Gospel Story Finder

Marco slowed his already slow walk. Somehow he didn’t feel like going home for pranzo (lunch). Usually Carlo ran home with him, but Carlo was angry.
“Why can’t you play in the championship?” Carlo had demanded.
“Because it’s on Sunday.”
“If you don’t play, we forfeit!” Carlo had yelled. “With Guiseppe sick, you’re our only goalie. You have to play!”
When Marco reached home, he was reluctant to go in. But he knew that Mama and Papa were waiting, so he slowly climbed the stairs to their appartamento (apartment).
Mama was already putting food on the table. “I was beginning to worry,” she said with a smile. “Hurry and wash.”
Marco didn’t feel like eating. But after the blessing he bit into the crisp hot bread. Then he dug into the gnocchi (little dumplings) covered with Mama’s salsa. As he savored the spicy goodness, he began to feel better.
“Is anything wrong?” Mama asked. “You’re quiet today.”
“They posted the soccer schedule at school,” he said.
“Oh?”
“I have to play on Sunday.”
Mama and Papa were quiet for a minute. They knew that Marco’s team, the Lightning Bolts, had worked hard for a chance to be the top team in all of Milan, Italy.
Papa looked puzzled. “You mean all the games are on Sunday?”
“No, the quarterfinals and semifinals are on Saturday. The winners on Saturday play the final game on Sunday.”
Marco could see a twinkle start in Papa’s brown eyes. “Cheer up, Marco,” he said merrily. “Maybe your team will lose on Saturday! Then you won’t have to play on the Sabbath!”
Marco smiled too. But the Lightning Bolts were very good. They had a chance to win both games Saturday. “Giuseppe has the flu, and Tommaso hurt his ankle,” he explained. “If we win Saturday, I have to play on Sunday—or we forfeit. What do I do?”
Mama put her arm around his shoulders. “We’ve taught you what is right. If your team wins, I’m sure you will make the right decision. Now eat, or you’ll be late for school.”
At school some of the boys whispered and stared at Marco. Carlo just ignored him. It made Marco hurt inside to lose his best friend.
At practice that night, Carlo finally talked to him. “Have you changed your mind?” he asked angrily.
Marco started to get angry himself. Then he remembered Papa and grinned at Carlo. “I think we’d better work on winning Saturday’s games,” he said. “If you don’t practice kicking, we won’t have to worry about Sunday!”
Friday night Marco felt restless and scared. He wished his parents had told him he couldn’t play. Then the boys would blame them instead of him.
Even though he felt sick inside, Marco knelt down to pray. He prayed hard and then waited for an answer. He waited and waited, but nothing happened. He wondered if Heavenly Father hadn’t heard him. But then a warm feeling came to him. He felt very peaceful. All the restless hurts eased. He knew that everything would be all right.
Saturday morning came bright and clear. There was just a wisp of clouds in the sky. The air was sharp and invigorating. It was a perfect day for soccer.
The Lightning Bolts were well prepared and won the first game easily. Lounging around after a light lunch, they looked at the schedule.
“We play the Tigers!” Carlo groaned. “They’ve got the biggest boys in the tournament.”
“And the fastest,” Marco added. “We’ll really have to play hard to beat them.” Part of Marco wanted to win the game, and part of him wanted to lose—then he wouldn’t have to worry about Sunday.
It was a hard-fought match. The speedy Tigers scored the first goal, but the Lightning Bolts fought back and evened the score. After that, the teams traded goals. They were tied 4–4 in the final minutes of the match, when Carlo headed a pass into the net to put the Lightning Bolts on top.
With less than a minute remaining, Carlo had the ball again. He weaved in and out of the Tigers, heading for the goal. Then he tripped and lost the ball! The Tigers brought it back with swift, sure passes straight toward Marco.
Marco stood in front of the goal as the last seconds of the match ticked away. If he could keep the ball out of the net, the Lightning Bolts would win!
A Tiger forward kicked the ball—hard! It was headed for the corner of the net, just beyond Marco’s reach. Marco’s heart seemed to stop beating. He threw himself to the right with all his strength. The ball bounced off his hands just as the whistle blew. He had done it! The Bolts had won!
Marco’s teammates were jumping and cheering. He picked himself up and brushed off the dirt. He saw his parents walking toward him. They were smiling and waving. The head referee was with them.
“Marco, that was good playing,” Papa said, giving him a hug. Then he said, “I want you to meet Mr. Giovetti.”
“Hello, Mr. Giovetti,” Marco said politely.
“Hello, Marco. That was a fine game. But your father tells me you have a problem.”
“I can’t play tomorrow,” Marco told him. “The team will have to forfeit because we don’t have another goalie.”
“Why can’t you play?”
“Because the game is during my church’s sacrament meeting,” Marco explained, “and I need to be there. But even if the game were later, I still wouldn’t play on the Sabbath.”
“I see.” The referee thought for a moment, then said, “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
The team gathered around. When Mr. Giovetti came back, he had another man with him. “Marco, this is Mr. Luigi. He is the coach of the team you are to play tomorrow.”
“Hello, Marco,” Mr. Luigi said. “It seems that we have the same problem. Two of our best players were injured today. We still have enough boys to play tomorrow, but we wouldn’t be at our best. I would like to postpone the game. Is that all right with the Lightning Bolts?”
Marco looked around at his friends and the coach. They all nodded. “Yes!” Marco said. “When do we play?”
“Next Saturday,” the referee answered. “Bright and early.”
As Marco walked home, he felt tired but good. His prayer had been answered. Even if the Lightning Bolts lost the championship, he would always remember it as a victory.

My wonderful father was an All-America basketball player for UCLA under legendary Coach John Wooden. They remained close throughout my father’s life, and occasionally Coach and Mrs. Wooden would come to our home for dinner. He was always happy to talk to me about basketball or anything else on my mind. Once I asked him what advice he had for me as I entered my senior year of high school. Always the teacher, he said, “Your father told me that you have joined the Church of Jesus Christ, so I know that you have faith in the Lord. With that faith be sure to have poise in every situation. Be a good man in a storm.”

Over the years, that conversation stuck with me. That counsel to be calm, cool, and collected in all situations, particularly in times of adversity and pressure, resonated with me. I could see how Coach Wooden’s teams played with poise and the great success that they experienced winning 10 national championships.

Illustration by Michael J. Bingham
After World War II, my parents wanted to join the Saints in America. But first they had to escape with their five children from East Germany to West Germany.
My father, Walter, went by himself to determine where it was safest to cross the border. He traveled light but felt prompted to take his violin with him. An accomplished violinist, he had a spiritual impression that his violin would somehow aid him in his journey.
In February 1949, Dad took a train to a town still many miles from the border. After arriving, he ducked out of town, taking a path that led him into a wintry forest. Anyone caught heading toward the West German border was under suspicion of escaping and would be arrested.
Along the way, Dad saw another man trying to escape to West Germany. They decided to travel as a pair. Four watchful eyes would be better than two.
They proceeded cautiously as they passed a lookout tower. Suddenly, from behind a bush, a young Russian soldier jumped out and shouted, “Halt!”
My father and his new friend froze in horror as the soldier pointed a large rifle at them. The soldier said they were under arrest.
Slowly, my dad’s new friend opened his suitcase, revealing several fine food items. He motioned to the soldier that he could have them if he would let them go, but the soldier would not budge.
In broken Russian, my father told the soldier he loved Russian folk music. He pointed to his violin case and said he would like to play for him.
Dad took out his violin and started to play a sentimental Russian melody. After a short time, he saw tears forming in the young man’s eyes. When Dad finished the tune, the soldier asked him if he knew other Russian melodies.
Dad then played another melody. When he finished, the soldier was weeping. Hoisting his gun back onto his shoulder, the soldier said in Russian, “Travel with God.” Then he let both men continue their escape to the West.
My father soon returned safely to East Germany, thankful for inspiration that had led to his protection. Three years later, he escaped with his family by traveling to East Berlin and crossing the border there into West Berlin.

One of the first steps in building a new temple is a special meeting called a “groundbreaking.” Elder Neil L. Andersen and Sister Kathy Andersen traveled to Ivory Coast for the groundbreaking for a new temple.
Elder Andersen gave a prayer to dedicate the land for the new temple. He and Sister Andersen gave talks in French, the official language there. Sister Andersen said it makes her happy that Jesus lets us go inside His house, the temple. We receive blessings there that we can’t receive anywhere else on earth.
Children used gold-colored shovels to help “break the ground” for the temple. Then construction could begin! It will take about two years to build the temple.
Right now members in Ivory Coast have to travel 12 hours to the closest temple, in the country of Ghana. In a few years, children who are old enough to do temple baptisms will be able to go to a beautiful temple in their own country!
“Let us devote ourselves … to better shaping our character and souls to be ready to enter the dedicated temple. Let us be more true to following the Savior.”
—Elder Neil L. Andersen

Before I was a member of the Church, I had already met someone who was, and is still, a very spiritual man. The Church was very much a part of him, so I saw it as a package - accept him and the Church, or neither. I was having lessons from the missionaries, but when I asked them, “How do I really know if it’s true or not?” they said that I should pray about it, but pray with real intent, with all my heart, might, mind and strength.
So that’s what I decided to do. I went to bed and prayed before going to sleep. I said I needed an answer to my question and needed it right away. It was a very stormy February night, the wind was howling, the hail was deafening. I had velux windows in my bedroom, so the storm was really loud. After praying, as meaningfully as I could, I fell asleep.
I was woken at about 4am with three loud knocks. My heart was pounding, as I thought my ex-husband had come back drunk, forgetting that he didn’t live here anymore. Then I realised that my two little dogs, who were downstairs, hadn’t barked. It was also still and quiet, no storm, not even the sound of a passing car. Then my name was called three times: “Shirley, Shirley, Shirley,” and after about five or so seconds later, the voice said, “Open the door and let me in.” I said, “I will.” Then instantly I was asleep.
When I awoke in the morning, the bed was so perfect, as if I hadn’t slept in it at all. No tossing or turning, just peaceful sleep. I knew that was an answer to my prayer.
Now the picture of the Saviour knocking on the door, but the locks are on the other side, is very meaningful to me. That the Saviour would bother to come to me, it gets more special each time I think of what happened.

A few weeks before I became eight years old, my father was killed in a trucking accident. A month later, we moved to a new home in St. George, Utah, across the street from the beautiful St. George Temple.
Mother was soon called to be the stake genealogy secretary. Whenever a group assigned could not make it, a member of the temple presidency would call mother to ask if her sons could come to the temple to do baptisms for the dead. Mother never turned the Lord down. My two older brothers and I often went to the temple to do baptisms.
One summer’s day, I had cut my hand severely on an empty tin can. I begged Mother not to take me to the doctor to have the wound stitched together, so she cleaned my hand, applied a bandage, covered that with adhesive tape, and then wrapped everything in gauze.
No sooner had she finished than the telephone rang. It was the brethren from the temple, wanting us boys to come over to do baptisms. Because my two older brothers had been very busy lately, I had been going to the temple on a regular basis. I had by now compiled a lengthy list of baptisms for the dead that ran into thousands. Once again, my older brothers were not around, so I hurriedly bathed, dressed, and ran over to the temple.
Several hours and four hundred names later, Brother Edwards and I stopped for the night. I remember him well, his right arm to the square revealing a hand missing most of the fingers because of an accident he had had in his youth. After every baptism, he would carefully help me up into the stainless steel chair for the confirmation. After every twenty or thirty baptisms, Brother Edwards would look down at me and say, “Brother Fish, can you do some more?” I would answer yes, and we would work our way through another batch of names.
As I returned home, exhausted, Mother spotted the dripping wet gauze on my hand and helped me into the bathroom to re-dress the wound. I was so tired and hungry I just wanted to eat and sleep. I wasn’t paying attention to my hand. I let her unwrap the bandage.
The gauze came off first, then the adhesive tape, and finally the bandage. My mother looked shocked. I looked down. Not a trace of a cut remained—no scar, no redness, nothing!
I remember my mother quietly hugging me. As we cried together, sharing that moment, the Spirit bore witness to me that I had been healed because of my service in the temple of the Lord.

Christian loves his grandmother very much and visits her every Sunday afternoon. “He is very special to me,” she says. “He is always obedient and kind.” She recalls an incident that happened several years ago, while she was tending Christian and Itzel. A pot on the stove exploded. Seeing Itzel’s fiery-red face, Sister Chavarín thought that her granddaughter had been badly burned, so she threw cold water on her. Christian calmly explained that his little sister wasn’t burned at all. Her face was bright red because she had gotten into her mother’s makeup.

I had a memorable experience with this principle when I was a student. I always worked hard in school to try to learn and prepare for the future. I knew that in order to leave poverty, I would have to find a career that would open doors to new opportunities in life. I also knew that in order to obtain this type of career, I would have to focus on my education.
As important as education was to me, I made the personal decision to forgo studying on Sundays. As a member of the Church, I knew the Lord had said that the Sabbath is His day, not ours. I tried to make purposeful decisions about what I would do on this special day. However, even after having made this decision, at times I was tempted to bend my own rule, especially when I had a test coming up. I would think, “It’s not bad; it’s just studying. I can go to church in the morning and study in the afternoon and evening.”
But as I remembered the promise I had made that I would remain active and faithful to the counsel of the Lord’s prophets, it was much easier to stick to my decision to not study on Sundays and instead use the Lord’s day for service and worship. I had already decided to remain faithful, so for me it was just a matter of interpreting what the Lord had said about the Sabbath day and applying His counsel as best as I could in my life.
I ended up excelling in my studies and obtaining a good career that helped me provide for my family. I know that because I kept my promise to the Lord, He blessed me to be able to create a better life.

The morning after I returned home to Ghana from my mission in the Ivory Coast, I woke up at 6:00 a.m. My appointment with the stake president to have him release me was not until the afternoon, so I decided to sleep in. While I was falling asleep, an impression flashed through my mind: “Go to the Cape Coast mission home.” I knew the Ghana Cape Coast Mission home, but I had no idea why I needed to go there that morning.

After having these thoughts, I began to feel anxious about the impression, so I headed to the mission home. On my way I worried about what I would say to the mission president. I knew he would ask me the purpose of my visit, so I tried to prepare a suitable answer.

When I arrived, I still did not know the answer. The mission president, Melvin B. Sabey, invited me into his office, thinking that I came there for him to release me. After asking a few questions, President Sabey told me to go to my stake president to be released.

“I know that, President,” I replied.

He paused for some seconds and then asked me the very question I had been striving to answer: “Why are you here this morning, Elder Mobio?”

“President Sabey, I don’t have a suitable answer to that question,” I said. “It’s just that this morning I had a strong impression to come here.”

He paused again for a moment and told me softly, “Elder Mobio, your presence here is the assistance I prayed for yesterday.” He explained that his assistants had just arrived with new missionaries. Among them was an Ivorian, the first French-speaking missionary he had ever received, and he didn’t know how he was going to communicate with him. Then he declared, “I am certain Heavenly Father heard my concern yesterday night.”

I had finally learned the reason for my morning impression. We immediately joined the new missionaries, and I interpreted for the Ivorian elder as he started his mission.

Seven months later I traveled back to the Ivory Coast to renew my passport and to share that wonderful experience with my mission president. He told me, “We are instruments in the Lord’s hands. He knows how and when to use us in His work.”

Several years ago I took my first photography class. One of the assignments the teacher gave us then was to shoot, develop, print, and mount one photograph each week. On Fridays these photographs were displayed in front of the class and critiqued by the teacher.
After about the third week, one of the students raised his hand and said, “There’s nothing left to take pictures of; all of the good things have been done.”
There were about 40 students in the class, and in the three weeks we’d been displaying photographs, every prominent building, statue, water fountain, and stray dog in the area had been exposed, printed, and dry mounted several times.
The teacher mumbled something about “seeing and imagination” and then dismissed the class. The following Friday the teacher, after the regular display and critique, set out 20 of his own mounted photographs.
“I took these in the parking lot,” he said. “Outside of this building.”
His photographs were beautiful. There were pictures of the abstract designs of cracked paint on curbs, the texture of rusted gutter bars, reflections from windows, rows of head lights that looked like eyes, the design of a hundred car hoods, a student looking for his car in a sea of cars. The photographs were more than just nice images. They made a statement about the culture of our society, about us. The beauty, the communication, the sensitivity—all of the elements of art were in the photographs.
For me, this experience with this teacher was discovery. It formalized something I had already sensed. From that point on, everything around me became something to be seen, to be photographed. I took pictures of pipes on ceilings, vegetables, fruits, tattered billboards, and nearly everything else that I saw. Looking, seeing what I saw opened an entirely new universe for me; everything I saw was alive with excitement. It was a little like a fish discovering water.

Several years ago just before Christmas, my niece, Shelly, took hold of her mother’s hand and asked seriously, “Is it okay if I believe just one more year?”

Since that memorable happening several years ago, our family has established a family tradition. Each year on Christmas Eve, we gather together around the tree. With the lights low and the fire burning in the fireplace, we ask the question once again, the most important question of the year, “Is it okay if we believe one more year?”—not only believe in the traditions of childhood with Santa Claus, but more importantly in the message of the birth of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, whose birthday we are celebrating. Do we believe in his mission, his atonement, his resurrection? Do we believe in his invitation to come and follow him?

Of course we are not really committing ourselves for only a year. We are pledged to follow the Savior forever. But we live life a day, a week, a month, a year at a time, and Christmas is a season to focus on the year ahead and reconfirm our discipleship.

Following the discussion and the commitment, someone reads aloud The Polar Express by Chris Von Allsburg, a story that tells how those who have faith can always hear the clear sound of a silver bell.

Following the story, we each receive a small new bell on a red satin ribbon to wear around our necks during the holidays. We listen for its clear sound as a testimony and commitment that we truly believe and will strive to live as we believe one more year. While the fire burns low, we then read from the Bible the glorious account of the Christmas story recorded by Luke telling of the birth of the Savior as announced by an angel, “For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord” (Luke 2:11), and we believe.

I recently felt irritated as I scrolled through my Instagram feed and felt perfectly justified in my unkind feelings toward some of my friends. After all, they seemed to live shiny, golden lives filled with one fantastic adventure after another. I felt conflicted but rationalized my feelings. “These people!” I scoffed.
My scoffs and eye rolls evaporated one morning when I read Moroni 7:4: “And now my brethren, I judge these things of you because of your peaceable walk with the children of men.” At this time, Moroni was sharing the words of his father, Mormon, to the Church members. Mormon spoke to the “peaceable followers of Christ” about faith, hope, and charity (Moroni 7:3).
In this marvelous chapter, the Lord teaches how we can have a “peaceable walk” among men. In my negative and certainly unfair attitude toward my fellow social media users, I was not walking very peaceably. Rather, I’d been slinking along, secretly grumbling at others’ successes. I was like a “bitter fountain” not bringing forth “good water,” or not being Christlike in my thoughts and feelings toward others (Moroni 7:11).
I’ve talked to many social media users who feel irrationally bitter or depressed when scrolling through their friends’ posts and pictures. Spending a little less time on social media is one way to avoid these feelings. Of course, many of us enjoy keeping tabs on our family members, friends, and acquaintances via social media. When those unsettling feelings creep in, however, how can we maintain a “peaceable walk with the children of men”? The scripture uses the preposition with. In life, we should not be against each other—we should be with each other; we should be one.
American author Mark Twain is credited with saying, “Comparison is the death of joy.” Sometimes it’s a challenge not to make comparisons. But filling our hearts with humility enables us to delight in others’ shiny moments instead of begrudging them. The Lord asks us to “walk in the meekness of my Spirit, and you shall have peace in me” (D&C 19:23).
It’s equally important to not invite comparisons. We can ask ourselves some questions before sharing a post. “What is my intent? Is it to exclude someone or cause jealousy?” If so, rethink your sharing. But if it’s just to share something you’re super excited about or to uplift others, go for it.
Mormon also spoke about serving others with “real intent” (Moroni 7:6). We can adopt this real intent when we sincerely hope for others’ happiness. This means being excited for our friend when she posts a selfie with her new outfit or for our friend who posts that he was just voted class president. Whether our social media friends are embarking on a trip we can only dream of or are sharing their academic or sporting achievements, we can celebrate with them.
Living peaceably just feels better. Eliminating the eye rolls and dropping the burden of jealousy helps us to walk with others, not away from them or against them.
One friend described social media as a “highlight reel” of life’s events. Most people aren’t inclined to share pictures of embarrassing situations, grief, or even a bad-hair day. Everyone experiences life’s ups and downs, and it’s important to remember that social media users typically share the ups.
It’s funny how much we allow social media to affect our view of our worth. President Dieter F. Uchtdorf, Second Counselor in the First Presidency, once asked, “Do you think your value to [Heavenly Father] changes based on how many followers you have on Instagram or Pinterest? Do you think He wants you to worry or get depressed if some un-friend or un-follow you on Facebook or Twitter? Do you think … popularity make[s] the slightest difference in your worth to the One who created the universe?”1

On July 12, 2004, I awoke at about 5:20 a.m. and took my regular peek out the window. The guard at our compound gate was very much awake. A lady was shaking her fingers in his face, and another 25 women were standing against the fence, each carrying one or more empty buckets or basins. I quickly got dressed and went out.
The water had been shut off the day before in Tema—a city of 100,000—and for miles around. No one had had water for about 24 hours, and panic was beginning to brew. We hadn’t noticed the problem because the Ghana Missionary Training Center, where I was serving as MTC president, has a large storage tank, and we pumped from that storage whenever we needed water. Even though no fresh water was being added, we were living off our storage.
Also, for some reason, there was still some water in our meetinghouse’s outdoor tap (in the same guarded compound), and someone had alerted the masses that the Mormons had water. They were coming from all over with their pails to fetch it. The custodian had beaten me to the meetinghouse and was opposed to letting anyone in. He was sure it was only a matter of a very short time before we would also be without water.
I summoned the guard and the custodian. I asked the custodian what the Savior would do. I asked him to ponder the good or the bad will that our decision would generate. I told him that the water might very well run out in our tap, but it would be better if it ran out with a neighbor’s bucket catching the last drop. He agreed, and we opened the gate and tried to create order among the ever-increasing crowd of people who were running to get in. We begged them to limit their take to “one person, one bucket.” It was now about 6:15. The line was long and the water pressure low, but the tap kept producing.
We believed the water would stop. Nowhere else in town was anyone getting water. We had everyone join us in prayer and ask Heavenly Father to let this one tap continue producing water for these very thirsty people. The tap never stopped. And the people were so grateful.
At about 3:00 p.m. that afternoon, the water in the city was restored, and those in line took their empty buckets and ran home. But the good feelings still linger.

Born in Cortez, Colorado, USA, on July 22, 1960, to Sunny Kimballa Luther Perkins and Larry Lazelle Perkins, Elder Perkins says the family didn’t settle in one spot until he was 13 years old. There, in Farmington, New Mexico, USA, he first met his future wife, Christine Abbot, who overwhelmingly defeated him in student body elections. They later dated, wrote throughout his mission, and were married in the Salt Lake Temple on November 21, 1981.

In addition to collecting offerings, deacons have helped the needy by donating muscle power: painting houses, raking leaves, shoveling walks, running errands. Illustrative is a case that took place near the turn of the century when deacons aided two families in their ward:
“On the tenth of May, the Deacon’s quorum, with the consent of the Bishopric, assembled at the beet field of Sister __________, whose husband had recently died. The quorum with the aid of relatives, to the number of sixty-eight, went to work, and they cultivated and thinned nine acres of beets before they quit the field. This work lifted a heavy load off the family of Sister __________, was in great distress at the time.
“A few days later, the Deacons went to the farm of Sister __________, a widow, and thinned several acres of beets for her also.”

Imagine that your family is moving. To Tonga. Your dad has sold his thriving dental practice. Your family has sold your new home and most of the furniture and will live solely on the proceeds from the sales, without any additional income, for at least six months, while you all help your dad in a dental clinic.
Sound incredible? For Rebecca and David Downey, it was their family’s answer to the question, “How do you move a mountain?” The question came from younger brother Brenton, who followed up with an even greater challenge, “Dad, will you teach me how to move a mountain?” The answer, after much prayer, ultimately led the entire Downey family, along with cousin Nattalie Connell, to a life-changing service project in Nuku‘alofa, Tonga. They may not have moved any mountains, but they moved dozens of suitcases, thousands of toothbrushes, and many, many hearts.
Deseret International, a nonprofit organization, sponsored Brother Downey’s dental service and arranged for him to work in a Church-built clinic and in various other locations in Tonga. Brother Downey purchased some equipment and supplies using his own funds. And thanks to an Eagle Scout project organized by Jonathan Whitworth, a friend of the Downeys, Colorado dentists donated the additional supplies Brother Downey needed. The family arranged to live in a small house near the clinic.
Rebecca (13), David (15), and Nattalie (13) had to adjust to a new language, climate, and culture. At first they missed things from home like snow skiing, nearby grocery stores, and modern conveniences. They particularly missed their friends and family. But the warm welcome they received from the students at Church-owned Liahona Middle and High Schools helped ease their adjustment. Soon they were enjoying their new environment—snorkeling in the ocean, eating bananas and coconuts from their own trees, and taking walks to the nearby temple.
Whenever possible, the teens, along with younger siblings Brenton (7), Jacob (5), and Brianna (11), assisted Brother Downey in the clinic. In the first four months alone, the teens helped him attend to thousands of patients and give away more than 14,000 toothbrushes. The toothbrushes were the first that many recipients had ever owned. Under Brother Downey’s direction, patients received nearly half a million dollars’ worth of fillings, extractions, cleanings, root canals, and other dental work. And the teens helped Brother Downey train volunteers and local nurses to ensure that dental care continued after the family’s return to the United States.
When the Downeys weren’t teaching the people of Tonga how to brush and floss, they were interacting with them in other ways. Nearly every night included a service-oriented activity—from cleaning up roadsides and beaches to singing to children in the hospital. David says he particularly enjoyed Tuesday nights, when the Downeys would have another family over for pizza. “They don’t have pizza in Tonga very often, so it’s a great treat. It’s also a great time to get to know people one on one,” he says.
Because of their service in Tonga, Rebecca, David, and Nattalie had many opportunities to share the gospel. Even before the Downeys left Colorado, people became interested in their journey and, then, the Church. “Our neighbors asked for a Book of Mormon and started to read it. Friends started to take the missionary discussions and asked if they could keep writing their questions about the Church to us by e-mail,” says David.
Rebecca and Nattalie say their own testimonies grew from the experience, as well. Rebecca adds that serving in Tonga helped her realize what was truly of worth. “I have become more humble. The people there were a great example to me. I realize that people are more important than things.” To illustrate, she recounts her family taking some of their used clothing to a family devastated by a typhoon. In gratitude, the Tongan family gave the Downeys a bowl of peanuts that they had salvaged from what was left of their crop after the storm. “That represented about a month’s worth of income for them,” notes Rebecca. “We gave them our leftovers, and they gave us everything they had.”
Now back home in Colorado, the teens are readjusting to a land-locked existence and missing their friends in Tonga. But thanks to their year abroad, they think they might know what it takes to move a mountain: faith, love, and an unquenchable desire to serve. That, and a whole lot of toothbrushes.

My family and I were baptized in General Santos, Philippines, on 5 February 1995. At that time I was a freshman in high school, and I had a good life. My parents provided me with many nice things, and I was studying in a private school. My father worked at a pineapple plantation, and my mother managed our chain-saw business.
There were seven in our family. Even though we lived far from the meetinghouse, we were always there for Sunday services and other activities.
One day my father took a day off work to help my mother with her job; she had to go to school with my brother and sister and me to pay our tuition. On that day somebody hired our chain-saw operator to cut down some coconut trees. My father had to supervise the job.
While we were at school, one of the coconut trees that was being cut fell on a very expensive jeep. My mother went quickly to the place where it had happened. The owner of the jeep was very angry and demanded complete payment for the ruined jeep. My mother felt as though the whole world had fallen on her. We didn’t have that much money. My father requested an early retirement, but his retirement benefits were not enough to cover the damages. The chain-saw operator was arrested. Our chain saws were taken away—as were our house, land, and belongings. In a moment, everything we owned was gone. My father decided to go away, leaving our family to face the consequences alone.
It was a very hard time for all of us, but we didn’t lose our faith and hope. The day my mother had to go to court, we fasted and prayed. Fasting and prayer brought her comfort.
We had nothing left, not even a roof over our heads, but the Lord helped us. Indeed, He helped us through our bishop, who took us to his home to live with his family. Later another member offered his property for us to stay on until we could recover.
When the new school year was about to begin, I prayed that my brother, sister, and I could study again. Through prayer, faith, and hope, we were able to go back to the school where we had enrolled before, even though we did not have any money. I felt the love of our Heavenly Father then more than at any other time in my life.
In a difficult situation, Heavenly Father will help us if we stay faithful, prayerful, and obedient. He helped my family start all over again and kept us going. I know that if we continue to obey the commandments, we will continue to be blessed.

When Elder Brook P. Hales was eight or nine, he was in a fast and testimony meeting where his father was presiding as bishop. His father invited the congregation to bear testimonies, and nearly everyone present bore testimony. “It was perhaps the first time I felt the Spirit bearing witness to me of the truthfulness of the gospel,” Elder Hales recalls.
He has felt that witness many times since, particularly while serving as secretary to the First Presidency since 2008. When President Thomas S. Monson was sustained as prophet and President of the Church, and again when President Russell M. Nelson was sustained, he witnessed “the mantle of prophet fall on each of these men, and I knew without a doubt that they had been chosen and called to be the President of the Church for their particular time.”
Elder Hales was called as a General Authority Seventy on May 17, 2018, and sustained on October 6, 2018. He will continue as secretary to the First Presidency.

In 2010, Andre Sebako was a young man seeking for truth. Though he had never offered a heartfelt prayer before, he decided to try. Shortly afterward he met the missionaries. They gave him a pass-along card with a picture of the Book of Mormon. Andre felt something and asked if the missionaries would sell him the book. They said he could have the book for free if he would come to church.1
Andre attended the then-recently created Mochudi Branch in Botswana, Africa, alone. But the branch was a loving, tight-knit group consisting of about 40 members.2 They welcomed Andre with open arms. He received the missionary lessons and was baptized. It was wonderful!

“Today we are going to learn a new song,” Sister Reid announced. “It’s called ‘Baptism.’ Everyone close your eyes and listen to the music.”
Sadie closed her eyes and relaxed in her chair. The pianist started playing a melody that sounded soft and beautiful, like flowing water. Then Sister Reid started singing: “Jesus came to John the Baptist, in Judea long ago, and was baptized by immersion in the River Jordan’s flow.”
Sadie felt a tear slide down her cheek. She tried to wipe it away before Mom could see, but it was too late. Mom was the Primary president, and she always saw everything. She smiled sadly at Sadie. She knew why Sadie was crying.
After church Sadie’s little sister, Julie, hummed the baptism song the whole ride home. But Sadie stayed quiet.
“Do you want to color with me?” Julie asked when they got home.
Sadie shook my head. “Maybe later. I’ve got to do something first.”
Sadie found Dad in the living room, reading a book in his favorite chair. He liked to read while Julie, Mom, and Sadie went to church.
Sadie took a deep breath. “Dad?” she said. “Can I get baptized?”
Dad closed the book and gently pulled Sadie close.
“Oh, Sadie. You know we’ve talked about this. My answer is still no.”
“But I really want to!” said Sadie. “I’m already eight, and I’ve thought about it a lot. I know the Church is true. I really want to get baptized.”
Dad shook his head. “I love you, and I want what’s best for you.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “But I still think you’re too young to make such a big decision.”
Sadie’s shoulders slumped. “OK.”
She turned and slowly walked to her room. She knelt by her bed and prayed harder than she ever had before. “Heavenly Father, I really, really want to be baptized. Please help Dad understand.”
At first nothing happened, but she stayed on her knees. The baptism song from Primary ran through her mind. After a while, she didn’t feel so sad. Instead she felt peaceful inside. She started thinking about all the things she could still do, even though she couldn’t be baptized yet.
She could keep praying and keep going to Primary. She could be a good example to Julie, and maybe she could even ask Mom to fast for her next week.
The peaceful feeling stayed with her as she headed down to dinner. She didn’t know when, but one day she would be baptized. And it would be worth the wait.
And later Sadie got to be baptized!