Gospel Story Finder

As a new missionary in Japan, I had a hard time understanding anyone, let alone getting to know them. It was difficult to learn to love people I didn’t even know, especially when I couldn’t understand what they were saying. But I made an effort to show my love for them, and I appreciated their efforts to reach out to me.
Each week, my companion and I received a loaf of homemade bread from a sister in the ward named Sister Senba. She showed her love for the missionaries by baking homemade bread and writing small but heartfelt notes.
I was touched that someone cared about me. I felt impressed to show my gratitude to her in some small way. I wrote her a note expressing how grateful I was for her and the sacrifices she and her family made to help the missionaries. We became friends, and I began to think of her as my “mother away from home.”
Months passed. Early one Wednesday morning I received a call from my mission president, who asked me to transfer down to Okinawa. When I hung up the phone, I was filled with the most bittersweet feeling. I dreaded having to say my good-byes. Each phone call to tell members of the ward I would be leaving on the following day made my heart hurt. Saying good-bye to the people I had come to love so much was more difficult than I had imagined it would be.
As I finished these calls, I noticed that the only one who had not answered the phone was Sister Senba. I was sad I would not be able to say good-bye to a member who had become so close to my heart.
The next morning two other missionaries and I left for the airport. When we arrived at the ticket counter and tried to buy tickets, the workers told us that our cards had been declined. We did not have any money to pay for the tickets, and the flight was leaving in 10 minutes! The three of us were in a panic. We were about to miss the flight and be stranded at the airport for the day.
But all of my panic turned to comfort when I turned around and saw Sister Senba walk into the airport. I was shocked that she was there because she hadn’t known what time our flight was. As she scrambled over to us, she smiled and gave us all bread to bring onto the plane.
Truly the Lord uses small means to bring about His work.
As we explained to her that we were going to miss our flight, she became saddened. None of us knew what to do. Then Sister Senba began rummaging through her purse, looking for something that could help us. She jumped happily into the air when she found a small envelope in her purse in which, weeks ago, she had placed ¥50,000—the exact amount of money we needed. She gave us the money, and we were able to get our tickets in time. We thanked her with every ounce of gratitude our souls could muster, said good-bye, and rushed onto the plane.
After the plane took off, my fellow missionary turned to me and said, “Isn’t she amazing?! That was a miracle!”
I then realized how truly miraculous it really was. He then said, “What does your note say?” I saw he was reading a note that was with the bread Sister Senba had given him. As I realized I had one too, I pulled out the note and read a small piece of paper personally addressed to me, which immediately made my eyes swell with tears. It said, “I love you! Please don’t forget me! I will never forget you!”
At that moment I felt the Spirit more strongly than I ever have before. Sister Senba’s example taught me how important it is to follow the promptings of the Spirit—no matter how small or strange the prompting might seem. Through these promptings we have the power to change lives for the better. I know it was not a coincidence that she came to the airport. It was a miracle.
Truly the Lord uses small means to bring about His work. How blessed we are as members of this Church to have His influence in our lives. Let us all remain worthy to receive these promptings and bless the lives of the children of God.
Editors’ note: Sister Senba was promptly reimbursed by the mission.

Here’s a fun puzzle game called Chinese Writing.
Trevor carefully eyed the odd collection of a dozen kitchen utensils on the floor.
“Who drew this picture?” he asked.
“I’m the artist,” volunteered Ken. Trevor looked carefully at Ken sitting cross-legged with head in hands. Trevor walked cautiously around the strange piece of artwork somewhat resembling a stick person.
“Well, judging from the cheese grater used for hair I suspect this is a drawing of a girl.” He carefully examined the large group of people surrounding him in the circle. “Because of the potato masher used for the mouth it must be someone with a pretty smile.” He glanced at Carol intently sitting cross-legged and head in hands. “I say it is none other than Carol Parkins.”
The group gasped in amazement. “How did you know?”
“I think I know how he did it,” boasted Cheri. “I’ll leave the room next and try.”
Do you know how Trevor did it? Did you catch the trick? That’s right. The artist gave away who the subject was by simply sitting in the same pose in which the subject was sitting. Trevor had only to see who in the room was sitting exactly like Ken. It was obviously Carol. Obvious? Well, only if you know the trick. You’ll be surprised how long it will take your friends to figure it out. Try it on them at the next birthday party you go to.

Danilo hurried through the halls of the school. Ahead of him, his dad was emptying a trash bin. Danilo hoped his dad wouldn’t see him. He lowered his head, trying to blend in with the other students. He felt embarrassed that his dad was the school custodian.
“Good morning, son,” his dad said as Danilo passed.
Danilo walked faster, pretending not to hear. But the other boys had already noticed.
“Hey, Danilo,” a boy called out. “There’s your dad, the school sweeper! Maybe he needs your help.”
“Don’t be mean to Danilo,” another boy chimed in. “Mr. Santos can do so much more than sweep. See, he can empty the trash too!”
The boys all laughed.
Danilo couldn’t wait to go to middle school next year. Maybe the teasing would stop then. He glanced over his shoulder. His dad worked with a smile on his face. How could he ignore their mean words?
Danilo ran into the auditorium. The school was having an assembly to announce the teacher of the year. His best friends, Nathaniel and Frances, had saved a seat for him.
“Who do you think the teachers chose?” Nathaniel asked.
“I hope it’s Miss Ocampo,” Frances said.
“She’s really good,” Nathaniel said. “But I like Mr. Torres most. Who do you want to win, Danilo?”
Danilo thought about his teachers. “I like all my teachers. It would be hard to pick just one.”
The principal stood up. The assembly was starting!
“It’s time to announce the teacher of the year,” the principal said. “This year, we have many wonderful teachers. But in the end, our choice was a little different.” He held up the plaque. “Our teacher of the year is Mr. Santos, our school custodian!”
Danilo couldn’t believe it! His dad, the teacher of the year? But he wasn’t even a teacher!
Danilo’s dad walked up to front of the room. Everyone clapped and cheered for him. The principal shook his hand. Then he said, “Some of you probably don’t think that Mr. Santos is a teacher. But he teaches us every day by his example. Each morning, he arrives at school before anyone else. After school, he is often the last to leave. Any job is honorable if you work hard and work cheerfully. This is what Angelo Santos has taught us. That is why Angelo Santos is the teacher of the year.”
Danilo thought of his dad emptying the trash bins. He knew how hard his dad worked. And he didn’t let what others said bother him. Maybe he could help Danilo learn how to do that.
After the assembly ended, Danilo stood up. “You go on without me,” he told his friends.
Danilo walked to the front of the auditorium. People were standing all around his dad, shaking his hand and patting him on the back. Each of them thanked him for his example. Danilo waited at the edge of the crowd until everyone had left.
His dad looked up from his plaque and smiled.
“Who would have thought it was possible?” his father asked. “Me, custodian of the school.”
“I’m so proud of you, Dad.” Danilo rushed forward and hugged his father. His father. The teacher of the year.
This story took place in the Philippines.

We went on a hike with our Scoutmaster last summer, and he reserved one night for each of us to be alone and talk to our Father in Heaven. He told us we could pray to him, just like Joseph Smith did, and get an answer. The next morning we were back on the trail again, with our Scoutmaster urging us over “just one more hill,” and “just around the next bend,” and repeating his slogans like, “When you see a man on a mountaintop, remember he didn’t fall there,” or, “Make your mind tell your body what to do. Don’t let your body tell your mind what to do.” One of the best things about our Scoutmaster is that he’s not afraid to let us see him make a mistake or two. It lets us know he understands when we flub it. One time we lined two maps up crookedly and ended up climbing the mountain next to King’s Peak. We still laugh about that, and we named the mountain “Troop 112’s Mistake”. But the thing I appreciate the most about our Scoutmaster is that he’s my dad. For more than 10 years now I’ve been sharing him with three older brothers, a younger sister, and a troop of Scouts. But that’s not hard to do because my dad has always saved part of himself for me. That’s why he’s the best Scoutmaster I know.

Karson walked to the back of the classroom to put his book away. There, lying on the carpet in front of the bookcase, was a golden ticket! He picked it up. His heart beat faster when he saw that the name line was blank.
The boys and girls in Karson’s class could earn golden tickets by doing well in their work or by being extra helpful or kind. Once a week his teacher drew a ticket out of a jar and let the winner choose a prize.
Karson couldn’t believe his luck! Today was the golden ticket drawing, and here was another ticket, just for him. He looked around, but no one else was near the ticket. All his classmates were at their desks, laughing and talking with each other.
Karson decided to write his name on the blank line. Then he could put it into the prize jar with the tickets he’d already earned. With so many chances, at least one of his tickets would definitely be picked! Then he could choose the pink stuffed pig for his sister’s birthday present, just like he had been hoping. He smiled and reached for the pencil in his pocket.
Suddenly his fingers stopped. There was a weird feeling in his chest, and it wasn’t his heartbeat. It’s finders keepers, right? he wondered.
He looked out the window and tried to figure it out. He did find the ticket, but he hadn’t earned it. And maybe whoever lost it was looking for it. But he needed this extra ticket for his great plan! He traced his finger over the blank name line and sighed. His plan wouldn’t be so great if he won with a ticket that wasn’t really his.
He remembered what Dad had told him once when he hadn’t wanted to share with his sister. “When you make a good choice, you can feel peaceful inside. You never have to feel bad about your choice later.”
He put the pencil back in his pocket and walked over to his teacher’s desk. Miss Evans smiled. “What can I do for you, Karson?”
“Uh, Miss Evans, I found this ticket on the floor near the bookcase,” he said. “I think somebody lost it. But these are mine,” he said, dropping six tickets into the jar on her desk. He turned around to leave, but Miss Evans called him back.
“Karson, you know what? I’d like you to have another ticket because you were honest and returned this one.”
“Thank you!”
“By the way, what prize would you choose if your name was drawn? The big candy bar? Or maybe the fire truck?”
“The pink stuffed pig!” Karson said right away. “It’s my sister’s birthday next week, and I really want to give it to her. That’s her favorite animal.”
Miss Evans smiled. “Well, I hope you can win it for her.”
Karson sat down at his desk and smiled. He still wanted his name to be picked, but he would be happy even if it wasn’t. Dad had been right. Making the right choice did make him feel great, and maybe, just maybe, he still might win the pink pig.

We were studying the Book of Mormon in seminary, and I had learned many things. I read every night. At first I read just because I was supposed to. Later on it was a habit, and then I was reading because I wanted to.
I learned more from the scriptures during that time in my life than I had ever imagined. I was almost finished with the Book of Mormon, and I knew the big question would be coming soon: Is the Book of Mormon true?
Late one night I finished reading the Book of Mormon. I had read it cover to cover. I knelt down beside my bed and asked with a sincere heart with a desire to know the answer to that one question. After I finished my prayer, I sat there for a minute and waited. Then it hit me. The warm, peaceful answer. Right then I knew the Book of Mormon was true. I ran upstairs to tell my parents. I stood in their doorway, and I started crying because I knew in my heart the Book of Mormon was the true word of God. That was the happiest night of my life. I cannot deny the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon.
Jennifer Harrison,Wellsville First Ward, Wellsville Utah Stake

On Christmas Eve there were only two presents under our little tree. One was for my two-year-old sister, Marycielo, and one was for me. Money was tight, Mama said, so it was all we would have.
That night Mama read a story from the Liahona about a Christmas without any presents. As she read, I felt happy and peaceful. Maybe having only one present wasn’t so bad. Then Mama said, “Instead of playing games like we usually do for Christmas Eve, what if we bring gifts to a family in the ward?”
“But what can we give them?” I asked.
“Well, we have a bit to spare.”
I glanced at our two presents, then at the picture of Jesus on the wall. “I guess Jesus would share what He had.”
We prayed about which family to visit. Many of the families we knew didn’t have much that year. After praying, we felt like we should visit the Córdoba family. They had three children, and their papa had lost his job.
We went to the store and bought panetón (a holiday bread), a baked chicken, and three little presents. We had fun picking them out. Mama spent all the money she had, about 30 Peruvian soles (about 10 U.S. dollars).
Once we were done, we drove to the Córdobas’. I held Marycielo’s hand as we walked to the door.
Sister Córdoba saw us and came out to hug us. “What a nice surprise! Come in! Sit down,” she said. As we walked inside, she squeezed Mama’s hand and patted my shoulder. “Rolando and the girls will be so happy to see you,” she told me.
The floor inside the house was made of dirt. There was no electricity, just candles. I was a little sad for the Córdoba family. I wished we could do more to help them. But Mama didn’t seem to notice the dirt or candles. She was just happy to be here with Sister Córdoba.
“We came to wish you a feliz Navidad!” Mama said. “We’re glad we’re friends.” She gave the food and presents to Sister Córdoba, who gave a big smile and said thank you.
Rolando, Madeline, and Raquel ran in from the other room to say hello. Marycielo peeked around my leg and smiled. She laughed when Rolando made a funny face at her. Soon everyone was talking, telling jokes, and laughing.
This is better than playing games by ourselves, I thought. I was glad we had come. It didn’t matter that we didn’t have much to share. And it didn’t matter if the floors were dirt. Christmas wasn’t about what we had. It was about being together.
As we got ready to leave, Sister Córdoba hugged us again. “Thank you so much,” she said. Her voice was shaking, and I could see tears in her eyes. I stood on my tiptoes and kissed Sister Córdoba on the cheek.
“Feliz Navidad,” I said.

I had just gone through some dating heartache and was spending a lot of time at my sister’s. Inevitably we ended up eating junk food, watching TV, and taking naps. Waking from one of these naps, I remarked, “I don’t think we’re very good for each other.” We laughed, but that night I thanked Heavenly Father for the realization that I was using my sister as a security blanket and prayed for greater understanding of what I might do to move forward with my life. Over the next few months, that prayer was answered as I gained understanding one concept at a time.
The next day, while attending a Relief Society meeting, I noticed a particular scripture: “Others will he pacify, and lull them away into carnal security, that they will say: All is well in Zion; yea, Zion prospereth, all is well. … Therefore, wo be unto him that is at ease in Zion!” (2 Nephi 28:21, 24). I had always read these verses as describing the proud who went through the motions of worship. I had not considered myself as being at ease in Zion by spending so much time with my sister. But I began to realize that instead of seeking healing, I’d sought comfort. I resolved then to try harder to get out of my comfort zone.
The resolution helped, but stepping out of my comfort zone made me more aware of my inadequacies, which led me to feel more critical of myself. When I mentioned these feelings to a friend, he commented, “Isn’t forgiving ourselves great?” His comment helped me desire to better forgive myself of my shortcomings—without becoming complacent like those who are “at ease in Zion.”
One day I was struck by Mormon 2:13–14: “Their sorrowing was not unto repentance, because of the goodness of God; but it was rather the sorrowing of the damned, because the Lord would not always suffer them to take happiness in sin. And they did not come unto Jesus with broken hearts and contrite spirits.” I came to understand that my feelings of failure were stunting my personal growth, and I began to ponder what appropriate sorrow would entail. It was in Sunday School that I found my answer.
Our teacher drew a line on the chalkboard, labeling one end, “Being too hard on ourselves” and the other end, “Eat, drink, and be merry.” We talked about avoiding either extreme. I wondered what words would be in the center of the line, and the Spirit guided my thoughts to the phrase “a broken heart and a contrite spirit.” It seemed to me that the solution to a tendency to be too hard on oneself might be described as a contrite spirit—one that is repentant, accepting of the Lord’s help, and grateful for His mercy. The remedy for being at ease in Zion might be called a broken heart—one that is justly motivated to change and to heal.
The Savior taught, “Ye shall offer for a sacrifice unto me a broken heart and a contrite spirit” (3 Nephi 9:20). I am grateful to know that as I seek the Lord’s help to avoid being at ease in Zion and to avoid harshly judging myself, I am offering an acceptable sacrifice to Him—a sacrifice that helps me move forward with my life.

Illustrations by Christopher Thornock
When I was 14, I made a decision that changed everything. I was walking down the street with some friends on a Friday night, and we were having a good time, just as we usually did. But tonight there was a problem, and I knew I had to do something about it. I just wasn’t sure I could.
For the past couple of years, my friends had started experimenting with cigarettes and alcohol. It was slow at first, just a once or twice sort of thing, but by the time this Friday came, they regularly smoked and drank when we were out alone.
I thought that as long as I just kept myself clean, I could still have a good time with my friends. Of course, my parents could tell something wasn’t right with my friends. And my friends could tell that my parents didn’t approve of them. That left me in the uncomfortable middle: I found myself repeatedly defending my friends to my parents and defending my parents to my friends.
So there we were that Friday night, walking down the street. My friends started drinking and smoking, and I finally realized how uncomfortable I was with their behavior. So I made a choice.
I walked to the other side of the road.
My friends laughed at me. They called me a “goody-goody.” And they said that if I stayed over there, I wouldn’t be their friend anymore.
Well, we got to the end of the road. My friends turned left, and I turned right. I was two miles (3.2 km) from home, and they were the longest two miles I’d ever walked. You might think I would feel good about making such a courageous choice, but in that moment, I felt awful. I woke up the next morning with the terrifying realization that I had lost my friends and that I was now alone. For a 14-year-old, that was devastating.
Not too many days later, I got a phone call from a member of the Church I knew named Dave. He asked if I wanted to come to his house on Saturday night. He also invited me to join his family for dinner the next day. It sounded like a lot more fun than I was currently having with no friends, so I agreed.
Dave and I had a good time together—and, of course, there were no cigarettes or alcohol. As I listened to Dave’s dad say the prayer at dinner, I felt so good. I began to think that maybe—just maybe—things were getting better.
Dave and I became best friends. We played football together, went to school together, helped each other go on missions. When we got back, we were college roommates. We helped each other find the right women to marry and kept each other on the strait and narrow path all the way to the temple and after. All these years later, we’re still good friends. And it all started with a simple phone call, right when I needed it.
At least, that’s how I thought it had all started. Imagine my surprise when, years later, I found out that it was my mom, working behind the scenes, who had orchestrated our friendship! Soon after I lost my old friends, she noticed something was wrong with me, so she called Dave’s mom to see if they could figure out a way to help. Dave’s mom then coaxed Dave into contacting me and inviting me over. Sometimes promptings to help someone in need come from the Holy Ghost; sometimes they come from an angel—such as a mother—who “speak[s] by the power of the Holy Ghost” (2 Nephi 32:3).
I’ve often wondered how life might have been different—for me and for Dave—if my mom hadn’t perceived my struggle and taken action. Doesn’t that remind you of the way Heavenly Father blesses us? He knows about our every need, and He sends “blessings from above thru words and deeds of those who love” (“Each Life That Touches Ours for Good,” Hymns, no. 293).
Ultimately, we are all responsible for our own choices. As President Thomas S. Monson has said repeatedly, “The choices we make determine our destiny,”1 and many of those choices must be made personally, individually. Often our decisions make us feel isolated, even lonely. But our Heavenly Father did not send us here alone.
The decisions I made at key moments blessed and guided my entire life. But those decisions were inspired and empowered by my mother’s prayerful efforts and by Dave’s support and friendship.
The test that we call earth life is different from the tests we often take in school—where you have to keep your eyes on your own test and you aren’t allowed to help your neighbor. No, in this test, we can and must help each other; in fact, that’s part of the test. So while your choices may at times take you to the lonely side of the road, please know that all along that road are others who have made their own difficult decision to be on the Lord’s side. They will walk with you, and they need you to walk with them.

In 1991, I really felt like serving the Lord, but I didn’t know how I would serve. I prayed about it and thought of joining a born-again church. As I was thinking that this was the right path, two young guys with white shirts knocked on my door.
My wife answered the door and told me that she thought they were students, but they introduced themselves as missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They wanted to share some gospel with me. I accepted.
The missionaries had a discussion with me and my family, and then they left the Book of Mormon with us and said that we should read from it. I told them that my family would need to read it to me because I’m blind. We made another appointment with the missionaries.
When they came back, I said, “My family hasn’t read the Book of Mormon to me yet. They are busy, and they don’t have time for me.”
The missionaries then told me that the Church made audio cassettes of the Book of Mormon. They asked if I would listen to them if they brought them to me. I agreed to do that. The next time, they came with a box of the Book of Mormon on audio cassettes and gave it to me. I thought I had to pay for them, but they gave it freely to me.
I started listening to the cassettes, and I enjoyed them. The next time the missionaries came to my house, this other guy was with them. He had come from a neighboring town to visit his family. He was a member of the Church, and he persuaded me to go to church with him on Sunday.
The first Sunday I heard the gospel like I had never heard it before. This was not a church that you find many people in, but I felt something. I found that the hymns of the Church are different from all the hymns I listened to from other churches. Something kept telling me that I should continue to go to church.
I went to church for quite a time, and eventually I was baptized. A short time later, I was called to be the second counselor in the Sunday School presidency. After my call, a high councilor gave me a handbook. I told him that I was blind and could not see to read. He said that I could take this handbook and ask someone to read it for me. “Then you’ll know your responsibilities as second counselor in the Sunday School,” he said.
I looked for someone to read it for me. One of the missionaries agreed to read the manual for me and record it. As I listened to his recording, I began to understand my responsibilities. I continued serving there for quite a time.

I began studying the scriptures more earnestly and was allowed to start a Book of Mormon study group with my fellow inmates. The missionaries also met with me and others in prison. For the next 15 years, I listened to the missionaries’ lessons, and for the remainder of my time in prison, I tried to live differently. This wasn’t easy in that environment. But it was possible because of my Savior, who supported and guided me through that experience and into the next chapter of my life (see Mosiah 24:15).

I am so grateful I was blessed with the strength to break the unhealthy cycle with my ex-husband. It took a while for me to forgive him, but as I continued to study the Book of Mormon, I learned it was possible for me to forgive through the power of Jesus Christ’s Atonement.
I felt a huge weight lifted from me as I learned to completely trust that God would judge righteously knowing all the facts of our circumstances. I realized I was hurting myself by holding on to pain and resentment toward my ex-husband. I needed to forgive him in order to heal myself.
Elder Tad R. Callister, an emeritus General Authority Seventy, once wrote:
“One of the blessings of the Atonement is that we can receive of the Savior’s succoring powers. …
“… His spirit heals; it refines; it comforts; it breathes new life into hopeless hearts. It has the power to transform all that is ugly and vicious and worthless in life to something of supreme and glorious splendor. He has the power to convert the ashes of mortality to the beauties of eternity.”2
I know this is true, because I experienced it.
I am so blessed that I have been able to experience the succoring power of the Savior. He healed my heart so I could forgive. He transformed all that was ugly into a glorious experience. I have been filled with joy, and I can honestly say I’m grateful for this trial because it helped me become a stronger, better disciple of Christ.
Years later, I am still saddened at times about my divorce, but it is no longer a painful memory. It is merely an experience in my life that taught me so much about myself and helped me gain a closer relationship with God. And my ex-husband and I have remained cordial, thanks to the Savior’s healing power.

My work as a chef was my life. I traveled the world cooking in luxury hotels and on cruise ships. I joined a team of great cooks that won many international culinary competitions.
Once, I was away from home for three years. My mother would often call me in tears and tell me to come home.
One day in Milan, Italy, where I had contracted to cook at a hotel, I met the full-time missionaries in a crowded subway station. They told me about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and shared some gospel principles. I especially enjoyed what they taught me about the family.
The missionaries gave me a copy of the Book of Mormon and asked me to pray about it. They also gave me a pamphlet with instructions on how to pray.
I returned to my hotel happy, went to my room, prayed, and began to read. The more I read the Book of Mormon, the more I desired to read. Unfortunately, work kept me from seeing the missionaries again. When my hotel contract ended, I returned home to Bari, where I began cooking for another hotel.
One day at the hotel restaurant, another cook, for inappropriate reasons, tried to get dates with some of the waitresses there. He was mad because the waitresses, who were Latter-day Saints, refused to go out with him.
Remembering the missionaries I had met in Milan, I told the cook that the waitresses had a right to turn him down.
“So, are you a Mormon too?” he asked.
Because I liked the principles the missionaries had taught me and because I felt justified in defending the waitresses, I replied, “Yes.”
The next time the cook saw the waitresses, he told them I was a Latter-day Saint. They were excited. When we gathered for lunch, they began asking me questions about the Church in Milan. I told them about the city and that I had met the missionaries there. When our lunch arrived, I reached for a glass of wine on the table.
“What are you doing drinking wine?” one of the waitresses asked.
“Is there something wrong with that?” I said.
“Are you even active?” another one asked.
“In what sense?” I said.
“How were you dressed the day you were baptized?” they asked.
“I don’t remember,” I told them. “I was only a month old.”
They were extremely mad because they thought I was making fun of them. I assured them I wasn’t. I admitted that I wasn’t a member of the Church, but I told them that I liked the Book of Mormon and the gospel principles I had learned. Then I asked how I could learn more about their church.
The waitresses soon introduced me to the missionaries. They could hardly believe it when I finished the discussions and got baptized.
Family photograph courtesy of the author
With my baptism, my life changed. I learned that you can’t have one foot in the world and one foot in the gospel. I learned that work is not the most important thing in life. I learned that the Lord and my family come first. Finally, I understood the sadness my mother felt in my absence, and I asked her to forgive me.
I quit traveling the world, got married in the Bern Switzerland Temple, started a family, and took a job cooking at a local hospital, where I used my talents to help sick people recover. Now I am in charge of human resources at the hospital. Working locally gives me time to dedicate to my family and Church callings.
From the day I went to the temple and received my endowment two years after my baptism, I have loved the sacredness of the temple and the work there. When my father died four years later, I was devastated. He was my hero. Thanks to the gospel of Jesus Christ, I know that he still lives.
When I entered the celestial room after doing my father’s vicarious work, I felt his embrace. At that moment, I knew that my father had accepted the gospel and the love the Lord has for His children.
We Latter-day Saints have the blessing to know the true gospel. I’m grateful for how it changed my life. The gospel is where I found true happiness. The gospel and my family are my greatest treasures.

My family and I had a simple but impressive experience with one of God’s creations. I gave my wife, Barbara, a dozen roses as a valentine. They were a delicate shade of peach in color and had a rich scent. Barbara put them in a vase and placed them on the table in our family room. As the days passed, the family watched the blossoms unfold from buds to full flower.
As I watched this miracle, I became curious about roses. I was amazed to learn from a botanist friend that there are thousands of different varieties of roses. Inside each rose is a giant storehouse of genetic coding that develops a seed or a slip into roots, stems, thorns, leaves, colors, and blooms.
Each rose is a compact chemical-processing factory. Using sunlight, the green leaves take carbon dioxide from the air and replace it with oxygen, which we breathe. When other chemicals within the plant react with sunlight, it produces starch that becomes food. As you know, this process is called photosynthesis, and without it the earth’s atmosphere would soon be devoid of oxygen, and most living things would disappear from the earth.
This experience led me to consider the myriad forms of plant and animal life that thrive in astounding balance upon the earth. My esteem for our little roses took on an element of wonder and reverence. I pondered the power of the Creative Genius who lovingly provided such marvels for His children. I thought then how important it is for every human soul to see and appreciate the glory and grandeur of God in everything about us. Into my mind came the words and message of a beautiful hymn:
When thru the woods and forest glades I wander,
And hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees,
When I look down from lofty mountain grandeur
And hear the brook and feel the gentle breeze,
Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to thee,
How great thou art! How great thou art!
(“How Great Thou Art,” Hymns, no. 86)
I felt a deep reverence for both the creation and the Creator.

“Robert! What do you mean, you want to use your mission fund on computer equipment? You made some commitments to us, to the bishop, and to your twin sister before she …” His voice trailed off. “I loved Rachel too, son. I miss her too. But don’t you think she would have wanted you to go on your mission regardless of what happened to her?”
I just shook my head. Dad was still going on. “It was nine months ago, son. Maybe she would have wanted us all to bury our grief by now and get on with our lives.”
“I agree with you,” I mumbled. “I want to get on with my life. So why can’t I just use my mission fund on some nice computer equipment? It’s not as if Rachel is around to demand I act like nothing has changed.”
I stomped up the stairs, slammed my bedroom door, threw myself into my desk chair, and stared into the blank computer screen. Another argument. A bad one.
After hyperventilating for a while, I pushed the “on” button and powered up. The thought occurred to me that I seemed to relate better to my computer than I did to humans.
Do you want to work on your AI program as usual, sir?
I “Yessed” the option, and my Artificial Intelligence program, which we had been perfecting for the last year, appeared.
We? I mean I’m working on it alone now. My sister Rachel and I developed it, but she …
I began to fiddle with the program. I have to admit, Rachel was even better than me when it came to computer programming. She could break into any of my personal files, and she’d often leave me a scripture or some word of encouragement that would pop up on my screen. She could even do this from her hospital bed during those last days; she had her portable laptop (plugged into my computer by modem) with her every minute.
I pulled my mind back.
Anyway, her Artificial Intelligence conversational programs were the best I’d ever seen. It worked like this. A question or statement appears on the screen, and anyone can type in an answer. Then—and this is the tricky part—the computer program recognizes a word or a phrase from the human’s answer, and automatically responds with a prewritten answer, as if it were another human. If the person writing the program knows the person well enough, it would seem as if a normal conversation is taking place between the human and the computer. Of course, the machine side of the conversation had all been preprogrammed.
The first question appeared:
I am fine. How are you?
I reply: “I am just great.” The computer recognizes “great” from my answer and gives its prewritten response:
You are great. That is nice. Why do you feel great?
But I decide to tell the truth and type in “I lied. I’ve been feeling rotten for the last nine months.”
The program replies mechanically:
You are feeling rotten? I am sorry to hear that.
At this point, I began to get carried away. I had the overpowering urge to spill my innermost thoughts to somebody or something—even this stupid computer. So I started typing and I couldn’t stop.
“I am feeling rotten because I miss my twin sister.” I could feel tears running down my cheeks, hitting my hands, then rolling on to the keys. “She never complained. She was always joking with me, telling me how she could read me like a book, telling me how she wanted me to promise her that I’d still go on my mission when I turned 19. And I did promise her, just to make her feel better. Then she used to joke that she’d come back to haunt me if I didn’t leave on my mission. She always had that sly grin, that ridiculous wink, even when the pain was the worst.
“But how can I keep that promise to her? How can I go on a mission and ‘proclaim the gospel’ when I feel so bitter inside?”
My computer clock buzzed. It was midnight, exactly nine months from the day of her death. For that matter, it was nine months from when I was supposed to send my mission papers in.
Suddenly my computer screen went blank, and my hard drive began to buzz oddly. This isn’t supposed to happen. Oh no, I thought. I had been neglecting to do a backup system.
Suddenly I heard the synthesized system sing, “Boy, you’re in big trouble and your hard drive’s gonna be rubble unless you repent on the double!” It was then the terrible message appeared in large red letters over my screen:
DO NOT ATTEMPT A RECOVERY! THIS IS A TIME BOMB! YOUR FILES HAVE JUST BEEN HOPELESSLY SCRAMBLED.
My hands froze over the keys. A time bomb! One of the most awful forms of computer viruses. I tried to remember all I could about this monstrous file-invading practical joke.
A time bomb is an invasion program keyed into a computer’s clock or calendar. It can be put into the system anytime in the past—weeks, even months. It can be set to scramble files, or do anything, when the clock reaches a certain time or date. You can’t get your files unscrambled unless you do exactly what it tells you.
Another message appeared:
And don’t even think about unplugging and using your backup. That’s rigged to scramble also.
It must be a bluff, I thought. I mean, how could anyone get into my backup files? Only if they had all my security codes. But how did someone get into my system in the first place? Nobody could plant a time bomb in my system unless they had all my codes. And there’s only one person who had them, and she’s …
A cold, dull feeling began spreading from the pit of my stomach to my trembling hands, still frozen over the keyboard. And another message began to materialize on my monitor:
Robbie? Don’t be mad. It’s me.—Rachel.
I felt my hands drop to my sides, and I began to breathe funny.
I know you may be a bit surprised, but it’s all perfectly logical, really. I programmed this time bomb to go off nine months after you were supposed to send in your mission papers. I had to do it this way because I knew I’d be gone by then. If you were nicely off on your mission, your computer would have been safely turned off, and the time bomb would have canceled itself out.
But you haven’t left yet, have you, Robbie? I knew if you stayed home, you’d still be fooling around on this stupid machine all day. So because the computer is turned on and you’re not on your mission the time bomb has been activated, and you and I are going to have a little talk.
Okay, listen up. If you do everything I say, this program will unscramble your files. If not, our two-year project goes to byte heaven. Okay? Type your answer here now. And it better be the right answer.
I typed in “OK.” I didn’t have much choice. I was pretty dazed. It was like, well, a voice from the dust.
Her program recognized the correct response, so instead of deleting my files, it responded.
Good boy. I don’t have much time, so let’s get down to business. Remember, back at the hospital you promised me you’d go on your mission? Now, you know I can read you like a book! You kept averting your eyes and looking guilty. So I knew I’d have to arrange a way to do what the Book of Mormonprophets did. I call it my 2 Nephi 33:13 program. [2 Ne. 33:13]
Anyway, Robbie, you didn’t go on your mission like you promised. So now’s your chance to explain yourself. Multiple choice. Pick one.
I, Robbie, didn’t go on my mission because (a) I had some unforeseen difficulties (such as a weird disease or something); (b) I have some sort of worthiness problem; (c) I am bitter about my sister’s death.
This was starting to get ridiculous. How would her program know if I were to make up some sort of fictitious disease and choose “A.” Still, I had only lied to her once and she seemed to have picked up on that with no problem. No sense taking any chances. I might as well come clean and tell the truth. I chose “C” and pressed “Enter.”
Aha! I thought so! You’re still bitter because I had to die?
I started typing in my replies as if I were talking to a real, live person.
“I’m bitter because you had to suffer, and I’m bitter because you died.”
Robbie, remember what we used to do when either of us had a problem we couldn’t figure out? We used to get together and have a mini-scripture chase to find the answers. Well, let’s try that again.
How can I have a scripture chase with someone who’s … who’s dead? I wondered.
Here’s how it works. I’ll give you the scriptures to look up and you type them into the computer. The program will recognize them, and soon you’ll have your precious files unscrambled.
Suddenly the computer started listing scriptures I had to copy. I grabbed a set of scriptures and tried to keep up.
D&C 122:7; D&C 122:9; Rom. 8:28; Abr. 3:25; Mosiah 3:19; Mosiah 23:21.
How long was I typing those scriptures back into the computer? Three hours? Five hours? And then I had to answer questions about each verse. It was like some late-night, unending seminary lesson.
Just when I thought I would collapse and fall asleep, precious files or no precious files, the program declared:
Good job! Break time! Have a ten-minute rest.
I sunk back in my chair. I looked out the window, into the cloudless night. All those stars. I noticed I was beginning to feel different. It seemed like my jaw muscles had been clamped together for months, and I had just remembered how to relax them. Was I just getting my second wind, or were those scriptures getting through to me?
Then I noticed I had been using Rachel’s scriptures, the set she used in the hospital. There was a single piece of notepaper stuffed between the leaves, in shaky handwriting:
“Thank you for comforting me these last months. When the pain gets the worst, and I just want to die and get it over with, the nurses and my parents try to comfort me, to make me braver. But they can’t say, ‘I know what you’re going through’ because, of course, they don’t. But you can, because you’re going through worse than me. You just put on that smile and wink at me. You look so funny when you wink, I just have to laugh and then I feel better. You know, I think no one can really understand anyone that is in pain unless they have suffered the same pain themselves.”
The signature ran off the page, unintelligible.
The sound synthesizer played a few trumpet calls, and I shook myself out of my thoughts. I was once more poised at the keyboard, ready to resume what seemed to be her never-ending scripture chase. But instead, the screen declared:
Now, after studying all those scriptures, you should know everything there is to know about why some people have to suffer and die. Yes or no?
I sighed and checked “No.” I had failed. I still didn’t completely understand.
Aha! Gotcha! Of course you don’t understand all the answers to all the questions mankind has been asking for ages. Nice to see you’re finally being honest about it, though.
But at least I got you studying the scriptures again. Keep studying them prayerfully. The answers are all in there. And even if you don’t completely understand everything, come on, admit it. As you read the scriptures again, didn’t you start to feel a little of the peace we always used to feel after a good scripture read?
Or maybe a lot, I thought.
Yes, Robbie, I had to suffer and die—just like a lot of other people. Like the others in my cancer ward, like the handcart pioneers, like Joseph Smith. I prayed, like you, because I wanted to know what was going on, but I didn’t get an answer. But at least I got a feeling of peace, like Heavenly Father was there with me, telling me it was necessary.
You must be reading this sometime after my death, so I guess by now I know all the answers. I wish I could really come back and explain everything to you, but I suppose it’s not my place to tell you. But I can tell you this. I am surrounded by great and good spirits, spirits that want their families who are still on the earth to hear the gospel. I never had the opportunity to go on a mission in earth life, but here, who knows? But I have done my job on earth and will do my job where I am now.
It’s time for you to do yours.
I looked at my hands, as they now rested on the keyboard. My tears had dried, and I realized the alarm clock was ringing. It was dawn. I let it ring. I had to type very slowly because my hands were still trembling.
“Yes, Solemn Twin Promise.”
The program recognized my response, and the printer activated itself, typing out a letter.
“Dear Bishop. I want to meet with you and talk about my mission. Can we get together this Sunday after church?”
Why don’t you sign this handy note and send it off tomorrow?
“Robbie.” My mother was calling from down the hall. “Your alarm clock’s ringing. Wake up and turn it off!”
I pulled the paper out of the printer, signed it, and addressed it to the bishop.
I knew you’d make me proud of you, Robbie! Now you can have our—your—files back, and it’s time for me to go. But when you return in two years or so, turn the computer back on. You never know what other surprise messages I’ve planted in it.
“I can hardly wait,” I replied.
The screen went blank again, and I could hear the drives at work as the time bomb program told them how to unscramble the AI project files. But just before the monitor returned to normal, the family picture file activated, and I caught a half-second glimpse of a picture of Rachel grinning.
And winking.

Recently, a man sent me a book. He is a doctor of philosophy in a great university. He told me that reading that book had become a significant experience in his life. I read it. It is the story of a boy in Paris who, in an accident, was blinded at the age of eight. It is an account of how when darkness surrounded him, there came a new light into his life. When he was 16 or 17, the Germans conquered France and German soldiers marched into Paris. This blind boy, a brilliant student, organized a resistance group. He and his associates ran an operation for getting information and circularizing it with a little newspaper they printed on a duplicator. The effort grew until they were distributing more than 250,000 copies an issue. Then he was betrayed by a member of the group, arrested, and sent to Buchenwald. There in filth and despair he lived with similar victims. He could not see, but there was a light within him that rose above the tragedy of his circumstances. He survived as a leader among those in that foul camp. The little newspaper he started became a great newspaper. I read that book and was lifted and strengthened by the story of that remarkable young man. If you cannot find good heroes and heroines for your children on television, help your children find them in good books.

When Sabrina was a freshman, Eva gave her a Book of Mormon with her testimony written in the front. As Sabrina read, she and Eva would talk about it. But another friend saw her reading it and persuaded her not to finish her reading. It took two years of talking with her LDS friends and taking the missionary discussions before Sabrina was ready for baptism. She said, “I prayed one day and I got part of my answer. I felt I was doing the right thing. Everything seemed to be right. The more I prayed, the stronger I felt it was right.”
Sabrina’s baptism affected her life in many ways. “My dad was glad because he’s seen a big change in me.” When asked how she has changed, Sabrina is a little at a loss for words. Her friends chime in with a list. “She’s a lot happier, getting better grades, involved in a lot more things, more self-confident.” Then Sabrina added a few more. “I was kind of shy, but now I’m not as much. It has changed how I feel about my friends and my family, my brothers and sisters.”
Sabrina’s friends and family aren’t the only ones who have noticed a change for the better. Sabrina says that before she joined the Church, she barely made passing grades. She will be the first one of her brothers and sisters to finish high school and the first to go on to college. “My teachers and counselors have all seen this big change. They look back at records and say, ‘What happened? What did she do that is so different?’ I was nowhere, and now I set goals.”

“Hurry up, Jared, or we’ll be late for church,” Mother called from the bottom of the stairs.
Rushing down the stairs and out the front door, Jared remembered that he needed his scriptures for Primary. Rather than taking the time to go back upstairs, he grabbed an old set from the living room bookshelf.
On the way to church, he flipped through the Bible to find his favorite scripture about baptism. He wanted to recite it in Primary opening exercises. He was surprised to find that the scripture he was looking for was already underlined in red and that there was a date written in the margin. “What happened on July 2, 1982?” he asked, reading the date.
Mother pursed her lips. “Let me think,” she said. “That was about the time Samuel turned eight years old. Why, I believe that was when he was baptized.”
Samuel was Jared’s big brother. He had recently married and moved to another state to go to college. Even though Samuel lived far away, Jared loved him very much and still felt close to him.
Jared turned to the first page of the Bible and saw Samuel’s full name printed in a child’s scrawl. Jared realized this must be the set of scriptures his brother had used when he was in Primary. And he must have had the same favorite scripture about baptism that Jared had now. That made Jared feel even closer to Samuel. Turning to it in Matthew 3:16–17 [Matt. 3:16–17], Jared carefully wrote his own baptism date in the margin next to Samuel’s.
He happily carried his brother’s scriptures to his Primary class. When the teacher asked the students to open their scriptures to Doctrine and Covenants 4, he discovered that there was a bookmark there. It was old and worn around the edges.
Jared turned it sideways so that he could read the words written on it: “Every young man should serve a mission.” He thought about Samuel’s mission to Mexico and about how he had begun saving money for it while he was still in Primary. Jared wondered if Samuel started his mission fund when he got this bookmark.
After Primary, Jared carried Samuel’s scriptures to sacrament meeting. He was glad when one of the speakers invited the congregation to read D&C 131:2 with him. Jared was not surprised to see that the scripture was already underlined. He also found a card there on which Samuel had written five reasons why he wanted to get married in the temple. Jared thought about his brother’s recent temple marriage. Samuel must have started planning to get married in the temple when he was my age!
When Jared got home from church, he wrote a letter to Samuel.
Dear Samuel,
Thanks for letting me borrow your scriptures today. I hope you don’t mind that I wrote my baptism date in the margin next to yours. I’ve always wanted to be just like you when I grow up, and now I know how I can start. I want you to know I am going to save some money each week for my mission. And after my mission, I want to get married in the temple. Thanks for being a good example to me your whole life.
Love,
Jared

As part of his redeeming power, Jesus can remove the sting of death or restore the spiritual health of a struggling soul. The scriptures are filled with examples, but a young Korean sister indelibly taught me this lesson. In early 1994, while attending a stake conference in Seoul, Korea, I met Kim Young Hee, a young woman in her twenties. I noticed her beautiful countenance as she sat in a wheelchair on the stand waiting to speak. When her turn came, a brother pushed her chair to the front of the stand but off to the side of the pulpit so she could see and be seen. He gave her a microphone, and she told us her story.

As a young woman, she was healthy, had an excellent job, and was content with life. She was not a Christian. In 1987 she was in a terrible car accident that left her paralyzed from the waist down. Following her recovery in a hospital, she returned to her parents’ home wondering what life held for her. She was despondent and empty. One day a knock came at the door. Her mother answered, and two American women asked to share a message about Jesus Christ. The mother was hesitant, but the daughter heard the voices and invited them in. They were missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Kim Young Hee accepted the invitation to receive the missionary lessons. She read the Book of Mormon, prayed about its truthfulness, attended church, and received a witness of the divinity of the Restoration. She was baptized.

As she bore her testimony in stake conference, she said: “I know that Heavenly Father does not look on the outward appearance but on the heart. I also know that the true miracle is the healing within, the change of heart, the loss of pride. Although my physical body may not be healed in mortality, my spirit has felt the healing power of the Holy Ghost. And in the Resurrection, a fully restored, perfect physical body will again house my spirit, and I will receive a fulness of joy.”

We must be careful of the misuse of credit. The use of credit cards in many places has increased consumer debt to staggering proportions. I am reminded of the story of “an elderly farmer [who] wrote to a mail order house as follows: ‘Please send me one of the gasoline engines you show on page 787, and if it’s any good, I’ll send you a check.’
“In time he received the following reply: ‘Please send check. If it’s any good, we’ll send the engine.’”