Gospel Story Finder

I am so grateful that when the Lord established this Church, He gave us the law of tithing. I talked at one time with an officer of another church which, I understand, relies on the playing of bingo for a substantial part of its income. I said to this man, “Have you ever considered tithing to finance your church?” He replied, “Yes, and oh, how I wish that we might follow this practice instead of playing bingo. But I do not expect this change in my lifetime.”

My father and mother were sheep farmers in New Zealand. They enjoyed their life. As a young married couple, they were blessed with three little girls. The youngest of these was named Ann. One day while they were on holiday together at a lake, 17-month-old Ann toddled off. After minutes of desperate searching, she was found lifeless in the water.
This nightmare caused unspeakable sorrow. Dad wrote years later that some of the laughter went out of their lives forever. It also caused a yearning for answers to life’s most important questions: What will become of our precious Ann? Will we ever see her again? How can our family ever be happy again?
Some years after this tragedy, two young missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints came to our farm. They began teaching the truths found in the Book of Mormon and the Bible. These truths include the assurance that Ann now lives in the spirit world. Because of the Resurrection of Jesus Christ, she too will be resurrected. They taught that the Church of Jesus Christ has once again been restored on earth with a living prophet and twelve Apostles. And they taught the unique and remarkable doctrine that families can be bound together forever by the same priesthood authority Jesus Christ gave His chief Apostle, Peter.
Mum instantly recognized truth and received a witness of the Spirit. Dad, however, wrestled for the next year between doubts and spiritual nudges. Also, he was reluctant to change his way of life. One morning following a sleepless night, while pacing the floor, he turned to Mum and said, “I will be baptized today or never.”
Mum told the missionaries what had happened, and they immediately recognized the flicker of faith in my father that would now be either lit or extinguished.
That very morning our family traveled to the nearest beach. Unaware of what was happening, we children had a picnic on the sand dunes while Elders Boyd Green and Gary Sheffield led my parents into the ocean and baptized them. In a further act of faith, Dad privately committed to the Lord that come what may, he would be true all his life to the promises he was making.
One year later a temple was dedicated in Hamilton, New Zealand. Shortly thereafter our family, with someone representing Ann, knelt around the altar in that sacred house of the Lord. There, by the authority of the priesthood, we were united as an eternal family in a simple and beautiful ordinance. This brought great peace and joy.
Many years later Dad told me that if not for Ann’s tragic death, he would never have been humble enough to accept the restored gospel. Yet the Spirit of the Lord instilled hope that what the missionaries taught was true. My parents’ faith continued to grow until they each burned with the fire of testimony that quietly and humbly guided their every decision in life.
I will always be thankful for my parents’ example to future generations. It is impossible to measure the number of lives forever changed because of their acts of faith in response to profound sorrow.
I invite all who feel sorrow, all who wrestle with doubt, all who wonder what happens after we die, to place your faith in Christ. I promise that if you desire to believe, then act in faith and follow the whisperings of the Spirit, you will find joy in this life and in the world to come.
How I look forward to the day I will meet my sister Ann. I look forward to a joyful reunion with my father, who died over 30 years ago. I testify of the joy to be found in living by faith, believing without seeing, but knowing by the power of the Holy Ghost that Jesus Christ lives. With all my heart and soul, I choose to follow Jesus Christ and His restored gospel. This blesses every aspect of my life. I know that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, our Savior and our Redeemer. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Today, I want to share a lesson I learned with our daughter over 10 years ago that might help you become the person the Lord wants you to become.
Maria Jesus was a big fan of the band One Direction. When she was 14 years old, she found out they were going to Chile and begged to go to the concert; she even made a list of commitments and a contract. For us as parents, it was an excellent opportunity to work with her on the things she needed to improve, like her grades and keeping her room clean and organized, for example. So, she made a list of the things she was committing to. Tickets were bought one year before the concert. (I need to mention that she kept all her commitments and did a fantastic job.)
The day of the concert finally came and after many hours in line to get into the stadium, she went in and enjoyed the two hours the concert lasted. You could see the joy in her face.
The following day, Maria Jesus cried all day long. Even though she had a wonderful time, she was sad and felt empty; what she had worked hard for was now over. In fact, we found out that many who had attended the concert went through the same.
Maria Jesus learned a couple of big lessons that year:
My dear friends, fill your life with spiritual things, the things that matter most and will bring eternal joy.

God expresses His love for us by providing the guidance we need to progress and reach our potential. Perhaps a simple story will illustrate this point. Recently, a young man purchased a used computer but could not get it to work properly. Soon he became discouraged. His temper grew short, and he threatened the inanimate object with painful destruction unless its performance improved. A wise father intervened and took his son to a local vendor, where they obtained an instruction manual. After all, who would know more about a complex computer than the person or company that created it? Who would know most about its capacity and potential? Who would better know the safeguards required to avoid damaging or ruining this fine instrument? Soon the boy enjoyed the full potential of his computer by working within the guidelines given in the instruction book provided by its creator.

Josh wiggled his fingers and toes in the warm sand. The salty breeze blew in his face and Josh licked his lips.
“I can taste the ocean!” he announced. He dug his plastic shovel into the sand. “Brooke, will you help me make a sandcastle?” Brooke didn’t look up. She quickly turned the page of her book, eagerly seeking the next words in the story.
Dad pushed the beach umbrella into the sand while Mom spread out their towels. She looked at Brooke and laughed gently. “Brooke, do you want to stop reading and look at the beautiful view? This is a perfect start to our vacation!”
Brooke slowly closed her book. She tried to focus on the bright blue sky and the palm trees waving in the breeze, but in her mind she was still in the dark pine forest with Princess Rosalie and Sir Nathanael. It was her favorite kind of story—knights on majestic horses, a beautiful princess, a priceless treasure guarded by terrible monsters. She tried to picture what the treasure would be: gold coins, sparkling jewelry, riches for the grandest kings and queens.
Brooke gazed at the glittering ocean. It stretched as far as she could see. “There could be buried treasure out there,” she said. “I’ve read about ships that got caught in storms and sank with all their treasure.”
Dad winked at her. “Maybe we’ll find some while we’re here. We can have a treasure hunt.”
“No thanks, Dad,” Brooke said. “I’m going to read some more.” She stretched out on her beach towel and opened her book again. Would Princess Rosalie find the secret door in time? Would Sir Nathanael find a way to defeat the monsters?
A while later, Josh came running up to Brooke carrying his plastic beach pail. “Look! Dad and I found treasure!” He reached into the pail and pulled out a delicate sand dollar. It was followed by a collection of smooth stones and shells.
She picked up a piece of a shell. “This isn’t treasure.”
“Why not?” Josh demanded.
“These are just rocks and shells. They’re not worth anything.”
Dad sat down on the sand. “A treasure doesn’t have to be worth a lot of money, Brooke,” he said. “It isn’t always a pile of gold coins like you’re always reading about.” He grinned and tugged playfully on her hair. “A treasure is something that means a lot to you. It’s something that you want to take care of and remember.” He picked a shiny pink shell out of Josh’s pail and handed it to Brooke. She looked at it doubtfully. “Just think about it,” Dad said.
The next morning Dad said they were going to visit Grandma Connors. As Brooke put her book in her bag Mom touched her shoulder. “You can take your book, but please don’t read it while we’re at Grandma’s.”
Brooke frowned. “But there’s nothing else to do at her house. It’s boring there,” she said. “Besides, I’m getting to the really good part! Sir Nathanael is about to fight the monsters!”
“Grandma Connors is lonely and she misses us a lot,” Mom said. “She’s looking forward to visiting with all of us.” She smiled. Brooke didn’t smile back.
When they pulled up to Grandma Connors’s house, she was waiting for them in her front yard. “Hello, dears!” she called and waved to them. She led them inside, talking and laughing. She cut everyone a piece of cake, and they all went outside to sit on the back porch. Josh sat next to Grandma and she kept patting his hand.
Grandma, Mom, and Dad began talking about uncles and friends and cousins whom Brooke didn’t know. She swung her legs restlessly in her chair. “Will Princess Rosalie find the treasure?” she wondered. Her fingers itched to feel the familiar weight of the book, but she didn’t want to disobey Mom.
Brooke went inside, hoping she could find something to do. She found a bookcase filled with large, brown books. She pulled one out. The cover was plain. There weren’t any pictures of princesses or gold or jewels on it. Brooke half-heartedly opened the cover. Inside she found pages of photographs, some of them faded or turning yellow with age. She studied the faces but didn’t see anyone she knew. But then she saw a little girl with a braid who looked like her. She carried the album to the back porch.
“Well, look what you found,” Grandma said, her eyes twinkling.
Brooke pointed to the picture. “Who’s this, Grandma? She looks like me.”
Grandma smiled. “That’s your mother when she was about your age,” she said. She turned a few pages and pointed to another picture. “That’s your grandfather and me at our first dance together.”
Brooke settled next to Grandma and pointed to a black-and-white photograph. “Who are those kids?” she asked.
“That’s me!” Grandma said. “Me and my brothers, Jacob and Steven. And that was our dog, Smarty.”
“Smarty?” Brooke laughed.
Grandma turned to more pictures and told stories about family members Brooke never knew. But seeing their faces as Grandma spoke helped their stories come alive.
Before Brooke knew it, it was time to leave. “Before you go, I want to show you one more,” Grandma said. She turned to a photograph in the very back of the album. It was black and white, and worn from being handled a lot. A young couple stood together. The woman had long, dark ringlets that rested on a high-collared, lacy white dress. The man wore a suit.
“That’s you and Grandpa when you were married,” Brooke said.
“Yes,” Grandma said. Her voice was softer. “Looking at this picture and seeing his smiling face helps me remember all the wonderful times we had together. I’ve treasured this picture since the day it was taken, and it means so much more to me now that your grandpa is gone.”
Brooke studied the picture for a moment. “When we get home, I’m going to send you a picture of my smiling face so you can be happy,” she said.
Grandma hugged Brooke tightly.
A few weeks later, Dad brought home some pictures they took on their vacation. Mom, Brooke, and Josh crowded around him to see.
“There we are at the beach!” Josh said.
“There’s that beautiful garden I saw,” Mom said.
“There’s me and Grandma!” Brooke said, pointing to the photo of their young and old faces close together.
Dad propped up the picture on the mantle. Then he smiled and winked at Brooke. “Do you think we found a treasure?”
“I just need one more piece of gold,” Brooke said. She ran to her room and quickly returned. Next to the photo she placed a shiny pink shell. “Now our treasure is perfect,” she said.

During this time, I found great comfort in the talk “Grateful in Any Circumstances” from Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. His teachings spoke peace to my broken heart, including these words:
“Some are facing the end of a cherished relationship, such as the death of a loved one or estrangement from a family member. Others feel they are facing the end of hope—the hope of being married or bearing children or overcoming an illness. Others may be facing the end of their faith, as confusing and conflicting voices in the world tempt them to question, even abandon, what they once knew to be true.
“Sooner or later, I believe that all of us experience times when the very fabric of our world tears at the seams, leaving us feeling alone, frustrated, and adrift.
“It can happen to anyone. No one is immune.
“Everyone’s situation is different, and the details of each life are unique. Nevertheless, I have learned that there is something that would take away the bitterness that may come into our lives. There is one thing we can do to make life sweeter, more joyful, even glorious.
“We can be grateful!”2
Based on Elder Uchtdorf’s talk, I started keeping a gratitude journal. In the wake of our twins’ deaths, I’d started experiencing uncontrollable anxiety and despair; the simple act of writing down the good things that had happened each day gave me the courage to let go of the bitterness and blame that had consumed me. I learned to be grateful for every day that I am alive and for the experiences that God gives me. I am a much happier person, despite our losses; I’ve learned to be “thankful in [my] circumstances—whatever they may be.”3

I love the Friend magazine stories because I love to learn more about the gospel and I love reading about all the kinds of things children do. A month after I read an article by Elder Quentin L. Cook called “How Can I Be a Missionary Now?” (April 2010), I told my schoolteacher about the temple. She didn’t know what a temple was. The next day, I brought her a picture of it and told her it is a place where families can be sealed together forever. A couple of weeks later, I got to see Elder Cook at our stake conference. I like being a missionary!

We presided over the New England Mission. One of our missionaries married and had five children. He went away to get a larger car for his family and never returned. His body was later found under an overpass; his car had been stolen.
I called his stake president to offer help to the family. He had already offered.
The grandfather said: “We know what our duty is. We won’t need any help from the Church. We know what our duty is.” That is what grandfathers do!

Casey wiped the inside of the bus window, trying to see the frozen world outside through the blinding snow.
“It’s coming down really hard,” Andy remarked beside him.
“Looks like a blizzard!” Casey exclaimed.
“Won’t our moms be surprised at our getting home from school at noon!” Andy chortled.
“I’m going to play video games all afternoon!” Casey announced.
“Lucky you!”
“Ask your mom if you can come over.”
Andy beamed. “OK! If she says no, I’ll call you and moan over the phone.”
Casey chuckled. “Don’t call till after lunch!” He licked his lips. “Mom fixes the best grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato soup and a glass of cold milk! It sure beats our cafeteria food.”
“It sure does. Here’s my stop—I’ll call you.” Andy hurried to the front of the school bus to get off.
After Casey got off the bus, he scurried along the lane toward his house. As the snow piled higher, his house seemed farther than ever from the road. It sure will be good to get inside! he thought as he reached the door.
“Mom?” He hung up his cap and coat. “School let out early! I’m home! Mom?” He went into the kitchen and circled into the living room. No Mom. He ran into the laundry room and looked for her. Where was she? He was home—cold and hungry!
He looked out the window and toward the garage. The doors were closed, so he knew she hadn’t gone anywhere in the car.
He raced up the stairs two at a time. “Mom?” he shouted as he ran to his parents’ bedroom door. Then he stopped abruptly. “Mom?”
He tiptoed to the bed. She was covered with a quilt pulled high around her chin. “Mom?” Gently he touched her shoulder.
Her red-rimmed eyes barely opened. Casey touched her forehead lightly—it was hot! “Mom, you’re burning up! Should I call Dad … or Grandma?”
Her eyelids closed, then reopened. “Water, honey—a glass of cold water,” she said weakly. “With ice.”
Casey hurried downstairs to the kitchen. “Pitcher, pitcher,” he muttered. “Where’s the pitcher?”
He found the pitcher on the shelf beneath the breakfast counter. Quickly he filled it with ice and water and started back toward the stairs. Then he spun around and returned for a glass and a straw.
“Mom.” Casey slid a hand under her head. “Here’s your water.” He lifted her head and put the straw between her lips. “Drink, Mom—it’s ice water.”
She sipped the water, and Casey felt her skin burn beneath his touch.
“I’m calling Dr. Marshall!” he announced.
“I talked to him, honey. He said it’s just the flu.”
Just the flu? She looked awfully sick! “What’d he say you should do?”
“Just take aspirin, drink liquids, and get plenty of rest.”
“Aspirin—did you take some aspirin?”
She nodded, smiled, and closed her eyes.
Casey held her hand for a long minute. Coming home from school, he had only thought of himself. Now he was concerned about her.
Quietly he tiptoed from the room. The phone rang, and he grabbed it right away so it wouldn’t disturb her. “Colby residence,” he whispered with his hand cupped around the mouthpiece.
“Casey?” Dad replied. “What are you doing home, Son?”
“School let out early because of the snow, Dad, but Mom’s sick! She’s in bed, and I gave her some ice water. Can you come home early?”
“I talked to your mother and Dr. Marshall this morning, Casey. He told her to go right to bed and stay there. I’ll stop at the pharmacy on my way home and pick up some things that may make her feel more comfortable, but the doctor said the flu simply has to run its course. I’ll try to get home early, Son, but with the roads as they are, I doubt that I’ll get there much sooner than my usual time. Is everything else OK?”
“Yeah, but I don’t like it that Mom’s sick.”
“She probably got it nursing us a couple weeks ago.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“If you need me, call. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
Casey ate a sandwich and drank some milk, then went back upstairs to check on Mom. Gently he put a damp cloth on her forehead. He felt the heat pouring out of her, and he suddenly felt awful. What if something happened to her? What would he and Dad do without Mom? She was always there for them. Please, Heavenly Father, make Mom better, he prayed silently.
When the phone rang again, her eyelids fluttered.
“I asked Mom, Casey,” Andy said on the other end. “The snow’s let up a little, and she said I could come over.”
Casey sat on the carpet with his back against Mom’s dresser and the phone cupped close to his face. His eyes were on his mother’s sick face.
“Sorry, Andy. Maybe another time. My mom’s sick, and the doctor told her to rest.”
“All your mom’s going to do is sleep, I bet!” Andy said. “Why don’t you come over here?”
Casey thought about how Mom had taken care of him when he was sick. “Thanks, but I’d better stay here. If she needs me, I want to be here. I’d better go now, Andy. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Wait! My mom wants to know if there’s anything she can do.”
“Tell her thanks, but everything is under control.”
“What about dinner?” Andy asked. “Can she send something?”
“Thanks, but I’m going to make waffles for me and Dad.”
“Waffles? When did you learn how to make them?”
“The frozen kind, Andy,” Casey explained. “Anyone can make them.”
“Well, OK. I’ll talk to you later, Case.”
Casey put the phone back on the nightstand. He pulled the quilt higher around Mom’s shoulders so she wouldn’t get a chill. As he tiptoed from the room, he smiled. It felt nice taking care of her for a change.

I’ll introduce one little thought. He said to me one day, “Tom, could you come in and help me with a problem I have?”

I said, “Sure!”

So I went into his office, and he had a man sitting there. (I hope he’s not related to you.) But Brother Kimball in a sweet way said, “Brother Monson, this is Brother So-and-So, and he’s not happy with the assignment which we made for his son to go on a mission. Why don’t you tell Brother Monson why you’re not happy with the call the apostles made.”

He still didn’t catch on. He said, “Well, he’s assigned to the New England mission. I don’t want him to go to the New England mission; I want him to go to the old England mission.”

And then Brother Kimball with a smile said, “And which mission would you have him assigned to of those in Great Britain?”

“Oh, any of ’em, any of ’em.”

And Brother Kimball said, “Now let’s see. There’s Bristol, there’s London, there’s London South,” and he named them all. “Now which one?”

And the man said, “Oh no, you go ahead.”

“No, since you, as the father, rather than Brother Monson and I as apostles, are making your missionary son’s assignment, you name it.”

I’d never seen a man told off so adroitly, yet he didn’t recognize he was being told off.

He said, “Well, that one you mentioned, Bristol. That sounds good. Send him to Bristol.”

After he left, Brother Kimball said, “Aren’t some parents unusual?” He would not use a word I might have used, but then he wasn’t in the navy like I was! (That line is not in my prepared message!)

I was going to visit my uncle but when I got there, I was told that my uncle had traveled. Instead of seeing him, I was given some books and asked to read them. I met the missionaries and had some friends who met them under a mango tree in the area. The missionaries gave me a Book of Mormon, but I dumped it somewhere because I didn’t want to read it.
Later, after my sister gave me the Church manuals and magazines to read, I decided to pray about it. I was also given another Book of Mormon. I found out that everything the missionaries were talking about made sense to me. At that time, I wasn’t married but thought that if I found someone that I loved, I would want them forever. The church I was attending always said “Till death do us part”. I couldn’t understand having that be the end of the union. When the missionaries talked about the plan of salvation, I was very interested. I said “Wow”. If we can get some authority to bless our marriages here and when we die, we can find ourselves together, then I would want to be in this Church.
Secondly, I am not good at dancing. So, when I would go to the church I was attending, they would always make some music, make noise, and ask us to come and dance. And while you were dancing, you would also be paying some offering. I don’t like that. So, I said I would read about this book and pray to God to find out if it is true. And by so doing, I got baptized.
Before I was baptized, I attended church for several months and did everything but when they talked about baptism, that’s when I was hesitant. Before I started meeting with the missionaries, I had been baptized into the church I was attending. I didn’t want to be baptized again. Finally, I decided to go forward with the baptism.
The next thing I wanted to do was go on a mission. One day my father questioned me asking if the Church I was attending was restored by Joseph Smith? I said “yes”.
He said “Ahh, that church is a cult. I’ve read some things about them. You must be very careful about that church.” I told him “OK, if that is the case, I will pray over it and find out for myself”.
One day I was sleeping, and I had this dream. There were two churches, and they were built across the street from each other. There was a fire burning and people were running all around. The two churches were there, and one was big and the other small. The bigger church had lots of people running into it and a few were running to the small one. The fire was coming, and it was burning the entire city. When the flame got to the two churches, the big church was consumed by the flame and the small church was not. I beheld that the small church had an inscription on it that said, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints”.
I said, “Wow, this is wonderful”. I woke up from my dream and prayed and thanked Heavenly Father for answering my prayers because I thought I was lost, and the Church was somewhere I belonged. A place that would comfort me and where I could have a family. I told my father about it and that I had got an answer. He said, “OK, if you’ve gotten an answer, then you need to go on a mission”.
Within a year, my call came, and I went to the Nigeria Lagos Mission and served faithfully. I returned home with honors. When I was on a mission, I would always bear my testimony that I know the Church is true. This is because I have strong testimony of what I know. I wish that everyone that is investigating the Church could have the same conversion as I had. Joining the Church was not a mistake but rather, I have been saved and I’ve been blessed.
In the Church I’ve been able to educate myself. The Church has taught me a lot. At first, I couldn’t even stand in front of a few people to talk. It has given me the confidence to stand in front of a lot of people and share that the Church is true. When we are on the Lord’s errand and pray and ask Heavenly Father what He wants us to do, He will always show us the way.
I am married with three children. In my family, I am not the oldest, but they always look to me and call me if there is an issue and we discuss it. I tell them we should do things the way that the Lord wants us to. I know that the Church is true, and I am not going back, no matter what.

John and his two-year-old brother lived with their mother in Trondheim, Norway. After Father’s death they had moved from Froya to a small apartment on Steensbakken (Steen’s Hill). The two little boys and their mother often looked out over the beautiful old city on the outermost island off the coast of Norway. They could also see how the harbor and the fjord zigzagged toward the ocean.
Running up and down the hill helped to wear out John’s shoes. One day his mother asked a neighbor to recommend someone to repair them. The neighbor, a ship’s captain, said he knew just the right person to suggest. In fact, the captain said, this shoemaker’s son would soon deliver some shoes to him, and then he could take back those of John’s that needed repairing.
A few days later the boy brought back John’s shoes neatly mended. A strange little pamphlet was inside each one.
Sometime later John’s mother wrapped another pair of shoes into a package, tucked it under her arm, and set out on the half-hour walk to the shoemaker’s shop. She was restless, had a strange look when she returned, and seemed to be unusually quiet and thoughtful.
When the shoemaker’s son delivered the second pair of shoes, new pamphlets were carefully tucked into each shoe. The next Sunday John’s mother arranged for someone to be with the boys while she went to a meeting at the shoemaker’s sturdy log house.
It was not until some years later that she told John what the shoemaker had said when she went to his shop with the second pair of shoes to be repaired and to ask him about the pamphlets he had put in the shoes. They were words she could never forget.
“You may be surprised,” he answered, “to hear me say that I can give you something of more value than soles for your child’s shoes. I can teach you, as you have never known it before, the love of God for His children on earth.”
The pamphlets were missionary tracts of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Because of them John, his mother, and his brother became members of the Church. Forty-two years later John A. Widtsoe, who was then president of the University of Utah, was called to be a member of the Council of the Twelve Apostles.
Just as he promised, the shoemaker in Trondheim, Norway, did give to John A. Widtsoe’s mother and her family something of far more value than soles for a worn pair of shoes!

Once at a Special Olympics baseball game, they adopted a team that was losing by an impossible margin. The team members had given up—until they found themselves with a real clown cheer-leading squad. “We’d find out the name of the guy up to bat and then we’d start yelling, ‘Come on, Charlie, you can do it. Come on, Fred!’ In that one inning they more than doubled their score. They still lost, because it was the last inning, but when they left there they were so excited that they were just in heaven.”

About two years ago I graduated with my Ph.D, and since that time I have been somewhat irritated with my lack of improvement in my teaching. Perhaps naively, I had anticipated that once I went through the process of getting a doctorate I would become not only a better scholar but a better teacher. Instead, as I moved back into the classroom, I saw with even more clarity my teaching defi
ciencies. I decided to make this a matter of prayer. In the evenings and before class, I prayed to be a good teacher. As time passed, I felt like I was making little progress. Clearly, it was time to select another seed, another way of conceptualizing what I should pray for. I learned from Enos and prayed for my students' welfare. What I mean by this is that I didn't just ask that they would learn. I asked that I might be part of helping them return to Heavenly Father and that as part of that endeavor I would be inspired to help them see and understand the workings of the world better in order to magnify their agency and choose the good path-that they could act rather than be acted upon. I am still in the midst of this process of planting and tending to this seed, but I can report that as I have chosen to focus more on the work of the Father and more on the welfare of my students I have experienced an increase of inspiration in the classroom and feel more often the sweet quickening of the Spirit.

One day my piano teacher saw me talking to the Latter-day Saint missionaries. After my lesson was over, she offered me a drink of lemonade, and then she asked me how I knew the elders. I told her I was a Mormon.
She said that the elders had knocked on her door a while ago, but she hadn’t let them in. She asked if we believed in Jesus. I told her we did and recited the first Article of Faith. I also told her about Joseph Smith in the sacred grove and about how he became the first prophet of the Church.
She was really interested and asked me a lot of questions. Since that day we have talked about the Church at almost every piano lesson. When I told her about the Word of Wisdom, she said she thought it was a good rule and that it would keep our bodies healthy.
It makes me feel good to tell my piano teacher about the gospel. She is very nice and I hope someday she will become a member of the Church.

As we get older, we may have to pray longer and harder before getting an answer, but we will receive one. As a young man, I always planned to go on a mission until the time to go actually came. I was dating a young woman quite seriously, I had started an excellent job and was making good money, and I had just bought a new car. Suddenly leaving for two years didn’t sound so attractive. I decided to stay home and serve a stake mission instead. I thought my dad would be angry, but he just said, “Well, that’s your choice. But it’s a pretty big decision. Would you be willing to take two separate days and go off by yourself somewhere and fast and pray about this? If you do and you still feel the same way, I will not say another word.”
I agreed immediately because I was sure that my decision was acceptable to the Lord. I took my scriptures up into the mountains one Saturday and fasted and prayed and read. I went home and told my dad, “My feelings haven’t changed.”
He smiled and said, “You promised me two days.”
The next week I had to work on Saturday, so I went up into a canyon on Sunday morning and again studied and prayed. I stayed until it was time to leave for sacrament meeting, which was held in the afternoon. I still felt the same way about a mission, and I wanted to hurry down and tell my dad. But as I backed the car around, I got stuck in a snowbank. By the time I pulled the car out and got home, my parents had left, so I picked up my girlfriend and went to sacrament meeting.
During the meeting I idly picked up the hymnbook. It fell open to the hymn that in those days was called “It May Not Be on the Mountain Height” (see “I’ll Go Where You Want Me to Go,” Hymns, no. 270). Part of me said, “Don’t read it!” But I read all three verses, including the words “I’ll go where you want me to go, dear Lord.” In that instant my heart and mind changed. When I finished reading, I closed the book and looked up. Tears were streaming down my girlfriend’s face. She said, “You’re going, aren’t you?” I said, “Yes, I am.”
I can’t imagine where my life would have gone if I had chosen to stay home. My mission led me to great happiness, and prayer led me to my mission. This experience taught me the importance of going to the Lord with my decisions.

When he was just 10 years old, Joshua Dennis spent five days trapped in the pitch-black darkness of an abandoned mine. When rescuers finally heard his faint cry for help and pulled him out of the horrible darkness, he was disoriented, cold, and exhausted. Much to their surprise, he wasn’t afraid. Josh spent his time sleeping, yelling for help, and praying. “Someone was protecting me,” he explained. “I knew people were going to find me.”
Joshua’s simple but profound faith had been nurtured by his parents, who taught him that he had a Heavenly Father who knew where he was at all times. They taught him he had been born with the Light of Christ within him. Truly, Josh had been brought up in light and truth (see D&C 93:40) so that when he found himself huddled on a ledge 2,000 feet deep in a mine, he had drawn upon that light to sustain and comfort him, to give him courage and hope. Josh experienced what Abinadi taught when, speaking of Christ, he said: “He is the light and life of the world; yea, a light that is endless, that can never be darkened” (Mosiah 16:9).
Remember little Josh Dennis? He is now Elder Dennis serving a mission far away from the dark mine which held him captive. Now Elder Dennis finds his way along the narrow, unfamiliar paths of Honduras sharing a message of hope, salvation, and light. What he teaches every day is the paradox he experienced as a young boy lost in a mine: that amidst encircling gloom, amidst the darkest possible circumstances, it is possible to feel hope, peace, and comfort—all because of the light which is stronger than all darkness, the light of Jesus Christ.

Many years ago, our family was driving home to São Paulo, Brazil, after visiting relatives. Just as we drove up a steep road, our car broke down.
We tried to restart the car for several minutes. But it wouldn’t start. Car after car passed us. No one stopped to help.
Finally I told my family that we should pray. My six-year-old son, Moroni, said, “Don’t worry, Daddy. I already prayed.”
“What did you pray for?” I asked.
“I prayed to Heavenly Father that the right person would come by to help us,” he said.
Soon two bright lights appeared behind our car. It was a tow truck. The driver was a mechanic.
“You’re very lucky,” he said. “I finished my work for the day and was heading home.”
He fixed our car. Then he followed us to make sure we got home safely.
I asked Moroni if he knew how special this experience was. “Of course,” he said. “Heavenly Father heard my prayer. So now I have my own testimony! I don’t have to borrow it from you anymore, Dad.” My heart was touched by Moroni’s faithful example.
Moroni is grown now, but I still remember his good example from when he was small. Even as a child, you can be an example to your family and friends.

Years ago when I was serving as a bishop, a recently converted family moved into our rural Utah community. These good people had joined the Church in the eastern United States and had been warmly fellowshipped and put to work in a small branch there. When they came to our larger, more-established ward, they somehow slipped through the cracks. Some of the family members, particularly the father, became disenchanted with the Church and its members.

One Sunday morning when I noticed the father was missing from priesthood meeting, I left the meetinghouse and drove to his home. He invited me in, and we had a very honest conversation about the struggle he was having with his new faith and neighbors. After exploring various possibilities for responding to his concerns, none of which seemed to appeal to him very much, I asked him with a tone of frustration in my voice just what we could do to help him. I’ve never forgotten his reply:

“Well, bishop,” he said (and I will need to paraphrase here slightly), “for heaven’s sake, whatever you do, please don’t assign me a friend.”

I learned a great lesson that day. No one wants to become a “project”; we all want spontaneously to be loved. And, if we are to have friends, we want them to be genuine and sincere, not “assigned.”

Just 12 years after Elder Jorge Fernando Zeballos was born on July 19, 1955, the first Latter-day Saint missionaries came to his hometown of Ovalle, Chile, in 1967.
The four North Americans walking around town piqued his curiosity, as did a favorable interview with them in the local newspaper. When the missionaries began playing in a local basketball league, Jorge, who loved basketball, followed their games with interest. Once he managed to slip behind the officials’ table to catch a glimpse of their team roster. Surprisingly, all were named “Elder.”
When a classmate told young Jorge that he and his family had joined the missionaries’ church, Jorge asked if he could come too. He attended meetings faithfully for seven months before the missionaries discovered that Jorge had not been taught or baptized. With the permission of his parents, Alberto Zeballos and Ines Zeballos, that was soon remedied.
Later, while at Santa Maria University in Valparaiso, Jorge met Carmen Gloria Valenzuela. “When I saw her for the first time, I knew I was going to marry her,” he recalls. “It was very strange, because I already had my mission call, and she was not a member.” Within a few weeks she was taking the missionary discussions, and he baptized her before leaving to serve in the Chile Concepción Mission.
Jorge and Carmen corresponded during his mission, began a courtship afterward, and were married on June 26, 1982, in the São Paulo Brazil Temple. They are the parents of five children.
Elder Zeballos has a degree in civil engineering from Santa Maria University and a master of business administration degree from Brigham Young University. Prior to his call as president of the Chile Concepción South Mission in 2005, he was a manager of corporate affairs for a mining company in Chile. Elder Zeballos, newly called to the First Quorum of the Seventy, has also served as a bishop, stake president, regional representative, and Area Seventy.