Gospel Story Finder

These young men continue to influence our family. Two months ago our ward had a missionary activity on a Saturday evening, inviting everyone, including part-member families. Our youngest son, Sun-Yoon, had just come back from a youth camp in the afternoon of that same day. He said he was not going to the missionary activity because he was not a member of a part-member family and he was so tired. He didn’t come to the activity. My wife called him on the phone to explain that everyone was invited to the activity. He said, “I know, but I am not coming today,” and hung up.
Right after the meeting started that evening, Sun-Yoon came in and sat by his mother very quietly. He whispered to her, saying, “Right after I hung up the phone, I remembered asking Dad what made the Hanaro Quartet so successful in their lives. He told me that they obeyed the words of the Church leaders and that they regularly attended the meetings of the Church. That was the key that changed their lives and made them so successful.” My son continued, “All of a sudden, the words of my father came into my mind, and I decided to follow them because I want to have a happy family like theirs and to be successful in my life.”

Those who follow the game of rugby know that the New Zealand All Blacks, a name given because of the color of their uniform, is the most celebrated rugby team ever. To be selected for the All Blacks in New Zealand would be comparable to playing for a football Super Bowl team or a World Cup soccer team.
In 1961, at age 18 and holding the Aaronic Priesthood, Sidney Going was becoming a star in New Zealand rugby. Because of his remarkable abilities, many thought he would be chosen the very next year for the national All Blacks rugby team.
At age 19, in this critical moment of his ascending rugby career, Sid declared that he would forgo rugby to serve a mission. Some called him crazy. Others called him foolish. They protested that his opportunity in rugby might never come again.
For Sid it was not what he was leaving behind—it was the opportunity and responsibility ahead. He had a priesthood duty to offer two years of his life to declare the reality of the Lord Jesus Christ and His restored gospel. Nothing—not even a chance to play on the national team, with all the acclaim it would bring—would deter him from that duty.
He was called by a prophet of God to serve in the Western Canadian Mission. Forty-eight years ago this month, 19-year-old Elder Sidney Going left New Zealand to serve as a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
A mission instead of a place on the New Zealand All Blacks team? Sid responded, “The blessing of [bringing others] into the gospel far outweighs anything [you] will ever sacrifice.”

My friend and I were playing at the park. I climbed a tree, but my friend couldn’t climb up. When I tried to get down, I couldn’t, and it was too far to jump. My friend said that we should say a prayer so that someone would come help us. First I prayed, and then my friend prayed. A few minutes later my dad showed up at the park and helped me down from the tree. I told my mom and dad what happened, and each of them told me that they had a feeling they should check on me to see if I was OK. I know that Heavenly Father hears and answers prayers.Nicholas M., age 7, Utah

When I was a new missionary serving in Kobe, Japan, I noticed an unusual box hanging in the middle of the Church bulletin board.
“What is that?” I asked my companion.
“It’s a mailbox,” she explained. “Our Sunday School teacher Brother Nakatani* has an eight-year-old daughter named Misaki. She was hospitalized a few months ago with cancer.”
We began writing letters every week. Writing in Japanese was difficult for me. But as I wrote, I thought of what I would say to my own little sister, and somehow the words came easily.
One Sunday, Brother Nakatani pulled us aside and told us that Misaki loved our letters and wanted to meet us. He gave us the address of the hospital and told us when to be there. We stood behind a glass wall and spoke to Misaki through a telephone. She wore a little hat to cover her bald head. She looked frail but laughed and talked with us.
Not long afterward I was transferred to another area. I continued to write to Misaki. Sometimes I worried about my Japanese and wondered if the letters were difficult for her to read.
On the last month of my mission I was transferred to a ward in Misaki’s stake. I ran in to the stake president and immediately asked about Misaki.
“A few months ago we almost lost her,” he said. “But now she can go to school again. Her hair is growing back, and she is doing just fine.”
A few days later my companion and I went to church to help with a stake Primary activity. While we were there I saw Brother Nakatani.
“How is she?” I asked.
“She’s here,” he said. “Do you want to see her?”
I recognized her right away. A hat covered her head, but this time I could see dark tufts of newly grown hair underneath.
“Misaki Chan!” I called.
She looked up and smiled as I knelt beside her.
“Do you know who I am?” I asked.
She looked puzzled. I pointed to my nametag.
Misaki’s face brightened, and she clapped her hands with joy. Then, she pulled out the missionary packet that all Primary children had received and asked for my autograph. At that moment, I knew that every letter I had sent to her had been worth it. Each of my letters, imperfect as they were because of grammar and spelling errors, had brought her happiness.
Whenever I hesitate and fear that my kindness to others will be misunderstood, I remember the letters to Misaki. No matter how small or imperfect, kindness is always worth it.

One of the greatest blessings we receive because of our faith in Jesus Christ is answers to our prayers. When Jim was a little boy, he had a pair of spurs. One day when he came in from riding his horse, he was disobedient, and his mother sent him to his room. He was so angry he threw his spurs down the stairs. Later he told his mother he was sorry. The next time he wanted to ride his horse, he couldn’t find the spurs. He looked everywhere. Finally he knelt and prayed to Heavenly Father. When he finished praying, he started looking again—and found them. This experience was the beginning of Jim’s testimony that Heavenly Father hears and answers prayers.

The first day of my senior year, I felt lucky to discover that Alyce Pringle was in two of my classes. I say lucky because a class with Alyce meant a class with pizzazz. No one ever knew what to expect from her. Alyce was Hollenda High’s school clown, a true comedienne who, with the raise of an eyebrow, could create hysteria. The teachers, therefore, weren’t particularly wild about her, but we, her classmates, loved her.
It was Alyce who was chosen to play the part of the domineering mother in our school play Goodbye Birdie and who brought down the house just by walking out on the stage wearing a gray wig and big sloppy shoes. It was Alyce who ran for cheerleader in her dad’s old army uniform. It was Alyce who outwitted all the candidates for secretary of the school by using portions of all their speeches for her speech. “Did you hear what Alyce did (or said) today?” people would ask each other in the halls. No one asked which Alyce. Everyone knew it was the Alyce.
Why Alyce began picking on me, I’m not sure. Perhaps it was because I was shy and blushed easily. She always mentioned my blushing, which made me blush more. Maybe it was because I was too stoic and serious for my own good. “Here’s Bill,” she’d say, mimicking the way I pushed my glasses back, my nose in a book. Maybe it was because she had found out that I am a Mormon.
One day when Mr. Jackson asked me to work out a problem on the blackboard, I unthinkingly put the chalk in my mouth for a moment. Alyce noticed it right away. “Bill!” she said loudly. “What will people think!” I took the chalk out quickly and blushed as 25 students giggled. When I got back to my seat, I surprised Alyce by joking back. I faked a cough. Alyce liked that.
I didn’t really mind Alyce’s teasing. I’d never been in the limelight before, and it was fun and exciting. If Alyce had been malicious in her teasing, it might have been a different story, but she was never cruel. She never teased behind anyone’s back. Being teased by Alyce, I felt, was a compliment. Because we sat next to each other in one of our classes—algebra—we began talking once in a while before class. At first Alyce only joked, no matter what I said. But then in time she let her mask slip once in a while, and I saw that Alyce wasn’t all clown. I doubted that many people knew that. It was just when I thought Alyce and I might become fairly good friends, however, that I did something that almost ruined our friendship.
Mr. Thorndike had thrown a surprise Spanish vocabulary test at us. It had surprised even me. Usually I was one step ahead of Thorndike and anticipated his tests, but this time he had fooled me. I had only read over the words once and had worked on my physics project the night before instead.
After the test was over, I knew I’d flunked it royally. I’d missed at least 14 of the words. Then, to my humiliation, Mr. Thorndike had us correct the tests in class. He gathered them up and then passed them around haphazardly. I wondered self-consciously who would get mine and think I was a real dunce.
The next day after he had recorded the grades, Mr. Thorndike passed the tests back to us. “Congratulations, Bill. You got the only 100,” he said, as he handed my test back.
“I couldn’t have.”
“Well, you did.”
“No, I …” I looked at the test. It definitely had my name on it, and it also had a big underlined 100 percent in the corner. I controlled a gasp. All the spaces I had left blank had been carefully filled in. Someone had cheated for me. But why? I looked around the room and saw that the students sitting around Alyce were looking at me and giggling. Alyce had her head down but was grinning widely. I realized what I should have known. Somehow Alyce had managed to get my test paper and had corrected it. As a prank she had filled in the right answers. Now what do I do, I wondered. Alyce, why did you have to do that? I thought unhappily. I looked back down at the test. I couldn’t accept an A, and the grades were already recorded in Mr. Thorndike’s roll book. Yet, I couldn’t tell on Alyce either.
“Thought you said you flunked it.” Ralph, my buddy, walked out of class with me. I still had the test paper in my hand, my fingers covering the 100 percent.
“Alyce has really done it,” I said.
“Oh, no.” Ralph began to laugh.
“What can I do? What would you do?”
“I don’t know. Just forget it, I guess.”
“Ralph, I can’t accept an A. I told you, I flunked it.”
“Sneak up and change the grade when Thorndike isn’t looking?”
“Sure.”
“Then just forget about it. You get Alyce in trouble and the whole school will be down on you.”
“But most people know what you and I stand for. They know who all the Latter-day Saints are. Even if I didn’t mind being dishonest personally, and I do, I still can’t cheat because it would put the Church in a bad light.”
“Having everyone in the school hate you wouldn’t help the Church much either, would it?”
“No.”
“Just forget it.”
“You’re probably right.” Sure, I thought, Ralph is right. I won’t make waves. I’ll just forget it. But by the end of the day, by algebra, I still hadn’t been able to forget it. I knew I’d have to talk to Alyce about it.
“Got a 100 on the Spanish test, huh?” Alyce said grinning. Her dark eyes crinkled mischievously. When she wasn’t pulling faces, Alyce was a pretty girl.
“Yes,” I said. “Amazing isn’t it, since I didn’t study?” She could sense my misery.
“You don’t sound very happy for someone who just got an A on a test he didn’t even study for.”
“I’m not,” I said. “Alyce, you’ve put me in a spot. I’ve thought about it, and I can’t accept that A. Now what do I do?”
“Oh, brother! I should have known better. You’re such a bore, Bill, so predictable.” She tried to laugh it off. “Well, go ahead and tell. I don’t care.”
“I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
“I said I don’t care. Do what you feel you have to do.” I could tell she did care. Talking to her hadn’t made the situation any easier. Then, in the middle of one of the algebra problems, I thought of something. Mr. Thorndike would have no way of knowing that Alyce had corrected my test unless I told him. I could simply tell him that someone had changed my answers and that I deserved an F, not an A. He wouldn’t ask me if I knew who had corrected the test because he wouldn’t think I knew. How would I know? Even if he suspected Alyce, he had no proof. And, if he asked me if I knew who had done it, I’d just tell him outright that I didn’t want to get anyone in trouble. After algebra, I smiled at Alyce and touched her arm.
“Don’t worry,” I said.
After school I went right into Spanish and told Mr. Thorndike what had happened. He seemed angry, but he didn’t ask me if I knew who had done it. I stood and watched as he crossed out the A and put an F in its place.
“Next time maybe I’d better be prepared,” I said sheepishly.
“Yes,” he said.
I thought that was the end of it, but it wasn’t. The next day I could tell by the way Thorndike stood up that he was wearing war paint. I held my breath.
“Day before yesterday someone corrected Bill McKinley’s vocabulary test,” Mr. Thorndike said slowly. “That person filled in some right answers and gave Bill a grade he didn’t deserve. Now I want to know who that person is.” The color must have drained from my face. I didn’t dare look to see what Alyce was doing for fear I’d give her away. “Let me continue,” Mr. Thorndike said. “If that person does not identify himself, this whole class will be punished. I don’t know how right now, but I’m sure I’ll think of something. Now who did it?”
I put my head in my hands and began moaning inwardly. Why did this have to be happening. Tension increased in the room as no one spoke. My chest felt thick inside. Then I surprised myself. “Look,” I spoke out. “I didn’t want anyone to get in trouble.”
“Quiet, Bill,” Mr. Thorndike said sternly. “Once again, I ask, who did it?” he said dramatically.
“I said I didn’t want to get anyone in trouble,” I repeated, once again surprising myself and Mr. Thorndike who still had his mouth open and was staring at me.
Before he had a chance to rebuke me, a clear voice said, “I corrected it.”
“Who said that?” Mr. Thorndike looked around the room.
“Me. I did it,” Alyce said bravely. “It was just a joke.”
Mr. Thorndike, who had never liked Alyce much, nodded. Anger flared in his eyes. “I should have known. Yes, I should have known. Well, I’m tired of this kind of thing, young lady, and we’ll have no more of it.” He was speaking loudly. “You’re seniors now, and I’m tired of this kind of business. It’s thoroughly immature. Next year you’ll be going out into the world, and you are still acting like children. Alyce, you’ll see me after class. I’ll have to take measures. I’m sick of it, and I’ll have no more of it. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
The rest of the day I was miserable. I should have listened to Ralph, I thought. It was such a small thing, one lousy test. Such a stupid thing to make such a big deal about, to have been such a stickler over. Why hadn’t I just kept my mouth shut?
I didn’t know what to say to Alyce later when I sat next to her in algebra, and she wouldn’t look at me. She had her head down, and her hair had draped down in front of her face. “Alyce,” I whispered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know he’d do that. It makes me sick. What did he say after class?”
“Oh, he said it would affect my citizenship for the semester. He was mad.”
“You know I didn’t want anything like that to happen.”
“I know,” she said. “It doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about it.” But it did matter, for my relationship with Alyce changed. Although she still joked with others, she quit teasing me, and though we still spoke, she seemed aloof. At the time I thought it was because Alyce was angry, but now I realize she was probably just embarrassed. It saddened me to have a barrier between us, but I figured that in time, maybe before the end of the school year, our friendship would be back to normal.

Recently, I found myself in a situation where I struggled to overcome this.
Not too long after I was called as an Area Seventy in the Africa West Area, I was assigned to a district conference in Soubre, a town about six hours’ drive from Abidjan, the capital of the Ivory Coast.
As I journeyed from Calabar through Lagos to Abidjan, I peacefully pondered what I had prepared and what the Savior would have me say and do. However, when I arrived at the Abidjan airport, where interactions and exchanges are in French, I started experiencing feelings of linguistic inadequacy. I have limited ability in French, which made it difficult to communicate and ask for assistance at the airport. My poor pronunciation resulted in the taxi driver taking me to the wrong hotel, and only with the help of a passerby were we able to arrive at the right one.
Eventually, safely in my hotel, where I was able to reach mission support, I reminded myself how Nephi and the brother of Jared were blessed because they worked by faith and never murmured against God, even when details of their assignments were unknown to them.
In my state of helplessness, including challenges communicating and ordering food, I reminded myself of the words in Alma 37:36 encouraging us to, “Cry unto God for all [our] support”. I followed this pattern and prayed for strength and direction, waited patiently, and trusted in God’s timing.
A temporary relief came as the mission president provided an interpreter for the Saturday session, which was a great blessing. As I returned to my room later that evening, I continued asking the Lord for wisdom to see me through His first assignment for me (alone) in a French speaking country. The desire of my heart was to accomplish His purpose. The Sunday session was similar, and I never ceased calling upon the Lord. As I journeyed home after the meetings and several visits to the homes of members, I earnestly pled with the Lord to know how I was going to overcome this language barrier problem.
Upon arriving home, I shared my frustrating language ordeals with my wife, and she gently reminded me to stop murmuring, and encouraged me to trust in divine help. Her sincere admonition reminded me of Elder Neal A. Maxwell’s explanation that “murmurers have short memories. . . . [and] the longest list of demands”.
I already had two on my list and was not willing to have it increased.
I was home the next morning when a call came from a student who introduced himself as the class representative of the modern languages and translation studies at the University of Calabar where I teach.
His call was to inform me that I had just been assigned to teach English composition to the first-year students of that department who were majoring in French! I was in a state of bewilderment. Certainly, this was not the handiwork of man and if it was not, then it was God setting up support structures for me, not to only succeed, but for me to acknowledge Him. As I entered the class on my first day, the students welcomed me saying, “Bonjour professeur, tu es la bienvenue dans notre classe.”
“Bonjour” I replied.
This class is like a miniature French-speaking community in a country with English as its second and official language.
Today I am making some progress. It is slow, but I am grateful for this because I am compelled to always interact in French with them both in and out of class. But this was not all. As I shared my experience with a fellow servant of the Lord, he was also kind enough to suggest how to project my trainings in French and English to ease the training process, save time, and reduce interference.
I am glad to witness the Savior’s support as I no longer rely only on my strength.
He miraculously made the French class available to me when I least expected it. He has further supported me with a smart training method from a fellow servant as I humbly asked for help. But above all, He has strengthened me with the Spirit to trust in Him and in His timing. I know He can provide support for and help me accomplish what He wants me to, both now and in the future, so I will never allow myself to be worried over things.
Little wonder, this year’s schedule shows me returning to this same French speaking country five times. I am strong! I know like Nephi, no matter the nature of my calling, if I trust in Him and His timing, I need not fear nor doubt. “For I know that the Lord giveth no commandments [or assignments] unto the children of men, save He shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which He commandeth them” (1 Nephi 3:7).

My little brother, Max, saw the ad in the paper. “What is a donation?” he asked as he turned the paper into a miniature tent. “It’s kind of like a present that helps someone,” I explained. “Like when Mom gives cans of soup to the food pantry.”
“The new shelter wants donations. It needs clothes and toys.”
“Why don’t you donate your stuffed animals?” I teased. “They’re taking over our bedroom.”
“Maybe I will,” he said, collapsing his tent and giving me a big grin. Then he jumped up and ran off with the newspaper to show Mom. She thought it would be a wonderful idea if everyone in the family found some things to give to the homeless shelter. The next day, she brought home a big empty box from work, and we started to fill it. Max began asking me so many questions that I wondered how he managed to breathe.
“Do you think there’s a kid at the shelter who would like a toy lion?” Max dug through his mountain of animals. “Or do you think the kid would like a zebra better?”
“Either one would be fine,” I said as I sorted through my closet. I had some puzzles I never put together anymore, and all the pieces were still there. I put them in my pile for the box.
“Maybe there’s a kid who collects teddy bears, like me,” Max thought aloud. “Maybe I should give a teddy bear.”
“That sounds like a good idea, too,” I said, adding a game to my pile.
“But everyone always gets bears,” Max decided. He took a fluffy white dog off his bed. “Do you think that someone would like sleeping with my dog? He’s soft, like a big furry pillow.”
“Sure, Max,” I agreed. “Do you want to put him into the box?”
Max stared at the dog for a minute. “No,” he finally said. “Not this dog.” He plopped the dog back on his bed and started sorting through his toys again.
I smiled to myself, thinking, Max likes the idea of donating a toy, but he doesn’t really want to give any of his stuffed animals away.
“What about some books?” I suggested. “You have lots of them that you’ve already read a zillion times.”
Max got up and pulled some books from his bottom shelf. He opened one and slowly looked at the pictures. Then he put it back. “No,” he said, “I don’t want to give someone a book.”
“I’m sure you’ll find something,” I said, picking up my pile. But I wondered if Max would part with anything. He was a real collector.
That night, Max went through his toys over and over. He’d put something into the box, and then he’d take it out again. Finally he asked Mom if she could wait a day for his donation. I didn’t think another day would help Max decide any more easily, but Mom just smiled and said, “That’s fine.”
The next morning, Max got up early and ate breakfast.
“Did you forget it’s Saturday?” I asked as he pulled on a jacket. “There’s no school today.”
“I know,” he said with a mysterious smile. He didn’t let my teasing bother him one bit. “Mom’s taking me on an errand.”
“Don’t forget to put your donation into the box today,” I reminded him.
“I’ll do that later.”
I finished my breakfast and headed out to play a game of basketball with my friends. When I came home for lunch, Max was waiting for me.
“Come and see my donation,” he said, tugging at my hand the second I stepped through the front door.
“Just a minute,” I said as he pulled hard. “If you stretch my arm much more, I’ll be able to tie my shoes without bending over.”
“Please,” he begged.
“OK, I’m coming.” I wondered what toy Max had finally decided to part with.
He pulled me down the hall and into the kitchen. I didn’t have to look into the box to see his donation, because it stuck out of the top. It was an enormous tiger with velvet orange fur. I’d never seen such a humongous stuffed animal before. “Where did that come from?” I asked.
“I bought it with some money I had saved up. I wanted to put something in the box that I liked best of all, but none of my toys seemed special enough. Don’t you think someone is going to really like it?”
“Yes, I sure do!” In that short moment, Max taught me a lot about giving. Even though he didn’t know the person who would receive his gift, and even though he didn’t have such an amazing big tiger for himself, Max just cared about giving his best.
“Come on, Max, Old Buddy,” I said. “I think you can help me. I want to donate a few more things to that box myself. What do you think a seventh grader would like best of all?”

Until one Sunday. I don’t know what got into me. (It certainly wasn’t pancakes! Might have been a past Sunday School lesson, though.) At any rate, I decided that I would really see if I could get something out of fasting besides killer breath. Why go through the discomfort and come away with nothing more than relief that it’s over?
So when I woke up that Sunday morning, I made a deliberate effort to be pleasant and patient. I didn’t prowl the kitchen, growling like an echo of my stomach. Yes, I spent some time reading the Sunday paper, but I also spent time (and effort) in the scriptures. When I went off to my room, it was not to sulk, but to pray—for patience, for understanding, for an increase of testimony.
My mouth still tasted like something small and furry had hibernated in it. But mouthwash helped. My stomach still threw tantrums for a while. But then the hunger pangs faded into the background, partly because I was tuning them out, and partly because my body seemed to shift into another gear.
As the day progressed, I actually became happy. (No, it wasn’t delirium.) In fast and testimony meeting I found myself watching the speakers and listening to their testimonies, rather than watching the clock and listening to my stomach. Being there felt good. When dinner time finally arrived, I discovered that I was able to sit calmly. A new sense of self-control allowed me to eat reasonably, instead of giving way to the usual gluttony of the “feast of the fast over.”

Other milestones were trips to the Freiberg Germany Temple to be baptized for the dead in April and August 1994. Latter-day Saint youth from all over Hungary crowded onto buses to make the 22-hour journey. Then they returned home with a mission: to tell others about it so everyone could share in the power and beauty of the experience.
“I didn’t know who the people were who I was being baptized for—or when they lived,” says Somodi Zsuzsanna, 18. “About halfway through, without warning I suddenly felt the Spirit. I felt that perhaps that person had accepted the gospel in the spirit world and had been waiting for somebody to be baptized in her name. I have never felt such a wonderful thing, before or since.”
“When I was inside the temple,” says Borsos Péter, 18, “I had the sensation that the temple had no roof—that there was direct contact with heaven!”

When I was a young boy, we had no running water in our homes and no electricity. I can remember clearly when electricity first came to Bunkerville. I also remember my father and me taking horses and a big water wagon up to a spring in the mountains and bringing back drinking water to fill our man-made cistern. We would have to clean out the cistern before putting the fresh water into it. When we needed drinking water, we pumped it out by hand and carried it into the house in buckets.

Since starting on those paths, we have come to learn how truly merciful God is, how deeply He loves us, and how perfectly compelling His love is for us. When I was 16 years old and not smart enough to know very much at all, the Spirit touched my heart and I realized the significance of the woman that you marry. Starting at that time I began to pray that the Lord would find for me the woman who would be my eternal companion. Those prayers were answered, and all that we now enjoy in our family with children and grandchildren is largely responsible to her.

William hopped into the car next to Jeremy and buckled his seat belt.
Is everybody ready for preschool?
Yes!
Yes!
Jeremy’s mom started driving down the road, and William opened his lunch box. He pulled out a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and took a big bite.
Jeremy looked at William’s sandwich. It looked yummy. Jeremy was hungry.
Mom, I’m hungry. Do you have something for me to eat?
Sorry, Jeremy. We ate before we left. I don’t have anything else.
OK.
Jeremy was sad. He wanted a sandwich too.
William saw that Jeremy was sad. He pulled off a piece of his sandwich and handed it to Jeremy.
Here you go!
Thanks, William. You’re nice.
No problem. That’s what friends are for!

Being modest has its rewards! For one of my Personal Progress goals, I chose to make something for my 4-H project that would be modest and help me share my values with the community. I made a skirt, entered it into a 4-H fashion show, and modeled it. As I modeled, the judge looked to see if the outfit was age appropriate and how it fit; she also evaluated my demeanor. The judge commented on how she loved the skirt and how the shirt I chose complemented the modesty of the skirt. She praised me for the courage I had to choose an outfit that was age appropriate and modest. Other girls that I competed against had made outfits that were more elaborate and revealing. It made me feel good to know that I had followed the teachings that I had learned in Young Women about virtue. I felt good about what I had done (and winning a ribbon made it all the better). Even if I hadn’t placed in the competition, I know that doing the right thing gives you rewards.

“Personal Progress helped me. Every completed assignment gave me growth; it added knowledge and courage,” Ivana says. “It was especially good for me because most members of my family aren’t active members of the Church.”
The changes Ivana made through Personal Progress helped her be an example to her family. “All this time my parents have seen how I’ve changed. They were very happy that I was going to church,” Ivana says. She attended church and activities alone until one day her mother decided to come with her to sacrament meeting. Now they attend church together.

“The orphans are going to like all this stuff,” John said as he loaded the last box. The back of the panel truck was filled with presents and bags of food gathered by his Scout troop. He found room for a big bag of apples. “Perfect fit!”
“Boys, it’s time to go,” Dad said as he closed the back doors. “Get in.”
The truck was a bit crowded, but nobody minded—everyone was too excited about the Christmas party at the orphanage. Everyone except John.
He’d never met any orphans before, and the Korean boys, he’d been told, didn’t speak English. Meeting them made him nervous, but he didn’t say anything—after all, his dad was the troop leader. Besides, the other boys had been in the troop longer, and the party had been their idea. They thought this wasn’t just a good Christmas service project but a way of celebrating the end of the war by helping the Korean kids who had lost everything they had, including their parents.
Each boy was supposed to pick out three of his own toys to give to the orphans. Good ones, too—not old, broken ones. “Something you’d like to get as a present,” John’s dad had insisted. John tried to act as excited as the others. “I hope the boy who gets my race car likes it,” he said. “It’s my favorite.”
It wasn’t quite true, but no way was he going to give away his best stuff! Dad’s transfer was only going to be for a few months, and John hadn’t been able to bring all his things, anyway.
He’d had a hard time deciding what he could part with—certainly not his favorite race car, the one with the rip-cord starter and huge, knobby tires that went vroom-vroom when it zipped across the floor! So he’d picked another one. It was almost as good but didn’t go as fast. The teddy bear and wooden puzzle he gave up weren’t favorite things, either.
John sighed now and stared out the window. They’d been driving for miles through the Korean countryside. Gray slushy snow lined the road. The farm fields were a patchwork of dirty snow and brown mud. As the truck made its way to the top of the narrow, winding road to the orphanage, John got his first look at it. What an ugly place! he thought. As soon as his dad parked the truck, the boys scrambled out and began unloading the gifts.
All except John, who was too busy looking around. At the end of the yard was a long shed. Its roof was nothing but scraps of rusty sheet metal. The plywood walls weren’t even painted. Scrawny chickens pecked around in the straw, and equally scrawny goats wandered in and out the open door. Just inside the door, he could see rabbit cages. Hiding behind the cages was a skinny little kid with thick bangs cut sharply across his forehead. One of the orphans, John guessed.
The boy peeked around a cage at John but didn’t smile. John noticed that the boy wasn’t wearing a coat, just a ragged sweater. No mittens, either, nor a hat. Isn’t he freezing? John wondered. Then he glanced at the boy’s feet.
No shoes! Just rubber flip-flops and those funny-looking Korean socks. He called them “mitten socks” because they had a space between the big toe and the other toes for the flip-flop thong. He knew that they were only funny looking because he’d never seen them before, and that both they and the flip-flops (which would later be known as thongs) were practical and useful—he’d seen Korean farmers wearing the same socks with flip-flops—but he had not realized that anybody wore them in the wintertime too!
Suddenly the small boy smiled and waved a shy greeting. Then he darted away. John stood watching as silent Korean boys did their chores. Most wore coats, but only a few had mittens. One boy’s hands looked blue with cold. John turned to say something to his dad, but he and the other Scouts were heading inside the orphanage. John raced to catch up. Inside it was warmer, but not much. He decided to keep his coat on.
“Come on, boys, help me put the things out,” Dad said as he started unloading the food they’d brought—big bags of rice and beans, two huge turkeys, cookies, oranges, apples, candy canes, juice, and cupcakes with green coconut frosting.
Some of the Korean boys helped. They put the presents under a scraggly tree decorated with homemade ornaments and paper chains. On Christmas morning the orphans would open their gifts. Now they laughed and shook each present, chattering away excitedly.
John couldn’t understand a word they were saying, but he could see how they felt. He was excited about Christmas too! Maybe he should have given away his favorite race car. But there was no time to think about that—the party was starting. The other Scouts were already lining up to sing Christmas carols.
Soon the singing and games were finished, the cupcakes and cookies were eaten, and the party was over. As John headed for the door, he spotted the little boy who had smiled at him outside. The boy smiled and waved again from across the room.
John took his red mittens from his pocket and went over to him. “Here. You keep these. Merry Christmas!”
The boy looked puzzled.
“Go on, take them. They’re for you—to keep.” John held the mittens out again.
Slowly the boy reached for the mittens and slipped them on. His face split into the biggest grin that John had ever seen! He bowed his head and kept repeating something that John couldn’t understand.
“Kim Lee, Kim Lee!” the boy then said, pointing at his chest.
“Oh, I get it,” John cried. “Your name is Kim Lee!” He pointed at his own chest. “John Morris.”
The boy nodded, said, “John Morris,” then repeated those same strange-sounding words.
This time John knew what they meant: thank you. He wished that he could stay longer, but it was time to go. As they headed down the gravel driveway, John turned to see red-mittened hands waving from the barnyard gate. “Merry Christmas, Kim Lee,” John whispered.
All the boys were quiet on the way back. John broke the silence. “Dad, those boys at the orphanage will like the toys and other stuff, but they really need some warm clothes.”
“You’re right—they do,” Dad agreed.
“Do you think we could buy a bunch of mittens and hats and stuff like that and take it out there? In time for Christmas?”
“I think that’s a great idea. What do the rest of you think?”
The boys eagerly agreed: “Let’s buy them some warm socks.” “Maybe we could get them some snow boots too. I’d sure hate to walk around in the snow in flip-flops!” “Me too! Let’s get mittens and socks and hats and boots.” “My dad and mom will help us.” “Mine too.” “And mine.”
As he and Dad went home after dropping the other boys off, John was happy about the Scouts’ new plans. He was even happier as he got out his race car with the rip-cord starter and huge, knobby tires and covered it with Christmas wrapping paper.

For units where face-to-face meetings are allowed but not yet advisable for Primary-age children, President Rizaldito and Sister Josette Castro of Davao 1st Ward, Davao Stake advise parents to find ways to help keep their young ones focused on Sunday as the Lord’s day. “We have our two younger children watch Church videos for children while they wait for online Primary,” says President Castro, who serves as stake president. “We also teach them reverence for the Lord by having them wear Sunday best clothes,” he adds.
Sister Castro also has her two boys Boyd, 11, and Kiel, 6, make the most out of Primary online resources such as the Activity Pages and the Children’s Guidebook, which are both available online (www.churchofjesuschrist.org) and in the Church’s Gospel Library app. “We also adjusted our family home evening schedule to Sunday night so that the whole family can focus on the gospel more on the sabbath,” she reveals.

In late 2020, a group of women from the Como Ward Relief Society of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints organised a collection of various items to donate to the Lifehouse project. The Relief Society motto—charity never faileth—invites women to seek out and help those in need, so the members gathered suitable contributions over a period of two months.
Steve Klomp, the president of RTLWA expressed his appreciation to Relief Society member Geri Campbell for the donations which were delivered in “bootloads” via her car. He said he was “particularly impressed with how the Church has the ability to organise and mobilise its members when there is a community project or a need to be filled.”

In 1997 I found myself on what was supposed to be a 10-day working assignment in La Victoria, Venezuela. When I realized that I wouldn’t be returning home to Italy as soon as I expected, I began looking for a Latter-day Saint chapel so I could go to church on Sunday.
One day at lunchtime I made friends with a young Italian engineer who knew where to find a chapel in Maracay. He made a map for me. I had a car at my disposal, but unfortunately I hadn’t yet taken the medical examination required to obtain temporary permission to drive.
I was new to the area, I had only a sparse knowledge of Spanish, and several people had advised me against taking public transportation alone. I faced a dilemma. As Easter Sunday approached, I really wanted to renew my covenants by partaking of the sacrament. If I didn’t drive, how could I attend church in Maracay? If I did drive, I risked being stopped for driving without a permit.
As I considered my options, the 12th article of faith came to mind: “We believe in … obeying, honoring, and sustaining the law.” Rather than drive, I knew that I must obey the law of the land (see D&C 58:21), even if doing so meant missing church.
A few days later I transferred to a hotel where several of my co-workers were staying. On Saturday morning, after a walk I returned to the hotel, still trying to figure out how to attend church the next day. As I passed the reception desk, to my surprise, I saw a copy of the Liahona in Spanish.
“Who is a member of the Church here?” I asked. Someone responded that the magazine belonged to one of the hotel workers. The receptionist went to his office and invited him to meet me. As we chatted about the Church, this good brother told me that there was a ward right there in La Victoria and that the chapel was located just a short walk from the hotel. He told me he would be happy to meet me the following morning and accompany me to church. What joy!
I ended up being in La Victoria for two more months. During that time I built many friendships as I happily participated in meetings and activities. Shortly after Easter, I obtained legal permission to drive, which enabled me to attend stake conference in Maracay.
While I was in Venezuela, my testimony of the importance of obeying the law of the land—even when inconvenient—was strengthened. I also obtained a testimony that Church publications are an effective way to share the blessings of the Lord.

Lindy burst through the front door. “Mom, I’m home! No more school for the rest of the week, and tomorrow is Thanksgiving!”

Mom smiled and gave her a big hug. That’s when Lindy noticed Dad and her older sisters sitting in the family room.

“Hi, Dad,” Lindy said. “Are you home early because of the holiday?”

“No, sweetheart. Come here and give me a hug, and then I’ll tell you all my news.” Dad smiled calmly. “I lost my job today. I know that’s a little scary, but I’ve already started to work on finding a new one. It may take a while, so we have to be patient and trust in the Lord.”

Lindy’s oldest sister Rebekah started to cry. “Will we have to move?” she asked through her tears.

“I’m going to try to find a new job here first,” Dad said.

“But even if we do end up having to move, remember the last time we moved?” Mom said. “We found great friends and activities here that we didn’t have before. The most important thing is that we go where the Lord wants us to go.”

“That’s right,” Dad said. “We’ll pray for the Lord to guide us, and we can talk about our choices as a family. I think right now the best thing we can do is have a family prayer.”

During the prayer Lindy felt a little better, but she was still scared. She thought a lot about her school, friends, neighborhood, and home.

The next day family and friends came over for Thanksgiving dinner. Most of the adults told Dad they would talk to people at work and see if there were jobs available. Lindy felt good to know there were so many people who cared about them and wanted to help, but she was still worried.

After their guests left, Lindy asked Dad if she could talk to him for a minute. “Are we going to have to leave our house since we don’t have any more money to pay for it?”

“Oh, Lindy,” Dad said, “you don’t have to worry about that. We have money put aside so we can pay for our house until I get a new job.”

A few days later, Lindy went into the room where Mom was ironing clothes. “Mom, you know how we’ve been eating leftovers every night? Well, I was just wondering if that was because … well, because Dad’s not working now.”

“You mean you wonder if we can’t go to the store to buy new food?”

Lindy nodded, looking at the ground.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Mom said, “we have money for food. We just have lots of leftovers from Thanksgiving dinner. Don’t worry—we will have money for food until Dad gets a new job.”

That night both Mom and Dad came to tuck Lindy into bed. “Lindy, how are you feeling now? Are you still worried?” Mom asked.

“I don’t know. My stomach feels sort of sick. It just feels strange.”

“Lindy, we don’t want you to worry about anything,” Dad said. “Do you remember our food storage in the basement?”

Lindy nodded.

“We have that because we obeyed the prophet when he told us to be prepared. And he didn’t just tell us to prepare by storing food—he told us to get a good education, put money into savings, and prepare spiritually to feel the Lord’s direction in our lives. We have tried hard to do all those things, so we’re prepared for a time like this.”

Lindy looked up at her dad. “Did the prophet really say all those things?”

Mom nodded. “When the prophet warned us to put our houses in order, Dad and I decided to follow his counsel. We don’t spend all the money Dad gets paid. We save some of the money every month for an emergency like this. We haven’t borrowed money to buy things we can’t afford.”

“So here’s our emergency, and we’re ready because we obeyed the prophet,” Dad said. He smiled. “Now we need to listen to the Spirit and trust in the Lord to keep guiding us.”

For the first time, Lindy started to relax. Her stomach didn’t feel strange anymore. She remembered the family home evening they’d had a few weeks before Thanksgiving, when they had talked about things they were grateful for. Even though a sad thing had happened since then, she was even more grateful!

“Dad and Mom, I didn’t really think about how the prophet helps us until now,” she said. “I’m glad you listened to him. I’m not going to worry anymore.”

Dad tucked Lindy’s blankets around her, and Mom sang to her while she snuggled into her bed. She fell asleep hoping it would snow so she and her sisters could build a snowman.