Gospel Story Finder

Tim Healey of Missoula, Montana, learned the value of determination. He represented his state and country in the World School Boy Wrestling Tournament, where he took second place in his division.
Tim was plagued by back pains but overcame illness on the day of the final matches as he wrestled in the competition that led to his selection as a member of the Montana team. As a member of that team, he competed against 13 countries in the world tournament.
Tim serves as teachers quorum president in the Missoula Third Ward, Missoula Montana Stake.

When farmers’ crops fail, it may mean difficult times, but for 47 members of the Church in Mexico a poor harvest also blocked their dreams of going to the Los Angeles Temple. When the seminary students from the La Canada First and Second Wards (La Crescenta California Stake) found out about the postponed trip, they sold cheese, sponsored movies, put on dinners, took inventories for department stores, and held their own fair to raise $3,500 to help the Mexican Saints.

The eight families from Mexico and two bus drivers then rode three days after waiting weeks for visas. Most of the men, farmers and laborers, had seen their area’s crops fail and had canceled their plans to visit the temple this year. The La Canada young people had decided there could be no more worthwhile project than helping the Mexican Saints go to the temple.

The California Saints were ready with a large “Bienvenidos” (welcome) sign when the group arrived, and they greeted their guests with many abrazos (hugs). Everyone moved from the parking lot to the chapel and sang, “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet” and “Come, Come Ye Saints” in both Spanish and English. The Mexican members from Tezontepec and Conejos were welcomed by La Crescenta California Stake President Don L. Rogers and introduced to their host families.

The next day began with a chapel service after which the Mexican Saints went through a Spanish-speaking endowment session. In the afternoon they attended a sealing session. While the adults were in the temple, six of the young people who had traveled with the group and several La Canada seminary students performed baptisms for the dead. Another group of seminary youth served as baby-sitters in the nursery for the day.

After a day at the temple, the La Canada church members held a fiesta in honor of their guests. The cultural hall was decorated in red, green, and white, Mexico’s national colors, and the visitors were served some of their own national specialties—enchiladas, beans, rice, hot chiles, and fruit salad. The Mexican Saints were all introduced, and an informal program was staged by the hosting wards.

The next day was Saturday, and the La Canada youths were excited to show their guests some Southern California sights. The Mexican children especially loved the Mickey Mouse Parade at Disneyland.

The following day Mexican Branch President Tomás Gracia spoke at stake conference, expressing his love for those who had given so much to make the trip possible for his branch members. A fireside that evening gave everyone the opportunity to get better acquainted. The Saints from Mexico sang and answered questions as well as shared testimonies.

The next morning was a sad farewell as the visitors sang to their new American friends. The busload of strengthened Saints left with renewed determination to share their experiences in Mexico. For the seminary students of the La Canada wards it was hard to say goodbye, but knowing that the months of hard work had gone to help enrich and uplift others made the experience one of deep, quiet happiness.

It was the afternoon of Christmas Eve. I sat at the window in the living room and looked out. The snow had piled up almost every day for a week, but now the skies were clear and the air was icy. I could hear Mom, Tara, and Laurie in the kitchen, making treats for the neighbors. Next to me the Christmas tree twinkled, and there were piles of presents stacked beneath it. Usually on Christmas Eve I would feel each package and shake and smell it. I didn’t care about the packages this year.
Christmas had always been fun before. As soon as all the presents were exchanged, I would call Bryan, and we would spend the rest of the morning together until it was time to visit our cousins.
I couldn’t ever remember a time when Bryan and I hadn’t been best friends. We did everything together. We studied together, weeded our gardens together, had a paper route together, joined Cub Scouts together.
Bryan and I were both planning to play football in the pros. He was going to be the quarterback, and I was going to be the end. What a team we’d make! But now I wasn’t sure if we would ever play football together again.
Ever since Bryan had told me about the cancer in his left leg, I had prayed for him. I had even fasted two different Sundays. But the doctors still took his leg off, just above his knee. They said that they thought that they had caught the cancer in time and that it hadn’t spread, but his leg was still gone, and right now he lay in a hospital bed with nothing but a TV and a stack of books and magazines to keep him company.
“Randy,” Mom said, coming into the living room, “you sure look glum for a Christmas Eve.”
“I keep thinking about Bryan,” I mumbled.
“He’ll be fine,” Mom declared. “His mother told me that his whole family is going to celebrate Christmas Eve in his hospital room tonight.”
“But it’s not the same thing. Besides, I wanted to give him something … something super.”
“You already sent a present over.”
I nodded sadly. “A book. But that’s nothing, even if he does have to stay in bed and reading is all that he can do. I wanted to give him something extra special, something that he’d never forget.” I stopped for a moment, then blurted out, “What he really wanted was a football, an official leather football so that we could practice to play in the pros.”
Mother smiled understandingly. “That’s what you’ve both wanted for years, I know.”
“Bryan really did want a football, Mom. But you know how much they cost.”
Mom smiled again and just said, “Yes, I know how much they cost.”
I glanced in toward the tree and stared at the package wrapped in gold foil paper that was nestled under the far side of the tree. Yes, I thought, Mom knows how much footballs cost.
Then she asked gently, “Are you forgetting Bryan’s leg?”
“Bryan won’t always have a stump for a leg,” I told her. “They make legs. Good ones. There was a guy that had his leg cut off because of cancer, and he walked clear across Canada. If he could do something like that, Bryan will be able to play football. And if he had a football now, he’d have something to look forward to, something to work for. We’re still going to play in the pros!”
Mom went back to the kitchen, and I looked out the window again. Christmas would soon be here. If I was going to do anything for Bryan, I would have to do it soon. Then an idea came so quickly that for a moment I could hardly breathe.
Hurrying to my room, I pulled on my sweatshirt, wiggled into my heavy coat, pulled the hood over my head, stomped my feet into my snow boots, grabbed my gloves, and raced back to the living room. I reached for the gold-wrapped package under the tree, called to Mom that I’d be back in a while, then slipped out of the house.
The snow squeaked and crunched under my boots, and my breath puffed out of my mouth and nose in steamy clouds as I sped down the street. Finally I reached the hospital. I pulled open the huge glass doors, walked rapidly down the long hall, and got on the elevator and pushed the third floor button.
Bryan didn’t see me slip into his room, so I whispered, “Hi, Bryan.”
His head turned toward me, and his face and eyes brightened. “Randy!” he cried. “I knew you’d come.”
“How do you feel?” I asked, setting the package on the floor by the bed.
“Oh, OK I guess.”
“You’ll be out of here before you know it,” I said, patting him on the shoulder.
“I’m glad you came, Randy.”
“I knew you couldn’t have much of a Christmas here,” I told him. “A hospital is no place for Christmas. And I knew I could never have Christmas without seeing you. I just had to come—and I brought you something.” I bent over, picked up the package, and handed it to Bryan.
“But you already gave me a present. It’s over there, under the tree.”
I glanced at the small silver tree in the corner. My book, wrapped in Santa Claus paper, lay with several other packages. I shook my head. “That’s not my real present,” I told him. “This one is. Open it now, while I’m here.” I pushed the package across the covers to where Bryan could reach it.
He tugged at the gold wrapping paper, pulled the lid off the box, and caught his breath. Then he reached in and lifted out the football. “But, Randy, this was supposed to be yours, wasn’t it?”
“But I want you to have it,” I faltered. “It’s the only thing I could think of that was super special enough for you. It’s one just like we’ve always talked about. Now we’ll play in the pros for sure!”
For a long time Bryan stared at the ball. Then tears came to his eyes.
“Don’t you like it?” I asked hoarsely. “It’s a real one, just like they use in the pros. I just knew you’d have to have one because—” The words caught in my throat. I looked down at the flat place on the bed where Bryan’s left leg should have been.
Bryan was staring at the flat place too. “I can’t take your ball, Randy,” he whispered. “I don’t know if I can even play any more.”
“Yes you can—we’ll still play together!” I burst out. “It’s just like I was telling Mom. They make artificial legs, Bryan. Good ones. And the quarterback doesn’t have to run much. You can still play. We’ll still be a team.”
Bryan smiled weakly. “Maybe I ought to be the coach,” he said. “The coach doesn’t have to run at all. All he has to do is yell and blow his whistle, and I can at least do that.”
Bryan stared again at the flat place. I caught my breath, starting to feel sick.
Suddenly Bryan grinned up at me and declared, “It’s a super ball, just what I’ve always wanted. I’m glad that you brought it. Real glad.” Then his smile faded. “But I don’t have anything for you.”
I shook my head. “I don’t need anything. There’s only one thing I really want, and that’s for you to get well and leave here.” There was a terrible, hurting lump in my throat. I tried to swallow it away, but it was stuck. I bit down on my lip. “Every night I pray for you. And every Sunday in Primary we pray for you too. We never forget you, Bryan.”
“I know, and it means a lot to me. But I still want to give you something. I want to give you a super gift too.” He held his new ball tightly. “You know I’ve always wanted a football just like this, and to play in the pros,” he said, rubbing his cheek against the ball. He looked up at me. “You’ll have to play for both of us.” He stopped, then holding the ball out, added, “You’ll need a good ball. The very best. Take this one and play for both of us. It won’t hurt so much if I know I’m helping you out, that you’re playing with my ball.”
“But if I take your ball, that will mean I didn’t give you anything good.”
“Oh, but you did, Randy. You gave me the best gift of all, just by coming.” Bryan smiled. “I waited all day. I didn’t even sleep. I just lay here and looked out the window. I knew you’d come because you’re my friend, the best friend in the world, and having a friend like you is the very best Christmas present of all.”
I could feel a tear trickle down my cheek. I reached out, took the ball from Bryan, and tucked it under my arm. “I’ll come and see you tomorrow too.”
Bryan nodded.
As I trudged back home through the snow, I knew that now I could enjoy Christmas.

In June 1994, I was anxiously driving back home from work to watch on TV our national soccer team play in the World Cup. Soon after I started my journey, I saw from afar on the sidewalk a man quickly moving forward in a wheelchair, which I noticed was decorated with our Brazilian flag. I knew then he was also going home to watch the game!
When our paths crossed and our eyes met, for a fraction of a second, I felt strongly united with that man! We were going in different directions, didn’t know each other, and had clearly different social and physical conditions, but our same passion for soccer and love for our country made us feel like one in that very moment! I haven’t seen that man since then, but today, decades later, I can still see those eyes and feel that strong connection with that man. After all, we won the game and the World Cup that year!

Sister Yngrid Cepeda, temple and family history consultant for the San Gerónimo Stake shared the following from the stake indexing day: “Today I had a beautiful experience with my dear friend Sister Marte from the Enriquillo Ward. She didn’t know anything about her father’s relatives, and she only had the names of her grandparents. She had not had the work done for her grandfather, and we decided to print the card. As we entered the website, we saw a suggested record that was a death certificate of an aunt about whom I knew nothing. We continued researching and found a baptism certificate for her grandparents, where we found her parents (her great-grandparents). Next, we found five more children of this couple. All of this in less than 20 minutes. Thanks to someone’s indexing these records, Sister Marte has more than eight family name cards including those of her grandfather and of her great-grandparents. The spirit of Elijah manifested itself in such a clear and precise way. Tell me if this is a coincidence or is it the work of the spirit of Elijah that helps the living and the dead to meet again?”

As she lay in bed, Julia thought back to the twins’ baptisms. They had been asked to sing a duet for the baptismal program. Julia remembered how nervous they had looked when they first got up in front of everyone. But they’d squeezed each other’s hand for courage and sung “Love One Another” beautifully.
When Sister Jacobsen, the stake Primary president, called Julia a few weeks ago, it surprised her. “Your sisters did such a wonderful job that we wondered if you would prepare a song for us also,” Sister Jacobsen had asked.
Before giving Sister Jacobsen an answer, Julia thought about it for several days. Her sisters were a lot more outgoing than she was, and they had lots of friends. Julia had a couple of good friends, but she usually just sat quietly in Primary and at school activities and seldom shared what she was thinking.
Once, Julia had overheard her mother’s friend call her shy. Her mother had replied, “Oh, she’s not really shy—she’s just a good listener.” But from then on, Julia thought of herself as being shy.
Dad had told Julia that after baptism she would be given a special gift, the gift of the Holy Ghost, and it would bless her in many ways. It would even help her gain more confidence. He said that it was one of the greatest gifts he had ever received, and Julia wondered if she’d feel the same. She didn’t really understand how it worked, and wondered how it could help her with her shyness. But she knew that the Holy Ghost is also called the Comforter, and the name sounded like that of a good friend.
One night, after praying and receiving a good feeling, Julia told Sister Jacobsen that she would sing at the baptism. Every night for two weeks she practiced “I Know My Father Lives” with her dad, who would accompany her on the piano. She knew both verses by heart, and her dad even learned them too. It was fun to sing together before going to bed.
As Julia lay in the darkness, the words of the song went through her head. “I know my Father lives and loves me too. The Spirit whispers this to me and tells me it is true, And tells me it is true.” She loved how the song made her feel, and as she softly hummed it, she finally fell asleep.
After breakfast the next morning, Julia dressed quickly in her new white dress. Everyone was happy and excited for her and listened one last time as she sang “I Know My Father Lives” without one mistake.
After changing into her baptismal clothes at the church, Julia and her dad took their places at the front of the chapel. There were five other children being baptized that day, and Julia knew most of them from school. She was surprised to see how many friends, parents, and relatives filled the chapel. A sick feeling of nervousness suddenly swept over her as she thought about standing in front of everyone and singing. She wished she hadn’t accepted, after all.
Julia tried not to think about the song and listened to the talks being given and watched the video presentation about the promises she was making. All too soon Sister Jacobsen announced her name and the song she would sing. Nervously she stood at the podium and looked down at her dad, who smiled warmly at her from his place at the piano.
I can do it, she thought to herself. I’ll just pretend I’m singing in my living room, and I won’t look at the crowd.
“I know my Father lives and loves me too,” Julia sang in a shaky voice. As she continued, she glanced down at the people who filled the chapel. There were so many of them, all looking at her, and all at once her head felt hot and dizzy. The words stuck in her throat, and then she couldn’t remember where she was in the song. There was nothing to do but stop singing.
It seemed to her as if she stood there forever, crying in front of everyone, her hands covering her face. Julia had never been so scared, and she didn’t know what to do. She felt so alone, in spite of all the people there, and she wanted to run out of the church just to get away from everyone.
But the piano was still playing, and through her crying she could hear a man’s voice softly singing the words. It was her dad. He was singing the end of the first verse. Julia wanted to sing along with him, but she was crying too hard. He started the second verse in a clear, strong voice: “He sent me here to earth, by faith to live his plan. The Spirit whispers this to me and tells me that I can, And tells me that I can.”
By the end of the song, Julia had stopped crying and had her eyes on her dad. She realized that the song was over and that her singing of it had been a failure. Embarrassed and still sniffling, she walked to her seat and took her place on the front row. When her dad slipped in beside her, she couldn’t bear to look up at him. She had disappointed her whole family and ruined the entire program. Oh, why did I ever think I could do it? Julia wondered. I’m just too shy.
Julia felt her dad’s strong arms lift her onto his lap. As she slowly looked up at him, she saw that he didn’t look disappointed in her at all. In fact, he had a big smile on his face.
“Oh, Julia,” he whispered excitedly, “this is how I can explain to you exactly how the gift of the Holy Ghost works. When you stopped singing and started to cry, you felt scared and alone, didn’t you?”
Julia nodded, puzzled.
“Then I helped you by singing the rest of the song when you couldn’t finish it. Well, after you receive the gift of the Holy Ghost, you need never feel alone again. When you are scared and don’t know what to do, if you listen very carefully, you will hear another voice coming through. Heavenly Father will send the Comforter to help you. He will help you make the right decisions. Most important, He will comfort you, if you just listen and keep the commandments. Julia, He will always be your friend.”
A warm feeling came over Julia as she placed her small hand inside her dad’s. She no longer felt embarrassed about not completing the song. For the first time she understood why the gift of the Holy Ghost was such a great gift. My own special Comforter, she thought happily.
“Maybe I am a little shy,” she whispered to her dad, “but I am a good listener.”

Tavita started learning patience when he was a young boy. He needed a direction in his life, and when he was 13 a good friend got him into weight lifting. By the age of 14 Tavita could bench press 315 pounds and squat 500 pounds.
“People thought that I was 20 when I was only 14 because of the way I acted and the way I looked. I had the body of an adult. Even so, I still loved to play and watch cartoons.”
In the following years Tavita continued to grow in both strength and size. He entered and won weight lifting competitions around the country. At the age of 15 Tavita traveled to Little Rock, Arkansas, where he was recognized as the strongest 14–17-year-old in the United States, bench pressing 402 pounds and squatting 650 pounds. For five years he won national titles. By 18 he could bench press 525 pounds and squat 908 pounds.
In high school Tavita excelled at weight lifting and football. In his first season on the football field he made all-state and all-American. His list of awards goes on and on. “I excelled in football and weight lifting because they are the two sports I love the most,” he says.
But Tavita excelled not only because of his love for the sports, but because he taught himself strict discipline. That discipline helped him learn Cantonese while still preparing to enter the Hong Kong Mission. “When I got my call to Hong Kong, my next thought was, ‘What is a 265 pound Samoan going to do there?’ But I knew that was where Heavenly Father wanted me to serve.”
At the beginning, Tavita had a tough time with the language. It was frustrating to not be able to communicate his strong feelings about the gospel. “Through patience and prayer I learned to endure. The relationship between my Heavenly Father and me grew closer, more than I ever thought it could. My knees literally had calluses on them.”
Patience and long suffering helped him succeed on his mission. These attributes have continued to help him succeed in his college studies and football career. Unlike high school, where he thought he had to prove something, all he has to prove now is his worthiness to his Heavenly Father.
Tavita continues to work out six days a week. “I take a lot of pride in building the body Heavenly Father gave to me—to keep it clean and to keep it physically as well as spiritually fit.”
Tavita also strives to be a good example to both his LDS and non-LDS friends. He wants to have a positive influence on those around him.
But first and foremost is his relationship with the Lord. “The relationship I have with my Heavenly Father is a little like the one I have with my own dad and mom. I try to do the best of my ability and serve Him and do what He wants me to do.”
Tavita’s father recently passed away and his mother is living in California, but every opportunity they have, the family gets together to have fun. Tavita especially enjoys working on cars with his brothers and cousins. “I love to fix cars. I love anything to do with hands and tools. I have a strong talent for being able to fix and repair things. In fact, my father was a mechanic, and my brothers are also mechanics.”
Tavita has enthusiastic advice for the young people of the Church. “Serve a mission. Especially the young men when they turn 19. Go now. It might not be the easiest, but it will be the best two years of your life.”
He also advises youth to learn the importance of the gospel in their lives.
“Stay close to the Church,” Tavita adds. “Have a close relationship with your Heavenly Father. It has helped me.”
And that’s the kind of attitude which, whether he’s standing or kneeling, makes Tavita Sagapolu a true spiritual giant.

The choppy waters of the North Sea gently rocked the Speedwell anchored at Delfshaven, Holland. Crowding the ship’s deck were the passengers, along with their families and friends who had come to say good-bye.
Roger gathered his little sister Ellen into his arms. “Be happy that you are going to America,” he said. Ellen wrapped her arms around his neck, and her tears wet his cheek. Releasing herself, she ran to her parents, Kathrine and Edward Howard.
“Oh, Papa! Mama!” she exclaimed. “I don’t want to go away and leave my sister and brother behind.”
“Don’t worry, little sister,” Sarah said, comforting her. “Roger and I will come to America before long. Just wait and see. And remember, Ellen, although you’re almost the littlest Pilgrim on board, you must be brave, because you’re going to a brave new world.”
“Sarah, why are Pilgrims so poor?” Ellen asked. “If we were rich enough, our whole family could go to America. Then I wouldn’t feel so awful.”
“Come on, Ellen, dry your tears. I’ll tell you what—let’s play one more game of pretend before you go. Let’s pretend that I have lots of bags of gold,” suggested Sarah.
Ellen liked to play pretend with Sarah. “What are you going to do with lots of bags of gold?” she asked.
“I’m going to buy a whole fleet of ships. I’ll tell all the Pilgrims to get aboard, and I’ll take them across the ocean where they can never be persecuted again.” Sarah’s smile broadened. “Better still, let’s pretend that I’m a genie. I’ll wrap a magic web around King James, and I’ll say, ‘Aye, Your Majesty, you’re going to be banished to a faraway island where you can never rant and rave and thunder at people or throw them into prison or hang them or clap them into the stocks again. Never again will you tell people how to worship, for they will belong to any church they like.’ And then I’ll sit and watch while he flies into a rage. His beard will bristle, and his face will turn red. Then he’ll spin off into the air to an island of peacocks and apes.”
As Ellen giggled, Sarah hugged her and said, “See, it’s better to laugh than to cry.”
Edward Howard had gone down the plank for one more piece of equipment. When Ellen saw him returning with a strange, heavy load, she asked, “Papa, why are you bringing that big iron screw clamp onto the ship?”
“I’m not sure,” he replied, “but something tells me we’re going to need it.” Papa had worked at the docks for the twelve years they’d been in Holland; he understood about ships.
Sarah and Roger were small when their parents had fled from England to Holland with a group of Separatists, or Pilgrims, but they still remembered the persecutions of King James I. Ellen had been born in Holland, and she loved it because it was home to her. The Dutch people were good to the Pilgrims, allowing them to worship as they pleased. But now the Pilgrim children were speaking mostly Dutch, and the older ones were marrying into Dutch families.
“No one would ever know you’re a little English girl,” Mama once said to Ellen.
“We need to find a country of our own,” Papa declared.
In church on Sundays Ellen bowed her head and listened to Elder Brewster pray. He always thanked Heavenly Father for the kindness the Dutch people had shown them, but lately he had been adding, “Please don’t let us lose our English heritage. Guide us to a land where we can worship as we desire and where we can bring up our children as Englishmen.”
Finally, the prayers were answered, and everyone knew that America was to be their land of promise. A London company agreed to pay their passage there in return for furs, fish, and lumber from America. A patent was given them to settle in the northern part of the Virginia colony. What the Pilgrims didn’t know was that the settlers in Virginia were still bound to the Anglican Church, because King James was not interested in granting freedom of worship to any of his subjects anywhere. However, the king was very interested in the wealth that the English emigrants would send back to England from America.
Since not everyone could go to America at once, it was agreed that Elder Brewster would go with the first group. Pastor John Robinson would remain with those who planned to come later.
So on a July morning in 1620, the emigrants gathered on the deck of the Speedwell and knelt with Pastor Robinson. He stretched his hands toward heaven and, with tears streaming down his cheeks, commended them to the Lord. Then he disembarked.
The people on shore were also crying as they watched the departing ship. Aboard the Speedwell, the rails were crowded with excited, heavyhearted passengers frantically waving a last farewell to those still lining the quay. Ellen waved at Sarah and Roger until they were finally lost from view.
They sailed for England where the Mayflower awaited them. From there the two ships started for America but had to turn back when the Speedwell began leaking badly. The passengers on the Speedwell had to board the Mayflower. Finally the Mayflower, with 102 passengers and its crew, set sail for America on September 16, 1620. Of these voyagers, only thirty-five were Pilgrims. The others were either members of the Anglican Church or strangers and had no intention of changing their religion.
Master Christopher Jones was a rough seadog, as sea captains sometimes had to be. He was also good and kind. He loved his stout, chunky Mayflower and said of her, “Aye, she is apple-cheeked, double-decked, and a fine, sweet ship.”
Closely packed below deck were the stores and livestock of the colony—goats, swine, poultry, bread, butter, cheese, eggs, fish, vegetables, clothing, books, cooking utensils, farm implements, muskets, armor, cannon, and goods for trade with the Indians. The ship’s cargo was so heavy that she rode very low in the sea.
While the Mayflower skimmed westward with the breeze in her sails, Ellen played on deck with four-year-old Mary Allerton, the youngest passenger on board.
“Mary,” Ellen said, “shall we play pretend?”
“How do we play pretend?” Mary asked.
“Well, first, you make believe you’re my sister. Now I need to find a brother. Let me see … John Howland will be just right.” Walking briskly up to him, she said, “Ahoy, mate. A jolly good day it is.”
“Righto!” replied John, grinning. “That it is.”
“Aye, and a jolly good day for pretending,” Ellen added. “Would you like to pretend you’re my brother?”
“I’d like that very much,” the boy answered.
“Then it’s all settled. We are a family. Families stick together on ocean voyages and help each other.” Pretending helped ease Ellen’s homesick longing for Sarah and Roger.
One day a gale came shrieking out of the north. It tugged at the rigging, and the ship strained and groaned. Below deck, the passengers huddled together and comforted each other.
Clinging to her father, Ellen cried, “Papa, is the ship going to sink?”
“No,” he replied. “The Lord wants us to arrive in America.”
“How do you know, Papa?”
“Because He saved us once before when we fled from England and were driven by storms on the North Sea. When the water washed over us, the mariners cried out, ‘We sink! We sink!’ With divine faith, Elder Brewster cried, ‘Yet, Lord, thou canst save!’ The ship recovered, the violent storm ceased, and the Lord filled our minds with much comfort.”
Just then a wall of water lashed across the deck of the Mayflower. Wood cracked and splintered, and the main beam buckled, pulling deck boards with it. Water seeped through to the lower deck.
Cries of terror went up. “The ship is sinking!” a seaman cried.
“Brewster,” a stranger sneered, “I’ve heard about the miracle on the North Sea. See if your prayers can save us now.”
Elder Brewster looked the man in the eye and said, “We know for a certainty the Lord can save. But right now we need to combine work with faith. Come, let’s be up on deck.”
Strong and lusty seamen were struggling against the winds and the waves. The passengers ran to help them push boards against the fractured beam, trying vainly to press it up and together again.
“This iron muscle will help!” Edward Howard shouted. He came forward carrying the great iron screw clamp he had brought from Holland, and the mast was soon repaired. In gratitude the Pilgrims knelt while Elder Brewster committed them once more to the Lord.
For several days the Mayflower wallowed in the subsiding storm. At the first hint of sunshine, Ellen tugged at John Howland’s hand. “I need you to walk on deck with me,” she said.
“All right, little sister, we both need the fresh air.”
On the upper deck, Ellen admiringly patted the main beam so securely mended with her father’s clamp. At that moment a capricious wave sloshed over the deck, and John was washed overboard. Clinging to the mast, Ellen screamed and screamed. Swiftly sailors came. Miraculously John had caught hold of the topsail halyard (rope) that was dangling over the side. The halyard ran out at length, but John held on tightly, and the sailors hauled him in.
Relieved, Ellen buried her face in her hands. “Lord, thank Thee for helping John get hold of the halyard,” she whispered.
Waves and wind were gentle at last. Sailors climbed rope ladders up the mainmast and loosed the sails. While the Mayflower sailed smoothly under the stars, the passengers sweetly slept.
When Ellen awoke, she heard the cry of a newborn baby. Her feet swiftly pattered past the cabin doors until she came to the bedside of Elizabeth Hopkins. Wrapped in a blanket beside her lay the tiny baby. Ellen stared in wonder.
Little Demaris Hopkins grinned and announced, “He’s my brother!”
“Just imagine, Demaris, having a brother born in the middle of the ocean!” Ellen exclaimed.
Steven Hopkins, the baby’s father, patted Ellen on the head. “Guess what we’re going to name him! We’re going to call him Oceanus (Latin word for ocean).”
“Oh, my!” Ellen exclaimed and ran swiftly to tell her mother.
Every day Elder Brewster led the daily prayers, in spite of jeers and complaints. If mighty King James had not intimidated the Pilgrims, however, surely the strangers on board could not.
One of the worst tormenters was a huge, brawny seaman. “Aye, I’ll be burying half of you praying psalm singers at sea,” he taunted. Often he cursed and swore at them bitterly. Then one morning he was stricken. By afternoon he was dead, and his lifeless body was lowered over the side of the ship.
For sixty-six long days and sixty-six long nights, they sailed westward. On the dawn of November 10, 1620, the lookout spied a faint dark line off the starboard bow and raised a cry: “Land, ahoy!” Excitedly the passengers crowded the rail, peering toward the horizon. “Aye, there she is!” Edward shouted. Encircling his wife and little daughter in his arms, he said, “We’re almost home. There is our first glimpse of America.”
All about them people were laughing and crying. As the promised land came closer into view, the Pilgrims burst into songs of joy.
The Mayflower anchored in Cape Cod harbor. After the men had signed the Mayflower Compact, a severe sickness struck the colony. Winter came early and terribly. Many died, but the survivors built their homes at Plymouth and, with God’s help, endured. In time the little settlement grew into a lasting community, and the Pilgrims gave thanks for their new land of freedom.

Annie Clark Tanner wrote this about her mother’s needlework: “Mother was an accomplished artist at needle work. Her industry in this line, as she plied her needle when crossing the ocean in a sailboat, attracted the attention of the captain and his wife for whom my mother sewed, and thus she enjoyed the best accomodations on board. When she was traveling across the plains to the Salt Lake Valley, she made yards of fine muslin embroidery with which she trimmed her first baby clothes. I noticed a small mark of yellow on the embroidery and asked her what it was.
“‘That mark,’ she said, ‘is a little iron rust from a wire on the bow of the wagon where I tied my work when crossing the plains.’”

Jason stepped high and smashed his foot right in the middle of a muddy puddle again and again. Splat! Sploosh! Splat!

“Jason Andrew, what are you doing?” his mom hollered from the open kitchen door.

“I’m bored,” he replied as he walked toward the back door of his house.

“And you are muddy from the knees down.” His mom smiled at him. “Go change your pants and put on some dry socks and shoes. Then come back. I have something that you can do for me.”

As he went upstairs, Jason noticed that the house smelled of fresh-baked cinnamon-raisin bread. It made his mouth water. He really wanted a piece of the warm bread with lots of melted butter on it. But he would do what his mother wanted him to do first. After he changed, he went back downstairs to the kitchen.

“I’m here, Mom. What do you want me to do?”

His mom turned from the dishes and said, “Will you please carry this loaf of bread over to Sister Chester’s house for me? She can’t bake anymore, and she enjoys homemade things. She’ll probably try to say she doesn’t need it, but I want you to tell her, ‘Just being neighbors, Sister Chester.’ It is important to tell her in just those words. Can you remember them?” Jason nodded. “When you get home, you can have a glass of milk and a slice from this second loaf.”

Jason watched as his mom wrapped the fragrant bread in a piece of shiny foil. Then she placed a large red ribbon around it.

As he walked across the street with the warm bread, he practiced saying, “Just being neighbors. Just being neighbors.” He wondered why it was so important to say exactly that.

As Mom had said, Sister Chester objected to taking the bread. However, as soon as he said, “Just being neighbors, Sister Chester,” she smiled and took it.

“Thank you,” she said.

The screen door closed behind Jason with a bang when he came home. “Mom, why did Sister Chester change when I told her we were ‘just being neighbors’? After I said that, she smiled, took the bread, and said thank you.”

“Many years ago, before you were born, Daddy and I bought this house. I was expecting Rachel and became sick not long after we moved in. I had to stay in bed for about a month. One day, not long after I became ill, Sister Chester came over. She cleaned the kitchen; made dinner for your dad and me; and washed, dried, and folded all the dirty clothes. I tried to get her to stop, but she smiled that special smile of hers and said, ‘Just being neighbors, girl. Just being neighbors.’

“She came over almost every day to fix dinner and do chores until after I had Rachel. On days when she couldn’t come, she sent her granddaughter over with dinner.

“Now that she is older and can’t do as many things as she used to, it is my opportunity to help her. Doing things for others helps us to feel useful and good inside. Besides, it is what Father in Heaven wants us to do.”

After eating two slices of cinnamon-raisin bread (with melted butter) and drinking a large glass of cold milk, Jason went outside. He sat on the back porch with his chin in his hands.

He was bored again. He looked across the fence. Mr. Jensen’s yard was full of leaves. Normally he would have the leaves raked and bagged and sitting on the curb by now for the garbage collector to take. But Mr. Jensen’s arm was broken, and he didn’t have anyone to help him. Jason’s mom had just taken dinner over to him.

Jason’s face broke into a smile, and he headed for the shed.

As he began raking the leaves from Mr. Jensen’s yard, Mr. Jensen and Jason’s mom walked out of the house.

“Jason, you don’t need to do that,” Mr. Jensen said.

“Just being neighbors, Mr. Jensen, just being neighbors!”

One evening my missionary companion and I knocked on the door of a young man who was an international student studying at one of London’s many universities. He invited us in, and we explained that we were missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He seemed eager to learn more about the Restoration of the gospel, so we testified of the Prophet Joseph Smith and told him about a sacred book from our Heavenly Father called the Book of Mormon. We emphasized that it was sacred because it testifies of Jesus Christ.
We explained that he could know for himself of its truthfulness and offered to give him a copy. As I handed the Book of Mormon to him, he got up from his chair and left the room without saying a word. I held the Book of Mormon in my hand momentarily, and my companion and I looked at each other in puzzled silence, wondering what to do. I put the book down on the table.
We could see our young friend in the kitchen washing his hands and drying them on a fresh towel. He came back into the room and picked up the Book of Mormon from the table and simply said, “My people always wash their hands before they touch something sacred.” Tears came to my eyes as I watched this young man open the Book of Mormon for the first time and turn its sacred pages with his clean hands.
I was sent on a mission to teach the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, yet I was the one being taught by this young man with his clean hands. In many cultures—including my own—it isn’t necessary to wash our hands before reading the scriptures, but his simple gesture of respect was a reverent and powerful reminder of the sacredness of the Book of Mormon.

I can’t recall if I ever made up for that broken promise, but I can remember similar instances when I chose a virtual world over the real. I played video games throughout adolescence but became very involved with a multiplayer online game from the age of 16 until I started college at 18. I devoted hundreds of hours to boosting my character and my virtual skill set. I spent less time with my family, opting to complete quests with my in-game friends instead.
And it wasn’t just the game; I spent hours online watching videos, checking blogs or social networks, often running across or choosing to view material that I knew was below my standards.
As my virtual stature grew, my spiritual strength was shriveling. I became desensitized to living in the real world. I didn’t feel good about myself, and my priorities became unfocused. The virtual world had a grip on me, and I wouldn’t force myself to get real. I could sense the weakness within me but was unwilling to stop spending “money for that which is of no worth, [and my] labor for that which cannot satisfy” (2 Nephi 9:51).
I wish I could say that I eventually came to my senses and threw the game out, realizing how much of my time it wasted. Sadly, this was not the case. I stopped playing only because the Internet filter at my college dorms blocked it.
But I saw this as a chance to change. As I started my first semester, my focus shifted from building up my virtual character to realizing my true potential. Without the fantasy world distracting me, I tuned back in to the Spirit as it spoke to me of “things as they really are, and of things as they really will be” (Jacob 4:13).
In the six months or so that followed, I had the time and focus to do some incredible things. Instead of spending hours acquiring better armor, I studied my scriptures and learned to put on the armor of God (see Ephesians 6:10–17). Instead of honing skills that did me no good outside of a video game, I unearthed practical talents that allowed me to better serve others (see Matthew 25:14–29). I magnified Church callings, studied hard, and earned grades I felt good about. I made many new friends and (gasp!) even dated some.
Sometimes I missed that animated world, the competition and challenges, the in-game experience, the online friends I had made and played with. But as I thought about the changes I had seen in my life and myself, I knew I was fuller, happier, and more at peace with the things giving up the game had allowed me to gain.

In March 2024 when the weather was still quite chilly, the Chorley 2nd Ward of the Chorley Stake, led by Elders Quorum President Martin Cook and other members of the ward, completed an outdoor Service Activity in Cuerden Valley Park, Lancashire.
Ms. Laurance McCormick, a neighbour of Brother and Sister Wild, approached them and asked if our Church members would be willing to help clear a totally overgrown area within the park so that wild flowers could be planted. There is a big push around the country to do this as it helps bees and other insects to thrive. Brother Cook contacted Laurance and offered our help, which then led to a meeting with one of the park rangers, Phil. Tools, health and safety equipment, and even hot chocolate were to be provided.
On the day of the service, Saturday 9th March 2024, ward members met with Phil as well as Liam and Andrew, two other park rangers. Instruction was given by the rangers and they split the 24 members, full time missionaries and one non-member into 3 working parties. It was very hard work, but fun nevertheless, with new friendships developing and old friendships strengthened. By 11:30am most of the work was done, and what a difference the concerted efforts had made. Everyone felt rewarded by the work and difference that had been made. All was cleared and made ready for the planting.
Some days later Martin got a message from Phil, thanking him and all the wonderful hardworking members. They said that the day was a fantastic success, with all the goals achieved and the team would be welcome to check back in three or four months when the flowers are blooming.
Service in the community is a blessing to all and a bridge builder for missionary work. Those undertaking this wonderful service included Bishop Shead, the Lewis family, Peter and Luke Fagg, Thomas Warburton and Cassius Rosslee, Lauren Gladwinfield, Bryan and Linda Loynes, Stephen Harrison, James Bradley, David Brown, Dan Dudley, Peter Wilson, Nick Wild, Jo Hughes, Bradley Whitfield, Laurence McCormick, Helen Hughes, Terence Kendell and Martin Cook.

In one area where more than 300 homes burned, the residents honored the firemen and the missionaries. One resident said, “These missionaries worked longer and harder than anyone else.” Then the missionaries sang, “Because I Have Been Given Much,” (Hymns, no. 219). After the song, the missionaries and residents hugged one another with tears in their eyes.
Said one elder, “We showed others that though we are young, the gospel guides our lives whether we are teaching the gospel or digging out the remains of a home.”

A true story from the USA.
Rowan watched as Miss Brody invited a new student to stand at the front of the classroom.
“This is Ernest,” Miss Brody said. “He just arrived in Hawaii from a country called Ukraine. He doesn’t speak any English. Will you all be kind and make friends with him?”
Rowan and his classmates nodded.
Ernest was looking down and frowning. He was the only person wearing long pants and a long-sleeved shirt.
Rowan wondered what it would be like to move to a new country and not speak the language. It sounded scary!
At recess, Rowan saw Ernest walk to a spot by himself while the other kids ran off to play together. He was still frowning.
Rowan wanted to be friends with him, but he didn’t know what to say. How could they be friends if they didn’t speak the same language?
After school, Rowan went home and asked Dad for help. “Can you help me look up how to say things in Ukrainian?” Rowan asked. “There’s a new boy in our class who doesn’t speak English.”
Dad nodded. “Of course.”
First, they looked up how to say, “It’s lunchtime.” Rowan listened to the answer. “Nastav obidniy chas.” Rowan tried saying it a few times. It was hard! So he looked up how to say “hello.”
“Pryvit,” the voice on the computer told him. That was easier. Rowan replayed the word over and over and practiced saying it.
The next day during recess, Rowan found Ernest sitting alone on the grass again. Rowan stood next to him and smiled. “Pryvit!” he said in a loud voice. He hoped he said it right.
Ernest smiled and handed Rowan a gummy bear.
Rowan sat next to Ernest and said pryvit again. Then he said, “Hello.”
“Hello,” Ernest said slowly. He gave Rowan another gummy bear. It smelled like oranges, and it was delicious and chewy.
Rowan drew four lines in the dirt next to them to make a tic-tac-toe grid. He taught Ernest how to play. It was hard to explain since they didn’t speak the same language. Sometimes Ernest drew X’s when it wasn’t his turn. But Rowan didn’t mind. He just wanted to make a new friend.
Every day that week, Rowan played with Ernest at recess. They shared gummy bears and played games together.
One day at home, Dad asked, “How’s the new boy in your class? Did you practice the words you learned?”
“Yes! His name is Ernest,” Rowan said. “We play games at recess, and he gives me gummy bears.”
Dad smiled. “That’s awesome.” He sat next to Rowan on the couch. “Ernest and his family are refugees. They come from a country far away. Elder Kearon said that Jesus Christ was a refugee as a boy and asked us to be friends when we meet people from other countries. What do you think it takes to be a good friend?”
Rowan thought for a second. “It takes some love and finding a game to play together,” he said. “Then, others can join in and play the game too and get to know each other.”
Dad pulled Rowan in for a hug. “You are following Jesus and doing what the prophets ask us to do,” he said. “And now you have a new friend.”
“The Savior knows how it feels to be a refugee—He was one. … He repeatedly taught us to love one another, to love as He loves, to love our neighbor as ourselves.”
Elder Patrick Kearon, “Refuge from the Storm,” Liahona, May 2016, 111–12.
Illustrations by Josh Talbot

Suzanne has several food allergies. She has been particularly touched by the sensitivity of the priests in her ward as they prepare the sacrament. “I am so humbled by the young men who have made it safe for me to take the sacrament,” she says.

One Sunday, the sacrament was not passed to her. The priests preparing it had noticed that her bread had been cross contaminated by the other bread on the table.

“They found me after sacrament meeting, explained what happened, and told me they had received special permission from the bishop to administer the sacrament to me in a classroom,” Suzanne says. “I cried as they blessed and passed the sacrament in that small room. I could feel the Savior’s love so strongly and His knowledge of how much I had struggled with this challenge.”

“Showing willingness to make a safe environment at church for people with severe allergies is also showing a willingness to bear one another’s burdens,” says Suzanne.

“Stick close to me, girls. I don’t want to lose you!” Lexie said. Stacey and her friend Amanda hurried a little faster to keep up.
Stacey had been so excited when Amanda invited her to come shopping with her older sister, Lexie. Stacey wished that she could be as stylish as Lexie—Lexie always dressed like she just walked out of a fashion magazine. Stacey had saved up money so she could buy a shirt on their shopping trip. Maybe Lexie would help her pick out something really cute.
The girls walked into a clothing store and began browsing a wall lined with colorful shirts. Stacey ran her hand across the racks, feeling the soft fabrics.
“You should try that one on,” Lexie said, pointing to one of the shirts. “It would look way cute on you.”
“Really?” Stacey asked. She felt flattered that Lexie was paying attention to her. The shirt was orange—her favorite color—and it was the right price. There was only one problem.
“She can’t get that one, Lexie,” Amanda said. “It has spaghetti straps, and it’s really short.”
Stacey felt her heart drop. How could she be cool like Lexie now?
Lexie casually waved her hand. “It’s not a big deal. I mean, that modesty rule only really matters when you’re older.”
Stacey began to feel a little hopeful. Maybe Lexie was right. It wasn’t like it was that immodest. Besides, the wall of shirts she stood in front of had only a few modest shirts, and none of them were very cute. It would take more time to find a shirt that looked good and had sleeves.
Stacey was about to pick up the shirt to try it on when she noticed she felt uncomfortable. She knew what she was about to do wasn’t right and that the Holy Ghost was warning her not to do it. She knew that dressing modestly was an important way of respecting her body and being a good example.
She looked at Lexie and swallowed. She wanted to be as cool as Lexie was, but after taking one look at Amanda, Stacey knew what she had to do.
“I actually don’t want to wear this,” she said, turning away from the shirt.
Lexie shrugged. “OK, that’s fine. Hey, let’s look at that section over there.”
As Lexie walked away, Amanda looked at Stacey and smiled. “I’m glad you decided not to try on that shirt, Stacey.”
“I wanted to,” Stacey confessed. “But I knew it wasn’t right.”
“Well, come on,” Amanda said. “Let’s go find you a shirt that is right.”
They went to join Lexie, leaving the orange shirt hanging on the wall.

Many years ago I had an experience with personal revelation that would forever change my life. I had recently graduated from college and was working for a good company. Everything seemed to be going well for me, but I had the unsettled feeling that something was missing. And I had many questions for which I could not find answers. I never thought that an invitation from my friend Imable to “meet the Mormons” would lead me to find answers to my questions—indeed, that it would have transcendent consequences for my life.
When Imable and I arrived at the meeting that Sunday in August 1974, the Church members—particularly the youth—greeted us with enthusiasm, as if we were old friends. We listened to a speaker who had great faith in what he was saying. When he finished I was surprised at the warm feeling I experienced.
Two days later I found myself in the home of one of the members, listening to the missionaries teach the gospel. Unfortunately my family would not allow the missionaries into our home because of our strong religious traditions and because they were afraid. I could understand their feelings; nevertheless, I needed to know the truth for myself, no matter what the consequences. And so I studied it out in my mind (see D&C 9:8) and prayed to God for wisdom and knowledge.
One day, as the missionaries taught me about the First Vision, the Holy Spirit testified powerfully to me that the Prophet Joseph Smith had indeed seen the Father and the Son. I said to Elder Dennis Lamb, “It is true! I know it is true!”
That night I followed the missionaries’ counsel to pour out my heart to God and ask Him if the Book of Mormon was also true. Again I experienced that peaceful and joyful feeling I had felt earlier. I was grateful for the new life the Lord was offering me through the missionaries. My mind and heart were illuminated “by the Spirit of truth” (D&C 6:15), and I knew the sweet reality of a divine Father, who loves us and extends His arms to us through His servants.
The blessings soon followed. Two months after my baptism, I baptized my youngest sister and brother. And a year later I began my service as a full-time missionary in southern Chile. My mother was baptized while I was in the field, and I was able to baptize my father when I returned home. My two sisters and my brother also served honorable missions. Months after I returned from my mission, I met my sweet wife, Adriana, and we were sealed in the temple. We were blessed with three children born in the covenant. All of this is because I listened to the quiet promptings that testified to me of the Prophet Joseph Smith and the restored Church. How grateful I am for the gift of personal revelation!

I met the angel who would become my wife at an institute party the second night I was home from my mission. Although Shelley and I grew up in Canada several hundred miles apart and had never met before, we got to know each other well over the following months. When I had proposed three times and been turned down because she was committed to serving a mission, she finally accepted my proposal after I promised her that we would serve missions together after raising a family. She accepted an engagement ring on December 22, 1976.

The spicy scent of spaghetti sauce wafted through the air as Joseph and his family sat down for Sunday dinner. Dad said the prayer, and the food started its way around the table.
“Let’s play Movie Quotes!” Joseph declared.
Movie Quotes was his favorite game to play around the dinner table. His mom, dad, and two sisters, Jill and Julia, enjoyed the game too. One person would quote from a movie the family had seen. Then everyone else would try to be the first one to guess which movie the quote was from.
“Perhaps we should play a different game,” Mom said. “Since it’s Sunday, maybe we should play Scripture Quotes.”
“What’s that?” Joseph asked.
“I’ll think of a quote from the scriptures, and all of you try to guess who said it,” Mom said.
“That sounds boring,” Joseph said. “Besides, I don’t know any quotes from the scriptures.”
“I’ll go first!” Jill said. “‘I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded.’”
Julia’s hand shot up. “Nephi said that!”
“You guessed it, Julia. Now it’s your turn to think of one,” Jill said.
“Let me see. … All right, guess this one if you can: ‘This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him!’”
This time Dad raised his hand. “That’s what Heavenly Father said to Joseph Smith in the Sacred Grove.”
“That’s right,” Julia said. “Way to go, Dad!”
Joseph slowly began to sit up a little straighter in his chair.
“I want to come up with a really hard one,” Dad said. “How about this: ‘Let my people go.’”
Joseph’s hand popped up. “Hey, Moses said that. That was easy.”
“That’s right. Now you think of one,” Dad said.
Joseph rested his chin on his hand. Then a smile swept across his face as he remembered his Primary lesson from earlier that day. Sister Morris had talked about the time Jesus’s disciples had tried to keep some children from approaching Him. “‘Suffer the little children to come unto me,’” Joseph said.
Once again Julia raised her hand. “Jesus said that.”
“You guessed it!”
They played until everyone had finished dinner.
Later that night, as Mom tucked Joseph into bed, he said, “I guess that game wasn’t so bad after all.”
“You came up with a really good quote today,” Mom said.
“Thanks. Can we play it again next Sunday?”
“I think that’s a great idea,” Mom said. She gave him a hug and a kiss and left his room.
Joseph snuggled into his covers, smiling. A new Sunday tradition had just begun.