandy, and their one-year-old brother, Thomas, were staying with their grandmother, she got very sick and had to lie down on the couch. Adam brought her a glass of water, as he’d seen his mother do. Then he knelt down beside the couch and said a prayer, asking Heavenly Father for help.
When he was finished, he knew just what to do. He brought his grandmother a pillow so that she would be comfortable and gave Thomas and Mandy some toys so that they wouldn’t cry. Then he called his mother, who was working at a nearby hospital. “Grandma doesn’t feel well,” he said. “Could you please come and help?”
Adam tried to keep his brother and sister occupied until his mother came to help. Then he said another prayer of thanks to Heavenly Father.
His grandmother felt much better by the time his mother arrived, but Adam wasn’t surprised. “I knew that Heavenly Father would hear and answer my prayer,” he said.

Our last inspiring story is about Jane Addams, an American social reformer, activist, and leader in the settlement house movement.[18] In 1889, she founded Hull House in Chicago, which became one of the most famous and successful settlement houses in the United States. Hull House provided a range of services to immigrants and working-class families, including childcare, education, healthcare, and social support.

Addams was a visionary leader who saw the potential for settlement houses to be transformative spaces for social change. She believed that communities could work together to solve their own problems, and that the settlement house movement could be a vehicle for bringing about social justice and equality.

Under Addams’s leadership, Hull House became a vibrant center of social and political activity—hosting lectures, concerts, and debates on topics ranging from women’s suffrage to labor rights. She worked tirelessly to improve the lives of the people in her community, fighting for better housing, education, and healthcare.

Addams’ leadership and advocacy inspired a generation of social reformers, and her legacy continues to inspire people around the world. She was a trailblazer for women in leadership, and her dedication to social justice and community empowerment serves as a model for all those who seek to make a positive impact in their communities.

A few years ago, I was invited to the Beehive House to meet with a group of girls who had been shepherded there into a club during the war years in an effort to keep them from falling into evil ways while they were away from their homes—they came from country towns for the most part. After I had fulfilled my assignment and was about to leave, a young girl drew me aside and asked if she could speak to me a moment. She opened her purse and took out of it a picture of a handsome young soldier in uniform, and underneath it said something about love and was signed. Then she took out from behind the picture a folded piece of paper, and as she was doing this, the tears were swimming in her eyes, and I asked, “Well, what does this all mean?” She replied, “Brother Lee, I met this young man out here in one of the nearby camps. He was a fine young man, clean, good habits, and he always treated me with respect, gentlemanly. I felt perfectly safe when I was out on a date with him; all but for one thing. He was not a member of the Church. Finally he proposed marriage and I said, ‘Well I love you, Jack, but we have to think about something else. Marriage to us is more than just something for this life. If it is the genuine kind of love, it should last always and should make us husband and wife forever.’

“Well, at first he argued with me; then he became angry; and then he was out of patience. Finally the time came when he received his overseas orders to go into a combat area, and at this time he pressed the matter of our engagement, and so I said to him plainly, ‘No, I can’t marry anyone until I can be married in the House of the Lord.’ And he had replied in anger, ‘All right, if you think more of your Church and your religion than you do of me, why you can have them but you can’t have me.’”
I guess she cried herself to sleep or cried all night without sleep; I don’t know which. Two or three weeks passed before he arrived at his destination down in Australia, which was to be the staging area for the war raging in the Pacific Islands. On the way over he had time to think about all she had said to him, this sweet, lovely girl who to him represented the ideal of his life. She was everything that he could ask for in a sweetheart, a wife, the mother of his children. Then he started thinking, “I wonder if I have been too harsh. Maybe it’s the religion she believes in that has made her the kind of girl she is.”

Prompted by that thought, when he arrived in Australia, he located our Latter-day Saint boys and our Latter-day Saint chaplain who was over there. He began to attend meetings, and he began to ask questions, and finally, on her birthday, he was baptized, and he sent her his picture with his baptismal certificate as a birthday present. With it was a letter in which he said, “I am going to try hard to live as a Latter-day Saint should so that when I get back home I will be worthy to be ordained an elder so I can take you to the House of the Lord where at last you and I can have that eternal marriage you have planned for so long.”

As I was trying to come to terms with everything, I knew the bishop was being prompted to talk to me about my mission papers. I just knew. I had never mentioned it to anyone, but I knew he was also getting the vibes. But I still needed time to adjust and come to terms with everything, so I started dodging him.
If I saw him in the corridor at Church, I’d dive into a classroom and hide until he passed. I’d watch him and stay out of his vicinity—terrible, but I thought this would gain me more time. But one Sunday I was walking up the corridor only to find the bishop walking towards me. No one else was there. I couldn’t hide or dive away. I was nabbed, pure and simple.
The bishop simply said, “Can you come with me for a minute? I’ve got to give you something”. I was hoping the something was to do with my Primary or activities committee callings, but he walked into the clerk’s office, opened the filing cabinet, and handed me my mission papers. He said, “You need to fill these in, and send them.” I said, “I knew you knew!” When I told him that I had been deliberately dodging and hiding from him, he laughed and said he wondered why he could never find me.

Let me explain a hard lesson I learned during the third year of our mission. Very unexpectedly, Heber was rushed to the local hospital in Richmond, British Columbia with what the doctors diagnosed as a life-threatening condition. A virus was attacking the valves of his heart. As he was wheeled into a hospital room on a gurney, I followed close behind praying every step of the way. There in the room was a very sick man sitting on the edge of the other bed. He looked emaciated. His eyes appeared to be crossed, his mouth was drooping, and his gown was off his shoulder revealing dark tattoos down both arms. I immediately turned my back. I didn’t like the feeling I had. He looked to me like a man who had made a lot of wrong choices. My thoughts told me I didn’t want to be in that room with him.
As soon as Heber was settled with medication that relieved the pain and put him to sleep, I took a seat in a folding chair and began pouring out my heart pleading with the Lord for my husband’s complete recovery. In my anguish I thought I heard the words, “You reach out to others and I’ll take care of you.” I immediately reflected on our total commitment to the missionaries, the members, the nonmembers, the investigators, and asked myself, “what more can I do?” Again the whisperings of the spirit, “you reach out to others and I’ll take care of you.”
I found myself turning to look again at the old man with the tattoos. Could he possibly be one of the “others” I wondered? I was prompted to get him a drink in a little paper cup. He thanked me and seemed appreciative. Later I took him a second drink. This time I had the Book of Mormon in my hand. He asked me about the book. When I told him it was the Book of Mormon he stumbled over his words admitting that he used to be a Mormon and asked if he could borrow it when I was through. When I handed the book to the patient he reached for it like a hungry man would reach for food, maybe remembering that it contained the bread of life.
I went back to my chair and found myself praying for the old man. When the night nurse came in he said to her in his muffled voice, “get the big chair at the end of the hall.” The nurse explained, “Oh Mr. Kapp is much too sick. He will not be getting up tonight.” The man insisted. “Get the big chair.” The nurse wheeled in the big chair and he said pointing to me, “it’s for her.” Can you believe that in his hour of struggle he was thinking of my comfort? I went once more to get him a drink of water, the only thing I could think to do in appreciation for his kindness. This time when I returned to the big chair he had arranged for my comfort, things were different. Not with the brother in the bed close by, but within me. He looked different than before. His eyes looked very tired but not crossed, and his speech was slow, but not slurred. And in an amazing way I realized that the tattoos, which had been so offensive to me, were not the ones on his arms but the ones in my heart.
During the long night I continued praying for Heber and also my new friend. In the process, I experienced a healing. Not physical, but spiritual. In the morning the curtain that had been drawn around the patient’s bed was opened and the bed was empty. He had passed away during the night. I realized in soberness that one of his last acts was for my comfort. Into my mind came the words of Elder Maxwell, “Empathy at a time of agony is part of divinity.” I realized then that this brother’s concern for me, was more Christ like than my first judgment of him. I asked myself, “why did I just loan him the book, why didn’t I offer to read to him?” But that opportunity was gone. I felt a love for this man, my brother, who had concern for my comfort when he was in need himself.
I related this experience to a group of sisters in the northern part of the province. When the closing prayer was given by someone who had been labeled, “less active,” she closed in a tone of deep emotion with these words, “Oh God, help us to love one another and look past each other’s tattoos.”

As Ulisses matured, he learned that if he would do more than what was expected or asked, the Lord would generously bless him. One such lesson came as he prepared for a mission. During interviews with Ulisses, his bishop emphasized the importance of obeying the commandments and living worthily. He also stressed financial preparation.

Today all missionaries from Brazil contribute to their mission costs, with many families contributing all the costs. As Ulisses approached mission age, he determined that he would earn all the money needed for his mission. Taking advantage of the strong work ethic he had learned working in his father’s small business and armed with the ability to type fast, Ulisses found a day job helping a company prepare its payroll.

After passing a difficult entry exam, he began studying accounting at a technical high school in the evening. Each month, after paying tithing, he would save money for his mission. After a year, he was transferred to his company’s accounting department.

“That’s how I saved money to pay for my mission,” Elder Soares says. “And each month during the three years before I left, I would buy something I needed—a shirt, a pair of pants, a pair of socks, a tie, a suitcase.” He also needed, and received, strong love and support from his parents and local leaders.

May I share with you a thank-you that means very much to me. My quorum leader, an esteemed and respected associate, President Howard W. Hunter, has had great difficulty over the past number of years with his mobility. First he was confined to a bed, then a wheelchair, then a walker, and is presently able to stand and walk alone today. He has been a great example of patience, determination, and faith. Over these past few years as Elder Boyd K. Packer and I have sat closest to him in meetings and quorum duties, we help him to his feet after the meetings. Never, and I emphasize the word never, have we not heard him say “thank you” when lifted or assisted in his coming and going. I appreciate this lesson. I appreciate his strength.

Tyler’s entry into the world of power soccer, which is a sport for people who use powered wheelchairs, is also a story of family service. There was no nearby team for Tyler to play on until an Eagle Scout project by his oldest brother, Matt, 20, made it a reality for him a couple of years ago. Matt organized their town’s power soccer team, which participates in a league with teams from other cities. Their father coached the team, and Matt was an assistant coach until he left on his full-time mission. Now Tyler and other power wheelchair users in their area can participate in an activity that helps them develop skills and character—all because one young man found a way to do something for his brother.

I grew up in a quiet town in Idaho, USA. My family is Catholic, but we always felt very welcomed by the large Latter-day Saint community. We were often invited to what I now know to be “ward” activities, and I would get invited to attend Primary. I don’t remember going to Primary that often, but when I became Young Women age, I participated in lessons and was asked to play on the volleyball and softball teams.
One very special activity I went to was Young Women in Excellence night. Leigh Anne, my best friend since second grade, had invited me. I wasn’t familiar with what happened at these activities, and she’d told me just to come in a dress and to listen with my heart. She walked me through the displays of handmade crafts, desserts, inspirational thoughts, and more crafts.
Then a movie was shown of a boy with his mother, who spoke to him about eternal families. As she spoke to him, I recognized a warmth and swelling in my heart that I’d never felt before, and it made me want to cry. I wasn’t sure what it was.
I looked at Leigh Anne, and she was looking at me. She knew what I was feeling. She didn’t say a word. She just looked at me with tears in her eyes, nodding that she understood and wanted me to keep listening.
I remember the feeling I had as the Holy Ghost testified of the truthfulness of eternal families. I learned to recognize the witness of the Holy Ghost because my friend was someone I could trust and because she followed the prompting to allow me to learn. I’m so grateful for this first step in my conversion process.

Richelle James from Littleton, Colorado, discovered that expressing the righteous desires of her heart through prayer brought great results.

“After I went to the fireside, I decided that I wanted to work on being more prayerful. When I was in high school sports, I was involved in diving. I started to really stress out because my grades were going down, and I would seldom see my parents because I was so busy with diving. So I prayed that I could have the Spirit with me through the diving season and that I would have time to do homework, etc. Within that week I really started to change. I became happier, less stressed, and my grades went up. I also started to do really well in diving.”