Gospel Story Finder

It all started in 1988 when three young women from the Jacana Ward in Sao Paulo, Brazil, felt a strong desire to visit the elderly ladies who live in a nursing home near the chapel.
The initial idea turned into a continuous service project called “Adopt a Grandma” and other young women from the ward soon began to participate. Later on, more young people from two other wards were also involved. Now, there are nonmembers who help with the project.
These youth have learned what it means to have the pure love of Christ. The elderly women in the rest home have different backgrounds and histories. Some don’t even know their parents or when or where they were born.
One of these is Sebastiana Maria Catarina de Jesus; a talkative, cheerful lady who appears quite small in her wheelchair. She does not know her age, and has no relatives nor visitors. She has become a different woman since these loving and giving young people began visiting her. Catarina now feels that she has a family. She loves to spend time with these youth who are her new family.
Flora Esperanca Galassi is seventy-nine years old and becomes emotional at the mention of her family. A surprise birthday party was given to Flora, who is touched as she remembers this precious day in her life. She embraces the young people warmly because they are everything she has in life.
Virginia Fernandes, who looks about seventy-five years old, also does not know when she was born. She walks around the nursing home with difficulty and does not hear very well, but her countenance reflects joy in being close to her newly made friends.
They speak words of support and are always willing to help the elderly ladies, whose simple needs are easily met: a towel to Catarina, clothing to Flora or a cake to Virginia. These young people know that they are attending to the needs of a part of the Good Shepherd’s flock. They freely give of their love, affection, and kindness, which is just as freely returned.

We won the game, four to three, and I kicked in one of the goals myself! After the game Gracie walked over to me. “Tell me some more about your church, Ryan,” she said.

I told her about the Articles of Faith, which is what Sister Adams says that we should do if someone wants to know what the Church teaches. But Gracie didn’t seem to understand them at all, so I started telling her about Primary.

“Can any kid go to Primary, or just kids in your church?” she asked.

“Anybody who wants to,” I answered. She just stood there, waiting, so I took a deep breath and asked, “Would you like to go to Primary with me tomorrow?”

She smiled a big smile. “I’ll ask my dad.”

Oh, brother! Another girl! I thought. I was glad that Gracie wanted to go to church, but why hadn’t Kevin reacted like this? Gracie’s father said that it was OK for her to go with me, so I told him what time Primary started and when I’d pick her up. She drove off, waving at me from the window of her dad’s van.

That night Mom and Dad came into my room for my prayers. When I was done, Mom kissed my cheek and said, “We’re really proud of our missionary.”

“Don’t be,” I said.

“Why?” Dad asked.

“Because I wasn’t really a missionary to Gracie. She practically had to beg me to invite her to Primary. I didn’t want another girl in my class—I wanted Kevin to come. Why didn’t he want to go to Primary and learn more about the gospel?”

“Even Last-days Kids have their free agency,” Mom said. “Don’t give up on Kevin yet. And don’t stop being his friend just because he isn’t interested in going to church with you.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” I said.

“Good.” Dad smiled. “I’m proud of you.” And he kissed me good night.

Our lesson in Primary the next day was about the Word of Wisdom. Gracie sat and listened hard to everything Sister Adams said. Lisa and Tina-Marie were quiet too. It was a good lesson. After Primary Mom asked Gracie if she wanted to go home.

“Are you going home?” she asked.

“No. We’re going to stay for sacrament meeting,” Mom answered. “But if you’d like to go home now, I’ll take you.”

“Am I allowed to go to sacrament meeting?” Gracie asked.

“Of course,” Mom answered.

“Then I’d like to stay, please,” Gracie said.

Dad squeezed my arm, his smile almost too big for his face.

After church we dropped Gracie off at her house. “See you at soccer practice,” she said as she hopped out of the car.

“Will you need a ride to church next Sunday?” Dad asked.

“No. I don’t think so.” The whole mood in the car went down like a flat tire on a bicycle. Then Gracie leaned in through my open window. “Last night Mom and Dad and I had a big talk. Mom’s been wanting to find a church to go to ever since we moved here. And Dad said that he’s always been impressed with Ryan. So they said that if I liked your church, next Sunday they’d go with me.”

I close with a personal experience. It too is an airline story.

This past November 9, my wife, Kathy, and I were traveling back from Guatemala City with a connecting flight in Miami, Florida. We had an important appointment, and it was vital that we catch the plane in Miami. We started early that morning, leaving our hotel outside of Antigua, Guatemala, for an 8:55 a.m. departure to Miami. As we traveled into Guatemala City, the traffic was unusually congested. We were concerned about reaching the airport on time. We arrived with just enough time to catch our plane.

We rushed through immigration and toward the departure gate. At the gate, we learned that our plane would not be leaving for an hour and a half. It had arrived late the night before in turbulent weather. The pilots and crew were required to have a certain amount of time to rest. With this delay, we worried about making our connection in Miami. We boarded the plane an hour and a half later, but, after backing away from the gate, we learned that there was an electronic malfunction in the cockpit. This delayed us another 40 minutes. We took a deep breath, wondering if there was any possibility of making our connection.

The plane made good time between Guatemala City and Miami. We arrived in Miami with only 30 minutes before our connecting plane was scheduled to leave. Thirty minutes did not seem long enough, but we were determined to try. We ran as fast as we could. Surprisingly, the line at Immigration was short. We headed for U.S. Customs, silently praying that the luggage we were pulling behind us would not be chosen for inspection. Our prayers were answered. Glancing at the airport monitors, I noted that our airplane was at Gate D-3. After running to the D concourse came the painful process of security screening: Off with the shoes. Liquids in a plastic bag. Laptop separate. Hope that the security monitor doesn’t buzz when moving through the screener.

Completing the security check, we had only 10 minutes before the scheduled departure. I looked up at the monitor again. To my horror, I had made a mistake—the plane was not leaving from D-3 but from E-3. We were in the wrong concourse. We were out of breath. The plane doors were probably already closed, and we were several hundred yards away. We thought about giving up. But, receiving encouragement from each other, we pushed ourselves toward the finish. Off we sprinted, rolling bags right behind. As we rounded the turn to Gate E-3, we heard them call our names. It was a miracle. The door was still open. We made it!

First, many people will mourn with us; they won’t judge us. Due to severe panic attacks, anxiety, and depression, our son returned home from his mission after just four weeks. As his parents, we found it difficult to deal with disappointment and sadness because we had prayed so much for his success. Like all parents, we want our children to prosper and be happy. A mission was to be an important milestone for our son. We also wondered what other people might think.

Unbeknownst to us, our son’s return was infinitely more devastating for him. Note that he loved the Lord and wanted to serve, and yet he could not for reasons he struggled to understand. He soon found himself at a point of total hopelessness, battling deep guilt. He no longer felt accepted but spiritually numb. He became consumed by recurring thoughts of death.

While in this irrational state, our son believed that the only action left was to take his own life. It took the Holy Ghost and a legion of angels on both sides of the veil to save him.

While he was fighting for his life and during this immensely difficult time, our family, ward leaders, members, and friends went out of their way to support and minister to us.

I have never felt such an outpouring of love. I have never sensed more powerfully and in such a personal way what it means to comfort those in need of comfort. Our family will be ever grateful for that outpouring.

I cannot describe the countless miracles that accompanied these events. Gratefully, our son survived, but it has taken a long time and much medical, therapeutic, and spiritual care for him to heal and to accept that he is loved, valued, and needed.

As a non-member in high school, I remember admiring my member friends, knowing that they had something that was missing in my life. As a non-member, I went to Utah State University for my freshman year. There I had a member roommate who invited me to an institute dance. I was very impressed with the wholesome atmosphere of the dance. You could actually see around the dance floor. They had all the young ladies in an inner circle with all the young men in an outer circle and when the music stopped the person whom you were across from was the one with whom you danced. When the music stopped, I was across from the homecoming queen for Utah State University. I had a great time! But even though that activity was fantastic, my member roommate did something much more significant. He gave me a Book of Mormon, however it wasn't until three and a half years later when I was at the University of California at Davis that I took that Book of Mormon down off the shelf and started to read, study, and ponder about its truthfulness. After reading the first 75 pages, I received a witness of the Spirit that the Book of Mormon was true. I was at the time contemplating what I should do after graduating with my undergraduate degree from UC Davis. I was seriously looking at continuing on into graduate school and becoming a research scientist. I was concerned because the research scientists that I knew at UC Davis were spending, a lot of times, 16 hours a day in their research labs to the neglect of their families. I felt a real void in my life searching for the meaning of life. Then on page 75 of the Book of Mormon I came across these two verses in 2 Nephi Chapter 9, Verses 28 and 29, "O that cunning plan of the evil one! O the vainness, and the frailties, and the foolishness of men! When they are learned they think they are wise, and they hearken not unto the counsel of God, for they set it aside, supposing they know of themselves, wherefore, their wisdom is foolishness and it profiteth them not. And they shall perish." And then verse 29, "But to be learned is good if (italics added) they hearken unto the counsels of God." That is the key-to hearken (listen and obey) unto the counsels of God.

Well, I then proceeded to go back to my hometown in California and on Sunday drove to the local LDS Meetinghouse; walked in, asked to be introduced to the missionaries; and was baptized six weeks later at the age of 22.

But the second semester this year, a young man, a returned missionary, who serves as an assistant to the president and I won't say which mission, and [with] tears in his eyes, he said, "Brother Kikuchi, I have a problem. Since I returned from my mission my spirituality is really not what it ought to be. Would you help me so that I can get back to the spirit of the mission?"
I said, "Before I answer that question, could I ask something? What time [do] you usually sleep? What time [do] you get up? And what [are the] activities in the morning as you get up?" And so on and so on. And so I ask, "What time [are] you planning to go to bed?"
"That's about one o'clock and sometimes two."
"Are you studying?"
"Not necessarily."
"Then what time you get up?"
"Well, I have to take a bus to the school and I need to get up at least thirty minutes [before]."
"Can you freshen up within that few minutes and then catch the bus? Do you have a breakfast?"
"Well, most of the time I don't."
"Well, is there anything of the special things you do to communicate with Heavenly Father?"
"Well, I read the scriptures occasionally but not steady."
"Do you have a chance to visit with Heavenly Father often and in a steady way?"
He said, no.
"Well, you are a little far from Heavenly Father now. May I suggest the prescriptions for you if you are willing to listen to me?" He said, "I would do anything I need to [get the] spirit back again."
Then, I said, "When I became a General Authority and I was called, and one of the presidency of the Seventy trained me. [He told me] when he was called, he asked President David O. McKay, 'President McKay what should I do to deepen my spirituality?'" And [President McKay answered] pointing at five fingers and I hope you remember:
"I arise early. I wash my body and I put my new linen and those of us [who have] been through the temple the holy garment. Then, I subdue my spirit-number four-before God; I am kneeling before Heavenly Father. Number five," he said, "I wait for the inspiration of the Holy Father in Heaven. When I do that I come home, come back, and I am immersed into the scriptures daily."
Well, this man that trained me-he really, really taught [me well]-and he was convinced [by President McKay] that he really should do [these things]. And [in turn] he really convinced me and I believe that the best methods-[this] simple prescription-[are the best] methods I have heard. So my brothers and sisters-I did [them].
Then a few days later and almost a week later [the young man's] countenance was different and his demeanor [was] changed and this time it's different tears. He expressed profound, profound love for Heavenly Father and closeness to his Savior.

Returning home one Tuesday night, I was surprised to find everyone but my mom asleep. During the few weeks since I completed my first year of college, I felt almost guilty turning out my light and going to bed when I knew my sister Hailey was down the hall staying up until all hours of the night rushing to complete math assignments, term projects, and study for end-of-school tests. But tonight Hailey’s light wasn’t on.
I didn’t think I’d gotten home late and asked my mom why everyone else was in bed. She said that the usually cheerful and conversational Hailey had returned home from her ninth grade dance an hour before, not said much more than “Goodnight,” and gone to bed.
I decided to see how she was doing. I entered her bedroom, sat down on the floor, and asked, “So … how was it?”
A simple, “Fine,” was all I got.
Not knowing if I should leave the room and go to bed myself or keep pressing, I filled up time by saying, “So …”
“And no, I didn’t dance with anyone,” she finished, thinking she would spare me the effort of asking the question she was sure would be next.
“Oh, Hailey, that’s OK,” I said. But I knew that inside her 15-year-old mind it wasn’t.
I told her that believe it or not, several girls went home that night feeling the exact same way she did. And that there would likely be other dances when she’d feel like she’d danced the night away that would more than make up for the bad ones. And that most importantly, her worth as a beautiful 15-year-old young woman had not diminished in my eyes, or most especially in the eyes of her Heavenly Father.
So that she’d know I wasn’t just saying those things to be nice but that I was truly sincere, I reached back into my teenage past and dusted off experiences that I had hoped I would forget and had never planned on sharing with anyone.
By the time I’d uncovered all of my deep, dark dancing disappointments, Hailey and I were laughing hysterically, and I was grateful I could dispel some of her fears.
As I returned to my bedroom, I felt like I had gained the smallest understanding of our Savior’s empathy for us in our trials. Because I had experienced similar feelings and experiences as Hailey, I was better able to comfort her in her frustrations. I felt an overwhelming gratitude for my Savior, who took upon Himself our “infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he [might] know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities” (Alma 7:12).
Although I was grateful I could help that night, I won’t always be able to understand all of Hailey’s pain, fear, and disappointment, but her Savior will, as He understands all of our pains. And if we ask our Heavenly Father, in the name of Jesus Christ, I know that He knows how to make them light.

On 22 October we held an outside lighting up ceremony, conducted by Sister Yvonne Kerr. Besides members of the ward, we had in attendance invited guests who included the lord lieutenant of Clackmannanshire, Lt Col (Retd) Johnny Stewart, and the most senior member of the Alloa Ward, Sister Dorothy Kendall, who pushed a button that lit up the monumental display. Esther Wilford beautifully sang Vera Lynn’s “When The Lights Go on Again, All over The World” and “I Vow to Thee My Country”. One of our Primary children, Emma Black, read the much-quoted lines from ‘For the Fallen’ by Laurence Binyon. People passing stopped to join the crowd, inside and outside of the fencing surrounding the grounds.
Just before the button was pressed to illuminate the display, we acknowledged to the assembled crowd, many who were not members of our Church, that as members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we try to put Christ at the centre of all we do and it was in His name that on that night and during the season of remembrance, we honour those from World War I and World War II who fought and fell to give us our freedom, but the display also honours and gives reverence to those in the past and those who currently protect our land, shores, and skies from unseen enemies. They are the real heroes, and that really is what the display is about.

Youth in the Saskatoon Saskatchewan Stake know what it means to stand on solid ground. Their youth conference theme this year was “Like a Rock,” and every activity centered on the idea of having a firm foundation by living the gospel.
A highlight of the conference was a mini-food drive in which the youth hit the streets of the city of Prince Albert and collected canned and packaged food for the local food pantry.
“As the food drive started, spirits were pretty low because we weren’t getting many donations,” says priest Scott MacDonald. “But as the day went on, food collection picked up.”
Other conference activities included workshops, dancing, and an impromptu basketball tournament. Most of the youth agree that all the activities helped to make their friendships—and their testimonies—rock solid.

I think of a little girl in England who dared to do right. The little girl’s name is Lisa. She is an eleven-year-old girl in Primary and has been a member of the Church for three years. Lisa came home from school feeling very excited. She had been asked if she would read in the school assembly the following morning. She said, “Mum, I’ve been asked to read this tomorrow, but some of the words are wrong.” The mother read the paper, and one paragraph referred to God and the Holy Ghost being one and the same person. The rest of it was correct, but just this paragraph was incorrect. They talked it over and decided that they would send a letter to Lisa’s teacher, explaining that this paragraph was contrary to Lisa’s beliefs and that she would feel much happier leaving this part out.

They waited rather anxiously for Lisa to return home from school to see what had happened. She came home with a big smile. Yes, the teacher had let her read the part, and, yes, she had let her leave that statement out. Also the teacher had thanked them for the letter, saying that she could understand her feelings, and then she said, “Could you please send some material to me and tell me more about what Mormons believe?”

The next day Lisa took a Book of Mormon, Meet The Mormons, and A Marvelous Work and a Wonder and gave them to the teacher. She found the books so interesting that she asked Lisa and three other Mormon girls in the school to present an assembly on the Mormons.

All of this came about because Lisa dared to be different and do right. Would you have the courage Lisa had?

A few years after my mission, I moved to a city where I didn’t know anybody. I went to institute expecting to make new friends and begin socializing with other young single adults in the area, as I had previously done.
Initially, however, I found this difficult. No one was unkind, but there seemed to be little going on, and I sometimes felt lonely and distanced from those who already knew each other well. In contrast, I quickly made good friends outside of the Church.
It sometimes seemed that not going to institute would be easier than going. I didn’t have a ride, so I would have to walk or cycle each week to get there. I had found good friends with similar interests elsewhere. Besides, I had already graduated from institute.
However, as I thought about all of these reasons not to go, I remembered how much I had grown in the past because of the lessons I learned and friends I made at institute. Institute had nurtured my testimony and helped me better understand the Lord’s plan for me. I decided to keep attending, and I am glad I did. Gradually during that year I did make good friends at institute. I received invitations to social events and over time became much more involved.
It was hard to attend institute in a new area at first, but because I kept going anyway, I have received many spiritual and social blessings that I could not have received otherwise.

When I was a Mia Maid, the secretary in our Young Women presidency, Sister Moore,* was moving to a new home, so all of the leaders and young women volunteered to help. The morning we showed up to help pack, everything that could go wrong seemed to be going wrong, and Sister Moore was feeling very overwhelmed. We tried to keep positive and do what we could.
After packing the boxes, we waited for the moving truck to come. But it didn’t come, and we waited, and waited, and waited. After a while, we called the driver. He explained that he had gotten lost on the way and then had run into traffic. Finally, after another two hours, we saw him turn the corner onto Sister Moore’s street.
But before the truck got any closer, it stopped. It had broken down—just far enough away that we wouldn’t be able to carry any heavy furniture to it. It was all too much for Sister Moore and she started to cry.
Our Young Women president started to comfort her, and lovingly and calmly she asked, “Did you pray before you started your day today?” Sister Moore looked surprised and said no. Our president said, “Let’s pray now.” We all knelt in the kitchen. Immediately after the prayer, we heard the truck’s engine start. It was working again! We were finally able to finish the job.
I know the power of prayer is real, and I always make sure to start my day off with a prayer to invite the Lord to be with me throughout the day.

My wife and I had a very different college experience than yours, but it was very meaningful to us. We were basically the only students who were active in our faith in our respective schools.

In my case, my spiritual pauses during the week were confined to sitting in my own car to study and ponder the scriptures between classes or during meals. I sometimes went to a local church of another faith that was within walking distance from where I studied. They were kind enough to leave the church open during the day for the community, and they welcomed visitors. So I took advantage of their friendly invitation and spent time there preparing for my institute classes.

Those private moments represented my weekly spiritual pauses during my college years. Although simple in nature, those sacred pauses provided moments when light and eternal truth strengthened my faith and helped me survive spiritually in my academic environment, which sometimes supported the philosophies of men. Despite these academic circumstances and my sometimes exhausting efforts to gain knowledge for my university degree, the Lord always cared for me and gave me the strength I needed to live by my beliefs and my testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I am so grateful I made time to pause and pursue light and truth, even in my car or in a borrowed church. The time I made for the Lord connected me to heaven, put my studies in perspective, and reenergized my soul.

My father clearly taught me the importance of soul-stretching service—of living a sermon. I grew up in Perry, Utah. The stake in which I grew up had a dairy farm and fruit orchards that provided regular opportunities for service. On one occasion it was time to harvest the hay, and our ward was assigned a particular day to work. My dad was always one of the first to volunteer for these priesthood assignments. I recall him reminding me one evening that the next day was our assignment and that we needed to be at the Church farm at 5 p.m. We arrived a few minutes before five. Additional brethren and young men arrived, and we worked together to bring in the hay.

I remember that we had been working for an hour or so when some of the brethren began to leave. Some who had arrived after we had were already leaving. I looked at my dad and suggested that we could go as well. He smiled and said it didn’t matter what the others were doing. We had agreed to serve for the entire time of the assignment, and there was still work to be done. The response was kind and clear; I had better stop watching others and stay focused on my opportunity to serve as I had agreed to do. That example of soul-stretching service has helped me so many times in my life.

I don’t know how much you would place on the worth of a soul, but I witnessed an interesting experience in Boston. Last winter it got pretty cold. As February drew to a close, the ice in some of the rivers and lakes began to thaw. Unnoticed, and certainly not newsworthy, a little mongrel dog walked out into the Boston Harbor, doing, I guess, what dogs like to do. And while the dog was about a quarter of a mile from the shore, the ice commenced to break, and it trapped the little fellow. Before he realized it, he was stranded and the ice flow was moving. An interested passenger on Old Mystic Bridge, seeing the plight of the dog, summoned the fire department. The fire department rushed out with a number of ladder trucks and other equipment; and before the story ended, the police department, the mayor’s office, and several selectmen had gathered, and the whole city of Boston came to rescue one little dog. One newsman totaled the tab at the end of the day and found it had cost the city of Boston $18,000 to rescue the little dog!
I’ve thought about that in relationship to people. What price do you place on a spirit child of God? Of course there is none.
President Paul H. Dunnof the First Council of the Seventy

One winter day as Christmas approached, I thought back to an experience from my boyhood. I was just 11. Our Primary president, Melissa, was an older and loving gray-haired lady. One day at Primary, Melissa asked me to stay behind and visit with her. There the two of us sat in the otherwise empty chapel. She placed her arm about my shoulder and began to cry. Surprised, I asked her why she was crying. She replied: “I don’t seem to be able to encourage the Trail Builder boys to be reverent during the opening exercises of Primary. Would you be willing to help me, Tommy?” I promised her I would. Strangely to me, but not to Melissa, that ended any problem of reverence in that Primary. She had gone to the source of the problem—me. The solution was love.
The years flew by. Marvelous Melissa, now in her nineties, lived in a nursing facility in the northwest part of Salt Lake City. Just before Christmas I determined to visit my beloved Primary president. Over the car radio, I heard the song “Hark! the Herald Angels Sing.” I reflected on the visit made by wise men those long years ago. They brought gifts of gold, of frankincense, and of myrrh. I brought only the gift of love and a desire to say “Thank you.”
I found Melissa in the lunchroom. She stared at her plate of food, teasing it with the fork she held in her aged hand. Not a bite did she eat. As I spoke to her, my words were met with a benign but blank stare. I took the fork in hand and began to feed Melissa, talking all the time I did so about her service to boys and girls as a Primary worker. There wasn’t so much as a glimmer of recognition, far less a spoken word. Two other residents of the nursing home gazed at me with puzzled expressions. At last they spoke, saying: “She doesn’t know anyone, even her own family. She hasn’t said a word in all the years she’s been here.”
Lunch ended. My one-sided conversation wound down. I stood to leave. I held her frail hand in mine, gazed into her wrinkled but beautiful countenance, and said: “God bless you, Melissa. Merry Christmas.” Without warning, she spoke the words: “I know you. You’re Tommy Monson, my Primary boy. How I love you.” She pressed my hand to her lips and bestowed on it the kiss of love. Tears coursed down her cheeks and bathed our clasped hands. Those hands, that day, were hallowed by heaven and graced by God. The herald angels did sing. Outside the sky was blue—azure blue. The air was cool—crispy cool. The snow was white—crystal white. The words of the Master seemed to have a personal meaning never before fully felt: “Woman, behold thy son!” And to His disciple, “Behold thy mother!” (John 19:26–27).

I would like to tell you about a group of loud young men who came into my life when I was a young bishop in Seoul, Korea, many years ago. These were boys who lived in the neighborhood. Only one or two of them were members of the Church at the time. The boys who were members were the only members in their family. They were all friends, and they came to the church to play and to be together. They liked to play Ping-Pong during the weekdays, and they liked to have fun activities on Saturdays. Most of them were not good students in school and were considered by many to be troublemakers.
I was a young father of two sons, who were seven and nine years old at the time. I did not know what I could do for these young men. They were so rowdy that once my wife, Bon-Kyoung, asked me if we could move to another ward so that our sons could see good examples from other young men. I pondered and prayed to Heavenly Father to help me to find the way to help these young men. Finally I made the decision to try and teach them how they could change their lives.
A vision came upon my mind very clearly. I felt that if they were to become missionaries, their lives would be changed. From that moment on, I became very excited, and I tried to spend as much time as possible with them, teaching them the importance of missionary service and how to prepare for a mission.
At that time, Elder Seo, a full-time missionary, was transferred to our ward. He was one who had grown up in the Church and as an Aaronic Priesthood youth had participated in a young men’s singing group with his friends. He met those boisterous boys in our ward. Elder Seo taught those who were not members the missionary discussions, and he also taught them the songs he used to sing. He made a triple quartet with those loud boys and named them the Hanaro Quartet, which means “be as one.” They were happy to sing together, but we all needed “big” patience when we listened to their singing.
Our home was open to the members anytime they wanted to visit. The boys visited our home almost every weekend and even on some weekdays. We fed them and taught them. We taught them the principles of the gospel as well as the application of the gospel in their lives. We tried to give them a vision of their future life.
They sang together every time they came to our home. Their loud sound hurt our ears. But we always praised them because listening to them sing was far more enjoyable than seeing them get into trouble.
Through the years these activities continued. Most of these young men matured in the gospel, and a miracle happened. Over time, nine of the boys who were not members were baptized. They changed from loud, rowdy boys into valiant stripling warriors.1
They served missions, met beautiful young sisters in the Church, and married in the temple. Of course, there were different challenges for each of them as they served missions, attended school, and got married, but they all stayed faithful because they wanted to obey their leaders and please the Lord. Now they have happy families with children born in the covenant.
Nine loud boys have become 45 active members in the Lord’s kingdom, including their wives and children. They are now leaders in their wards and stakes. One is a bishop, two serve in bishoprics, one is serving on the high council, and two are Young Men presidents. There is a ward mission leader, an executive secretary, and a seminary teacher. As a group, they still sing together, and the other miracle—they actually sound good!
Now, we have three of our own sons, including our youngest, who was born during the time I served as bishop. As our sons grew, those nine boys became the leaders of the ward and the stake, and they became the teachers and leaders of our sons. They taught our boys and other boys in the same way I taught them when they were troublemakers. They loved our young boys in the same way I loved them. These loud, rowdy boys of the past became our children’s heroes. Our sons liked to follow their great examples of becoming wonderful missionaries and getting married to righteous companions in the temple.

There was a time in my life when things had been going wrong and I had very little sense of self-worth. Even my testimony had been at a low point. My school friends didn’t understand why I wouldn’t go with them on Sundays, why I didn’t swear, and why I wouldn’t drink or smoke. They basically told me my beliefs were foolish. In the back of my mind I was also beginning to question what I believed.
As I pondered my problems, I decided to read both my patriarchal blessing and the scriptures. As I read my blessing a feeling of peace and love came over me. I knew there was a God who knows and loves me. He has great expectations of things which I can achieve.
I then turned to the Book of Mormon. As I read the words of Korihor the anti-Christ, these words struck me:
“O ye that are bound down under a foolish and a vain hope, why do ye yoke yourselves with such foolish things? Why do ye look for a Christ? For no man can know of anything which is to come. Behold, these things which ye call prophecies, which ye say are handed down by holy prophets, behold, they are foolish traditions of your fathers. How do ye know of their surety? Behold, ye cannot know of things which ye do not see; therefore ye cannot know that there shall be a Christ. Ye look forward and say that ye see a remission of your sins. But behold, it is the effect of a frenzied mind; and this derangement of your minds comes because of the traditions of your fathers, which lead you away into a belief of things which are not so” (Alma 30:13–16).
I continued to read and gained great comfort from Alma’s response to Korihor:
“Believest thou that there is a God? And [Korihor] answered, Nay. Now Alma said unto him: … I know there is a God, and also that Christ shall come. And now what evidence have ye that there is no God, or that Christ cometh not? I say unto you that ye have none, save it be your word only. But, behold, I have all things as a testimony that these things are true; and ye also have all things as a testimony unto you that they are true; and will ye deny them?” (Alma 30:37–41).
I realized my school friends didn’t have any proof or evidence that what I believed was false. But I had the testimonies of thousands—of prophets, family members, and trusted friends—that it was true. And, most importantly, I had my own testimony confirmed to me by the Spirit.

He was tarred and feathered, beaten, driven, hated, cast out, “persecuted for righteousness’ sake.” (Matt. 5:10.) He spent months in the vile prisons of his day and was the victim of scores of false and malicious prosecutions. Once he and a small group of associates were prisoners of a mob-militia. On November 1, 1838, a pretended court martial—which ranks in infamy and illegality with the trial of Jesus before Pilate—sentenced the group to death. The order given was as follows:
“Brigadier General Doniphan:
“Sir:—You will take Joseph Smith and the other prisoners into the public square at Far West, and shoot them at 9 o’clock tomorrow morning.”
“[Signed] Samuel D. Lucas,”
“Major General Commanding.”
General Doniphan defied his commanding officer. With a boldness born of indignant justice he replied:
“It is cold blooded murder. I will not obey your order. My brigade shall march for Liberty tomorrow morning at 8 o’clock; and if you execute these men, I will hold you responsible before an earthly tribunal, so help me God.”
“[Signed] A. W. Doniphan,”
“Brigadier General.”
(Essentials, p. 241.)

Illustrations by Hollie Hibbert
Tomorrow was Moresby’s first day of school. He was nervous.
“Mummy, do you think kids will tease me?” he asked at breakfast.
“Will my teacher be nice?” he asked at lunch.
“What if no one plays with me?” he asked at dinner.
That night Dad gave Moresby a priesthood blessing. Dad said it would help him be brave. During the blessing Moresby felt warm in his heart. Mummy said that feeling was the Holy Ghost.
At school the next day, Moresby tried his best to be brave. He met his new teacher, Mrs. Moetu. She was nice. He met lots of new friends, and nobody teased him!
But during recess, two boys made mean faces at a girl on the playground. She started to cry. Moresby wanted to be brave. He walked over to help her. The boys saw him and ran away.
“I miss my mum.” The girl sniffed.
“Me too,” said Moresby.
Moresby thought of how he could cheer her up. He scooped up some dirt. “Want to bake a cake with me?”
The girl wiped her tears. “How?” she asked.
“We can make pavlova,” Moresby said, shaping the dirt like a cake.
The girl smiled. “I love pavlova.”
Later that day, Mummy picked up Moresby from school.
“How was your first day?” asked Mummy.
Moresby smiled. “I was brave, and I made a new friend!”
“That’s great!” Mummy said. “I’m glad Heavenly Father helped you today.”
Moresby smiled. “From now on, you can call me Moresby the Brave!”