Gospel Story Finder

For over 30 years, Afulua Tuivaiti, of the Pesega 6th Ward in the Pesega Samoa Stake, dreamed of one day going back to high school, to complete the learning she had missed out on—and perhaps even continuing on to university. She just didn’t know how.
With a family to take care of now, not a lot of income and many church and community responsibilities, Afulua began to feel like it was too late for her, that pursuing her education might be impossible. But then a senior missionary couple in her ward told her about the PathwayConnect programme run by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
PathwayConnect is a low-cost, four-semester course that prepares learners to begin a university degree, which they can then do online with Brigham Young University. The programme is available worldwide and promoted through the Church alongside our self-reliance classes.
When Afulua learned about PathwayConnect, she became hopeful, wondering if her dream of studying again could actually come true, and then another senior missionary couple got involved. “Elder and Sister Abbot introduced me to Pathways,” Afulua explains, “and another generous missionary couple offered to pay [my tuition fee]. What a blessing!
“How Heavenly Father [has] answered my prayers, to me is a miracle.”
Afulua immediately signed up and soon attended her first class, which was a little intimidating.
“My first semester, I was nervous and scared because I didn’t speak English well,” she says, but now in her third semester, that problem is well behind her. “[My English] is improving and I’m not scared anymore. Plus, I was never alone. I got encouragement from my Church leaders, teachers, and classmates,” Afulua says.
She is especially grateful to Sister Ho Chin, wife of the Apia Samoa mission president, and the missionaries in the stake office who helped her, particularly with her technology needs, and to her bishop, Lautua Fa’aofo, and his wife, Apu, who continue to support her along the way.
“Also, I am getting closer and closer to the Lord,” she says. “[This experience] has really strengthened my testimony.”
It’s a testimony that has kept her motivated and uplifted throughout the journey so far, which hasn’t always been easy. Afulua takes care of her 85-year-old mother and 5-month-old grandson, which—added to her other household chores—keeps her extremely busy every day. “I can only study at night,” she says, and often does until she falls asleep.
But she perseveres.
With one more semester to go in PathwayConnect, Afulua is determined to continue on to the BYU degree programme and is entertaining a few options for that next step.
“I am very interested in hospitality and tourism management,” she says. “I believe it could be a very good business for me one day.” In fact, Afulua is already putting aside money for a future business investment, “but I’m also thinking of studying applied health.”
She has some time yet to decide on a major, but Afulua is already clear about one thing. “I have faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. He answers my prayers and leads me to the right path.”
Afulua’s faith in God, and her commitment to her goals, has also inspired faith in herself. “There will always be obstacles along the way,” she says, “but I will always try to overcome them and encourage myself to put more effort in so that I can accomplish my plan.”

Years ago, after graduating from Utah State University, I accepted a job in Colorado, USA. My wife, Janine, and I had only been married for a few years, and we moved our limited belongings to our new apartment to start the next chapter of our lives.
Both my family and Janine’s lived in Utah, and we wanted to spend our Christmas vacation with them. I diligently saved up vacation time at work so we could spend two weeks with them and other friends in Utah during the Christmas break. We planned to make the drive a few days before Christmas, leaving after I worked a half-day in the morning.
The night before we planned to leave, I took down all the Christmas decorations and got rid of the tree so I wouldn’t have to do it when we returned after the new year.
The next morning, Janine mentioned she hadn’t been feeling well that week. I told her she should probably see a doctor before we left for two weeks. Then I went into work for my half-day.
When I returned home at noon, our apartment was empty. This happened before cell phones, so I didn’t know where Janine was or how to contact her. I sat in the apartment worrying about lost travel time.
Janine called about an hour later. She was in the hospital, and a medical team was about to operate on her. I rushed to the hospital and briefly met with the doctor. He explained that Janine’s life was in danger and that they needed to operate immediately. As Janine and the staff went into the operating room, I went into the waiting room.
Although I’ve always been a strongly independent person, I remember the immense sense of isolation I felt as I sat for what seemed like forever in that waiting room. With the lack of cell phones and the speed in which the events progressed, neither Janine’s family nor mine knew what was going on. The crushing loneliness was almost unbearable as I worried for the life of my young wife.
Finally, the doctor came into the room and announced that the operation was a success. I replied, “Great! Because we’re going to Utah for Christmas.” The doctor was quick to correct me: “Son, you don’t understand. Janine will need to remain in town for two weeks for observation.” Those words hit me hard. “Two weeks?” With the doctor’s statement, I realized we were not going anywhere for Christmas.
Janine stayed in the hospital for a few more days. When we finally drove home after dark, I dreaded entering our apartment, which was now stripped of all holiday cheer.
As we slowly made our way across the parking lot to our apartment, I saw a dark shadow next to our door and wondered what it could be. When we got closer to the door, I realized it was a small Christmas tree. I knew immediately who had left it.
After going inside and helping Janine into bed, I brought our Christmas tree inside. It was clear to me that my buddy Mike had left it for us. Mike was one of the first friends I’d made when we moved to Colorado. He was a college student and a father of two children, so I knew finances were tight for him. The tree he’d brought was less than three feet tall and very thin. By all worldly standards, it might not have looked like much, especially compared with our original tree. But I knew it was the best he could afford, and I felt great appreciation for it. To me, it was a magnificent tree—much better than our original because of the sacrifice it represented from my friend. Nothing could have been a better gift. I spent the rest of the night decorating our new treasure, which turned out to be the most outstanding Christmas decoration that year.
Once we returned home, the ward Relief Society quickly sprang into action and took care of meals for the next few weeks. They also brought entertainment for Janine and me to enjoy while she rested. Many visits from ward members followed. Being new to the ward, we didn’t initially know many people, but we soon got to know many of them from their visits.
That Christmas remains one of my most cherished memories. Mike ended up becoming a lifelong friend from whom I’ve learned many lessons of service. When I think back on this experience, Matthew 25:37–40 comes to mind:
“Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?
“When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee?
“Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?
“And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”

The first cornerstone of my testimony was laid a long time ago. One of my early recollections was having a frightening nightmare as a small child. I still remember it vividly. I must have screamed in fright during the night. My grandmother woke me up. I was crying, and she took me in her arms, hugged me, and comforted me. She got a bowl of some of my favorite rice pudding that was left over from dinner, and I sat on her lap as she spoon-fed me. She told me that we were safe in our house because Jesus was watching over us. I felt it was true then, and I believe it now. I was comforted in both body and soul and went peacefully back to bed, assured of the divine reality that Jesus does watch over us.

I went to see my bishop for a temple recommend interview with no special expectations. Temple recommend interviews are generally all the same. I was excited to have a chance to do baptisms in the Arizona Temple, and this was simply a mandatory part. I sat quietly in the bishop’s office and answered everything he asked. I could tell by his silence when I had answered the last question and looked up to watch him fill out my recommend.
After handing me my temple recommend, the bishop looked at me intently with a smile on his face and said, “Lynn, will you bear your testimony for me?” I was completely taken aback. No one had ever asked me to do that before, and I hadn’t volunteered in about six years. I didn’t like giving my testimony. The only things I knew to say were those words I had been taught in Primary. I took a breath. I began to say aloud all the things that I knew and believed. My words were simple and Primary-like, but as I said them I knew they were true and that was all that mattered. It felt so good.
As I finished and looked at the bishop’s smiling face, I smiled too. I realized how silly I had been not to bear my testimony. I had been missing out on the simple pleasure that bearing a testimony brings because I felt I didn’t have anything important to say and was fearful of what the congregation would think. When I left the bishop’s office, the calm that I had received from bearing my testimony was still with me. I remembered how strongly I had felt the truthfulness of the words as I said them. The experience had actually strengthened my beliefs. I had gone to see the bishop for a temple recommend, but I had left with much more than that.

I pulled a book from my shelf the other evening. I read again the life of Mary Fielding Smith, wife of Hyrum Smith, sister-in-law of Joseph Smith, mother and grandmother of two presidents of the Church. A convert to the Church, originally from England and then from Canada, she came to Kirtland in her late 30s. There she met and married Hyrum Smith, who was left with six children after the death of his first wife.
Mary loved him and brought an added dimension into his life. In that process she set a course which brought her happiness only to be followed by immeasurable sorrow, for there was laid upon her a terrifying and fearful responsibility which took her from Nauvoo across Iowa to Winter Quarters and, in 1848, on the long trail that led to the Salt Lake Valley. At the age of 51 she was worn out, weary from the struggle. She passed away September 21, 1852.
Her life is the epitome of the Relief Society woman of those days. In fact, some of her experiences predated the organization of the society in 1842.
Mary’s boy Joseph was born at a time when her husband was snatched away by the mob militia then terrorizing Far West. Hyrum and the Prophet Joseph were taken to Liberty, Missouri, where they were imprisoned. Under the compulsion of Governor Lilburn W. Boggs’s extermination order, she left Missouri with the stepchildren for whom she had taken responsibility, as well as her own son. Her sister Mercy placed Mary, who was seriously ill, on a bed in a wagon box with her infant boy cradled at her side.
In February 1839, when winter was still upon the land, they traveled east across the state and then across the Mississippi to Quincy, Illinois, bumping along in a springless wagon where every jolt brought pain.
When her husband and the Prophet escaped from Liberty Jail and came to Quincy, life again improved. The Saints moved to what became Nauvoo and established their beautiful city on the Mississippi. But their peace was short-lived. Her little boy was less than six years old when a knock came at night on her window and a man said, “Sister Smith, your husband has been killed!”
Joseph F. never forgot his mother’s weeping through the night.
Her world was shattered. She was on her own now with a large family to care for. In the summer of 1846, they bade their comfortable home good-bye and rode a flatboat across the Mississippi. Taking matters into her own hands, she was able to trade, borrow, and barter for ox teams and wagons.
While living in Winter Quarters, she and her brother went down the Missouri River to purchase provisions and clothing. They had two wagons, each having two yoke of oxen. Camping for the night, they discovered in the morning that their two best oxen were gone. Young Joseph and his uncle spent the entire morning looking for the lost animals. They found nothing. Disheartened, he returned to tell his mother. Their situation was desperate, terribly so. As he approached, he saw her on her knees praying fervently, speaking with the Lord about their problem. When she arose to her feet, there was a smile on her face. She told her son and her brother to get their breakfast and she would look around. Following a little stream of water, and disregarding the words of a man who was in the area, she went directly along the bank of the river.
Pausing, she called to her son and brother. She pointed to their oxen, which had been tied to a clump of willows growing in the bottom of a deep gulch. The thief, who had tried to misdirect her, lost his prize and they were saved.
Mary’s faith imprinted itself in her son’s boyish heart. He never forgot it. He never doubted her closeness to the Lord.
All of you are familiar with her experience when one of her oxen, exhausted and worn, lay down to die while they were en route to these valleys in the West. In a mixture of utter desperation and simple faith, she secured consecrated oil and asked her brother and an associate to administer to the ox. They did so. It rose to its feet with a renewal of strength and carried them for the remainder of their long journey.
Such was the faith, sweet and simple and beautiful, which graced this woman’s life. She walked in the light of the Lord. She lived by that light. It guided her in all of her actions. It became the lodestar of her life. She exemplified the tremendous faith of the women of this Church—the women of the Relief Society, who today on a thousand fronts carry on the dedicated work of this remarkable organization.

Many things changed for me the year I turned 17. I was advancing to a new school and moving on to my third year of seminary. Not only that, but I also had a new seminary teacher: my mom.
Did I mention I was the only student in her class? Since the school I was going to attend was an hour’s train ride from where I lived, my mother decided to teach me early-morning seminary at home so I would be able to reach school on time. I was fortunate to have her teach me every day, but it was also a little nerve-racking. I had to give her my fullest attention, which was especially a struggle at 5:30 in the morning.
When we were studying the Book of Mormon, we came to Moroni, a prophet I really admire. However, I’ve always wondered: Why was Moroni alone? Why didn’t Heavenly Father send someone to accompany him? Why didn’t he complain when the Lord left him all alone to finish the Book of Mormon?
My mother explained that because of his righteousness and faith in Heavenly Father, Moroni knew that he was not alone. He had Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ to help him complete the Book of Mormon. I realized then that Moroni didn’t need anyone to be physically there because he knew that someone was spiritually there, watching over him. He knew that Heavenly Father would never leave his side.
That had a huge impact on me. I now know that whenever I think I’m alone, I’m not spiritually alone since I have the companionship of the Holy Ghost, who helps me feel closer to my Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. I know that as long as I have faith and trust in the Lord, I will never walk alone.
This particular lesson made an impact on my faith and my testimony of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. Although I was worried about having seminary at home, I’m now grateful because it has given me special learning experiences with my mom.

In 1994 a horrific genocide occurred in Rwanda. Between 600,000 and 900,000 people were killed in a matter of 60 to 90 days.
Eventually, the Church established a branch in the capital city of Kigali. The branch was doing well—without full-time missionaries. In 2011 we were serving in the Africa Southeast Area when we learned, sadly, that our registration as a church with the country of Rwanda was invalid, which meant that we were functioning illegally as a church. We also learned that our meetinghouse, a converted two-story home, was not appropriately zoned to hold Church meetings. The Area Presidency, in consultation with our first contact in the Quorum of the Twelve, made the agonizing decision to close the branch. Our members were no longer able to meet for Church meetings.
Lawyers in Kigali, Salt Lake City, and Johannesburg, South Africa, began working fervently to resolve the problems. All the while, the Saints kept asking when they could meet together again. Months went by without resolution or progress.
After about 10 months, we flew to Kigali to visit those Saints and try to buoy up their spirits. Before we did, we asked that the matter be placed on the temple prayer roll of the weekly meeting of the First Presidency and Quorum of the Twelve.
The Tuesday before our scheduled trip from Johannesburg to Kigali, we were notified that, in a surprising move, the government had granted the Church provisional registration in Kigali. Then on Thursday of the same week, the zoning commission granted an exemption from the zoning ordinance. The Kigali Saints could once again meet in our building without violating the law.
This was miraculous! Members were quickly notified that the branch would be meeting on Sunday. We arrived on Friday and invited members to come to church. When Sunday came, all the members—all of them—and many of their friends came to church. They arrived early, eager to be together again. As the sacrament was blessed and passed, we all experienced an extraordinary renewing, refreshing, and cleansing spirit.
We remember, in the meeting, wondering why we did not feel this same spirit every week as we partook of the sacrament. We looked around at the Saints and realized that they had come hungering and thirsting for the sacrament. Their faith, diligence, and patience brought all of us blessings. We pledged that whenever we again partook of the sacrament, we would remember this experience with the Kigali Saints. We committed that we too would hunger for the blessings of partaking of the sacrament.

I once listened to the experience of an engineer who had recently joined the Church. The missionaries had called at his home, and his wife had invited them in. She had eagerly responded to their message, while he felt himself being pulled in against his will.

One evening she indicated that she wished to be baptized. He flew into a fit of anger. Didn’t she know what this would mean? This would mean time. This would mean the payment of tithing. This would mean giving up their friends. This would mean no more smoking. He threw on his coat and walked out into the night, slamming the door behind him. He walked the streets, swearing at his wife, swearing at the missionaries, swearing at himself for ever permitting them to teach them. As he grew tired his anger cooled, and a spirit of prayer somehow came into his heart. He prayed as he walked. He pleaded with God for an answer to his questions. And then an impression, clear and unequivocal, came almost as if a voice had spoken with words that said, “It’s true.”

“It’s true,” he said to himself again and again. “It’s true.” A peace came into his heart. As he walked toward home, the restrictions, the demands, the requirements over which he had been so incensed began to appear as opportunities. When he opened the door, he found his wife on her knees praying.

Then before the congregation to whom he told this, he spoke of the gladness that had come into their lives. Tithing was not a problem. The sharing of their substance with God, who had given them everything, seemed little enough. Time for service was not a problem. Responsibility was not a problem. Out of it came growth and a new outlook on life. And then this man of intellect and training, this engineer accustomed to dealing with the facts of the physical world in which we live, bore solemn testimony with moistened eyes of the miracle that had come into his life (from Ensign, July 1973, 50).

5. Publicize and recruit.
It took time for some of the youth in the stake to get used to the idea of a service-oriented conference. The stake youth leadership held a fireside to build up enthusiasm. One boy, Todd, who at first did not want to become involved in the project, later surprised everyone with his enthusiasm. The builders showed him what needed to be done, and he worked like a professional. Todd also developed a good relationship with another, rather lonely boy, by working with him and showing him how to use tools. The two boys not only established a friendship between themselves but with the adults as well.

A true story from South Africa.
Aurora loved Sundays. She got to visit Great-Granny’s house.
Aurora wanted to play hide-and-seek. Mom asked if she would help bake a cake first.
Aurora knew Granny loved lemon cake. She wanted to help make Granny happy.
While they worked, Aurora told Granny what she learned in Primary.
Finally Aurora and Granny played hide-and-seek! “I love Sundays because I get a Sunday helper,” said Granny.
“How do I help you? We just played,” said Aurora.
“You help when you spend time with me and show me love!” said Granny.

As time went by, however, we found that we missed Utah—especially the people. We checked the phone book to see if there were any Mormon churches in the area. The closest one listed was 64 kilometers north. We decided we would do without; we didn’t want the Church as much as we did the companionship of the people who made it up.
After one particularly tiring day, I returned from work early to find my wife busy in the kitchen.
“We had some visitors today,” she smiled.
“Really. Who? Salesmen?”
“Yes … a kind of salesmen.
“Who?”
“Two Mormon missionaries.”
“You’re teasing!”
“No. They left a pamphlet. See for yourself. It’s got a telephone number in it.”
“I’m going to call them. I bet that will shock them!”
She laughed. “I called them and invited them over. They told me the branch met in town over at the Odd Fellows Hall. I thought I had misunderstood, but thanked them and hung up.”
The two young men who came to see us offered us six easy lessons over a period of six weeks. Why not listen? We thought to ourselves. It was a small price to pay for the companionship of Mormons. Besides, I had had discussions with some very knowledgeable people.
That Sunday we arose early. In good spirits we turned our efforts to the task of getting four children ready. But we misjudged the time.
“We’re late,” said my wife, as we drove into the parking lot of the Odd Fellows Hall.
“Perhaps,” I said, “it would be better if we waited. We don’t even know which way the congregation is facing. It could be pretty embarrassing to go in and find that they’re all facing us.”
The dilemma was resolved, however, when a pleasant-looking gentleman got out of one of the parked cars and introduced himself as the branch president. Knowing that we might arrive late, he had decided to wait for us.
The children were taken to their particular classes, while we were introduced to the investigators’ class. Our instructor was obviously a learned man and knew his material well. Finding people of his intellect belonging to a church and staunchly professing a belief in God forced me to reassess my own reasoning.
We had a good time that day. Attending church made us feel much closer as a family. And we felt something magnificent, challenging, and rewarding in the simple humility of this branch.

Instinctively Danny fled to his favorite fishing spot to hide. How strange it looked, all icy and frozen over. The forest and winding creek were beautiful in spring and summer when trees were leafed out and wild flowers bloomed along the steep clay banks.
He swept snow off a log and sat down, remembering happier days. I’ll bet Gramps and I have taken over a hundred pounds of big catfish and perch from this spot over the last four years, Danny reminisced. He threw a pebble and watched it skid across the ice and splash into open water where a swift current had kept ice from forming.
When fish weren’t biting, he and his grandfather often selected flat stones and skillfully skipped them across the surface of the water. Danny’s never skipped as many times as Gramps’ before sinking. His grandfather always said it was because he didn’t bend down low enough before throwing. “I don’t do lots of other things right, either,” Danny muttered unhappily.
He clasped his knees for added warmth and rested his chin on them. How desolate everything looked, even with a sparkling mantle of snow. The scene matched his mood. I’m letting everyone down by hiding here, he admitted. There was a lump in his throat as he wondered if he could ever be happy again.
He wasn’t sorry that he had rescued the Clark children when the family’s trailer burned, of course, but being a hero was about the worst thing that had ever happened to him or so he felt now. He had enjoyed all the fuss at first—too much—he remembered, flushing. He hadn’t been modest enough for the honor, so his unhappiness was mostly his own fault. He had boasted and made such a fool of himself that his friends started avoiding him. Even worse, now that the nightmares and guilt had struck, he knew he wasn’t a real hero at all!
Feeling as he did, there was no way he could attend the dinner being given in his honor or accept the medal his boss Mr. Edmonds was supposed to present to him. And the reward money! He felt that accepting it would be just like stealing.
Danny started at the sound of footsteps crunching in the snow, and looked up to see his grandfather walking toward him, gasping from exertion in the frigid air.
“Thought I’d find you here,” the gray-haired man drawled as he sat down beside his grandson. “We’ve looked everywhere else, and your parents are worried and churned up about you taking off like this. What’s ailing you, boy? This should be one of the happiest days of your life. Those folks at the trailer court have worked hard preparing a big dinner for you. They’ve invited lots of people, even the mayor and city council members will be there, to see you get that medal and the $1,000 check they’ve collected for you. Surely you aren’t planning on letting them down, are you?”
“I’m sorry about letting them down, but I’m not going, Gramps,” Danny whispered, looking out across the creek. “I don’t deserve the medal or the money. I’m not a hero. I just happened to be delivering a newspaper to the Clarks when I noticed a trailer on fire. Mrs. Clark came out of the trailer next door with some sugar she’d borrowed and started screaming that her babies were inside their burning trailer. I didn’t even think about what I was doing. I just ran in through the smoke and felt around in the cribs until I found the baby and little girl and crawled outside with them. If I hadn’t done it, someone else probably would have. I—I’m really ashamed of strutting around like some big war hero or movie star,” he added miserably.
“I’m glad you admitted that last part, Danny,” his grandfather said quietly. “You did have a swelled head for awhile, after the newspaper stories and after being on the evening news, but I knew you’d get over it. I guess it’s only natural when you’re suddenly plunged into the limelight to enjoy getting attention, but now you’re going too far the other way. Suppose someone else hadn’t done what you did in those few critical seconds—”
“You don’t understand what I mean, Gramps. Nobody does,” Danny interrupted. “That’s not all that’s bothering me. The treatments for smoke inhalation, being in the hospital with my eyes bandaged, and my burned arms and hands really scared me but I didn’t realize then that smoke is so deadly even without flames. But it isn’t that or the pain I had that’s bothering me. Now I keep having nightmares about being trapped and burning to death! Gramps,” Danny whispered desperately, “if I had it to do over, I’m not sure I’d go in after those little kids! I’m not a hero … I’m just the biggest coward in the world!” He buried his face in his arms, not wanting to see shame and disappointment in his grandfather’s eyes.
The elderly man put his hand on the boy’s arm. “I doubt that there’s ever been a hero who wasn’t scared witless later when he realized the full danger of his act. And there probably wouldn’t be any heroes at all if they stopped to think about the risks.”
Gramps was silent for a few moments, thinking back on his own life. Then he went on. “You’ve seen the medal I received for grabbing up a live hand grenade tossed by an arsonist when I was a city fireman. I threw it just before it exploded and was the only one injured. What I never did tell you is that once it was over, I shook and trembled so bad that I fainted. I’ve had my nightmares, too, son, and feelings of guilt. Did I do it to save myself or the seven other firemen who stood staring at it for those few deadly seconds? Well, I still don’t know the answer. Don’t reckon I ever will. But, regardless, eight of us lived, and I got a medal for heroic action. I’m mighty proud of it, and I hope you will be, too, when you show it to your grandchildren someday. But I hope you’ll leave out the part about me being so scared and fainting.” Gramps grinned and reached over and tousled Danny’s hair.
Danny felt the heavy load lift from his shoulders. Gramps did understand his mixed emotions. He had been through it too. Danny arose and smiled as he helped his grandfather to his feet. “I guess we’d better hurry so we don’t disappoint all those people who are waiting. I’ll accept the medal, but I’m going to give the money to Mrs. Clark and her children. They really need it to get settled in another home. And right now I’m promising that my friends will never again have to listen to my big hero story!”
Gramps chuckled and laid his arm across Danny’s shoulders as they walked back to his car. “As one reluctant hero to another, son, I’m proud of you!”

Often the blessings come long before the end, while you’re in the service of the Lord. Jo has seen that happen many times on his mission—such as the day he met Kevin Smith.
Kevin had become interested in the Church through the fine example of a young Latter-day Saint woman in his office, and he had requested a copy of the Book of Mormon from the Blackpool Ward. Jo and his companion volunteered to deliver the scripture to him.
“At that point I wasn’t sufficiently interested in the Church to have missionaries in my home,” says Kevin, who has been confined to a wheelchair for the past sixteen years. “I had a stereotyped image of Mormon elders—tall, fresh young American lads straight out of college, wearing stylish suits, with toothpaste-advertisement smiles. I probably wouldn’t have opened the door if they had looked like that. But here were two down-to-earth people, one just as surprised as I was at the sight of a wheelchair.”
“Kevin is such a great guy,” exclaims Elder Folkett, who was surprised to find his investigator in a wheelchair. “Even before we got to his house the first time, I felt that something good would happen.”
Elder Folkett and Kevin got along well from the moment they met, and Jo baptized Kevin not long after that first discussion.

On one occasion I accompanied a stake president and bishop to visit a less-active member. We taught him, in a very simple way, about the blessings of the Sabbath. We expressed to him our sincere love. He responded, “All I needed was to have someone come and give me an abrazo,” or hug. I immediately stood up and embraced him. The next day was Sunday. This same brother came to sacrament meeting with his entire family.

I grew up with the same friends for the first 12 years of my life. We were neighbors. We went to the same schools and attended each other’s birthday parties. I sometimes ate at their homes, they came to mine, and we had fun together. But when we became teenagers, things began to change. They were not members of the Church, and they swore, they smoked, and they drank alcohol. They had a completely different view of the law of chastity than I did.
I thought about the problem carefully, and then I talked to my father about what to do. He said, “You have to decide. These good friends are different from you. Before you couldn’t tell, but now there’s a very big difference.”
I trusted my father’s counsel. My friends knew I was a member of the Church, so when I decided not to always go everywhere they went, they understood. Eventually, we spent less and less time together even though we were still friendly.
It was a trial for me to leave my friends, but I knew that it was important to maintain the principles of the gospel in my life. I thought about Alma’s counsel to his sons when he taught them to have faith in God. He said, “Whosoever shall put their trust in God shall be supported in their trials” (Alma 36:3).
One of the things that helped me get through this hard time was going every week to Church activities, including Mutual. I also kept myself busy with dancing, sports, and youth conferences.
I made a new friend who was not a member of the Church, and he sometimes invited me to go to parties. These parties were the same day as Mutual, so I told him, “I’m sorry. I would like to go, but I have other plans.”
He asked what I was doing. I told him, “I’m going to Mutual.”
“What’s Mutual?” he asked.
I explained that we had a lot of fun activities at Mutual and that I was serving as a counselor in the presidency. After I turned down three invitations to his parties, he said, “Invite me to Mutual.”
So he came with me, the missionaries taught him, and he was eventually baptized.
I invite you to make decisions now so that you can be a light to your friends. One thing you can do is attend seminary. Your seminary teachers do their part; they put forth a lot of effort in preparing lessons for you. Seminary will be even more of a blessing to you when you do your part: read the assignments, pray and fast, receive and accept the teachings. Learning takes place when both parties do what they need to do.
When I was in high school, one of my friends invited me to a party and said, “Let’s go ask my father if we can borrow his car.” His father did not want to let him borrow the car. Then, when his father saw me, he said, “OK, I’ll let you borrow the car, but only if Benjamín will drive.”
This man knew that my family and I were members of the Church, that we didn’t drink alcohol, and that I would be a safe driver.
The reaction of my friend’s father helped me appreciate my parents’ teachings and the example they set. At home we had family home evening and family prayer. Sunday was a day of rest for us. These types of things were the gospel in action for us, and we enjoyed it a lot. My father often invited other members of the Church to come to our house to talk about the gospel on Sunday afternoons. We ate together, we talked about the gospel, and we shared a close friendship.
Prepare now to build your own strong future families. You do that when you are active in learning about the gospel. Remember that if you will put your trust in God; have daily, fervent prayer; read the scriptures; keep yourselves clean; and work on your Duty to God or Personal Progress, you will be protected from harm, will be a light to your friends, and will find joy in your life.

Later, the bishop met with me again to let me know that the disciplinary council would be reconvened. I felt nervous and a little scared, but I knew it was worth going through. Since I had met with the bishop the first time, I had been feeling joy like never before. My perceptions had started to change, and I found myself loving life, family, and friends so much more. I had experienced some difficult days when I wondered how I could ever spend the rest of my life without beer, but on most days I could feel hope building inside me.
I was nervous partly because one of the bishop’s counselors was the father of my son’s friend, and I feared that after hearing about my sinful past, he would not want his son to play at my house again. I resolved that if he did feel that way, I would respect his wishes. No obstacle would stand in the way of what had become the most important thing in my life: coming back into full fellowship in the Church.
The night for my disciplinary council finally came. As I knelt in prayer with the members of the bishopric, I felt strongly the influence of the Spirit, as well as an indescribable brotherly love. Those men hadn’t known me long, but I knew they cared about me and loved me. Nevertheless, when my son’s friend’s father hesitated before speaking, I thought he was trying to find a way to say his son couldn’t play with my son anymore. Instead, he said: “I just want you to know how impressed I have been with your son and your family. You must be good parents to raise such a boy.”
At the end of the meeting, the bishop said, “You are a worthy member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” I felt great joy upon hearing those words.
When I returned home, I wanted to laugh and cry and tell my family everything, but everyone was asleep. So I prayed to Heavenly Father, thanking him for his love and kindness, for honorable men who act as righteous judges, for family and friends who helped me along the way, and for all the other blessings I have in my life.

Recently I talked to a sister who was in the psychiatric unit of a local hospital. She shared with me her sorrowful journey from complete mental and physical health, a wonderful marriage and family, into mental illness, debilitating health, and the breakup of her family—all of which started with the abuse of prescription painkillers.
Two years prior to our conversation, she hurt her back in a car accident. Her doctor prescribed a medication to relieve the almost unbearable pain. She thought she needed something more, so she forged prescriptions and finally resorted to buying heroin. This led to her arrest and incarceration. Her obsession with drugs caused her marriage to fail. Her husband divorced her and retained custody of the children. She told me that besides helping to dull her pain, the drugs also provided a short-term but heightened sense of euphoria and well-being. But each dosage of drugs lasted only a few hours, and with each use the duration of relief seemed to lessen. She began to take more and more of the drugs and got caught up in the vicious cycle of addiction. Drugs became her life. The night before I talked with her, she tried to commit suicide. She said she could no longer deal with the physical, emotional, and spiritual pain. She felt trapped with no way out—with no hope.

Some years ago, I was consulted by a woman who desired a divorce from her husband on grounds which, in my opinion, were justified. After the divorce was concluded, I did not see her again for many years. A chance meeting with her on the street was very surprising. The years of loneliness and discouragement were evident in her once beautiful face.
After passing a few pleasantries, she was quick to say that life had not been rich and rewarding for her and that she was tired of facing the struggle alone. Then came a most startling disclosure, which, with her permission, I share. She said, “Bad as it was, if I had to do it over again, knowing what I do now, I would not have sought the divorce. This is worse.”

On a cool Sunday evening in the summer of 1946, Ezra Taft Benson and two traveling companions drove along the eerily quiet streets of Ze?w?gi, Poland. Rough roads and heavy rains had vexed the travelers all day, but the foul weather had finally cleared up as the men neared their destination.
Ze?w?gi had once been part of Germany and had been known as Selbongen. National boundaries had shifted after the war, however, and much of central and eastern Europe had come under the influence of the Soviet Union. In 1929, the thriving Selbongen Branch had built the first Latter-day Saint meetinghouse in Germany. But after six years of war, the Saints in the village were barely surviving.1
As the jeep neared the old meetinghouse in Ze?w?gi, most of the people in the streets scattered and hid. Elder Benson and his companions stopped the vehicle in front of the building and climbed out. They introduced themselves to a woman nearby and asked if they had found the Latter-day Saint chapel. The woman’s eyes filled with tears of relief. “The brethren are here!” she cried in German.
Immediately people came out from behind closed doors, crying and laughing with joy. The Ze?w?gi Saints had been out of contact with general Church leaders for three years, and that morning many of them had been fasting and praying for a visit from a missionary or Church leader. Within a few hours, about a hundred Saints gathered to hear the apostle speak.
As Elder Benson spoke to the Saints, two armed Polish soldiers entered the chapel. The congregation stiffened with fear, but the apostle motioned for the soldiers to take a seat near the front of the room. In his talk, he emphasized the importance of liberty and freedom. The soldiers listened attentively, remained in their seats for the closing song, and departed without incident. Afterward, Elder Benson met with the branch president and left food and money for the Saints, assuring them more aid was on the way.3

High above the lake, up where the city gives way to rugged desert foothills, is the home of Brother Hurt. It’s late spring, and the grape arbor which hangs over his front porch is heavy with fruit. Out back he has a garden he’s very proud of. But the careful desert landscaping of his front yard has given way to a riot of uninvited bushes and weeds. His cancer simply hasn’t left him the strength to swing a mattock or a shovel as hard or often as he needs to in order to keep the area clear.
It’s late. The sun is burning into the mountains on the far side of the lake, turning the cliffs, rank on rank, to purple and blue cutouts. There is dust in the air. It glows with the sunset. The dust is from the blades of mattocks and hoes and shovels. The priests quorum is working hard, grubbing out the weeds and brush.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. The rhythm is swift and even. The priests don’t stop to talk or laugh or play. Brother Hurt stands among them, pointing out with a crutch what he wants grubbed and what he wants left. Out go the cheese weed and spurge, the skeleton weed and quail brush, the bullheads and scorpion plants. Out go all their henchmen of the plant underworld.
The sun goes down and no one stops working. No one takes a break. No one complains. They just keep on grubbing until it’s too dark to go on.
The priests shake hands with Brother Hurt. They promise him they’ll be back to finish the job. They’re smiling, both because it feels good to help out, and because Brother Levi has promised he’ll treat them to frozen yogurt.
Brother Hurt smiles too. He was a strong man in his day, and he’s still strong inside, unbowed and unembittered by the illness which gnaws at his vitals. His once viselike grip is growing weak, but he knows that the strong young hands of his brothers are his without even the asking.