Gospel Story Finder

My father’s name is Jean de Dieu Nsanzurwimimo. He was born in Rwanda’s Western Province. He married my mom, Emmeline Mukamusonera, in 1981, after they met in Kigali, Rwanda’s capital city.
My parents came from very different backgrounds; my father was a member of Rwanda’s majority ruling Hutu tribe, and my mother is from the Tutsi tribe. In Rwanda when they were growing up, there was an extended civil war and a long-simmering conflict between the two tribes. This animosity led extremist groups of Hutus to promote the ideology that all the Tutsi people living in Rwanda should be killed.
I was born in 1994, just four months before a series of events led to a catastrophic genocide of Rwanda’s Tutsi population, led by Hutu extremists who took over the government. During a 100-­day period from April 7 until mid-­July, nearly one million Rwandans were brutally killed, including as many as 70% of the Tutsi population.
Even before the 1994 Tutsi genocide, many leaders of the Hutu tribe taught that a Hutu man married to a Tutsi woman should be required to kill her and all her family to show his allegiance to his tribe. Because of those teachings, and to better protect his family, my father moved his wife and children to a small village near Cyangugu, in the far southwestern corner of Rwanda. Even in that small village, the majority of Hutu villagers spurned and rejected my mother because she was a Tutsi. But my father continued to protect us. In 1993, when the tension and genocide ideology increased, she was pregnant with me and caring for my three older sisters. Because it was known that she was a Tutsi, our family didn’t have many friends and it was dangerous every time she had to fetch water or go to the market. It was a very difficult time for her, but always my father was on her side, protecting her and taking care of his family.
During this time, there were constant meetings in the community where the locals were given machetes and guns and trained on how to kill the Tutsis. Every week they had a community meeting. In March 1994, my father attended a town meeting where it was announced that Hutu men married to a Tutsi woman would be required to kill her and all their children. It was a hard time for them. Some of the men and some of the women who were Hutus did kill their children.
In a meeting in early April, my father was ordered to kill my mother and his four daughters. When he came home from the meeting around 6:00 p.m., it was very dark because there were no street lights at the time. He immediately took us to a small island located in the southern part of Lac Kivu, a large lake dividing Rwanda and Congo. He told my mom that the villagers had determined that we were supposed to die, so we should hide in that place; he was going back home to find a safe place for us. He told her that if she saw any boats, she should ask them if they would carry us over to Congo, where we would be safe from the Rwandan genocide. She was able to find someone willing to take us across to Congo, where we spent the next five months, until peace was restored in Rwanda and it was safe to return.
All the while in Congo, and after we came home, we didn’t know what had happened to my father. When we came back we didn’t see anything; they didn’t allow us to enter the house where we had lived, and we were told everything that belonged to my father had been sold. It was a very hard time for my mom. We didn’t have a house to stay in. We didn’t have anything to eat. We went to the Seventh-­Day Adventist chapel, where we slept for a whole week. After that my mother carried all of us to town where she learned we could get small help from the new government.
In 2003, nine years after the violence ended, the government created a reconciliation program called “Gacaca” to help resolve the hard feelings from the killings. As part of the process, people who had killed others during the genocide confessed and asked for forgiveness. Through gacaca, we came to know that my father’s family members, after they looked everywhere for us and could not find us, had killed him. My mother and my eldest sister attended the hearing where my father’s family asked for our forgiveness, and they forgave them. They told my mother that they had thrown his body into the river after killing him, so we were never able to locate his body. Because I was so young at the time he saved us, I have no recollections of my father; I don’t know his face.

Jack McConnell grew up in the hills of southwest Virginia in the United States as one of seven children of a Methodist minister and a stay-at-home mother. Their circumstances were very humble. He recounted that during his childhood, every day as the family sat around the dinner table, his father would ask each one in turn, “And what did you do for someone today?”1 The children were determined to do a good turn every day so they could report to their father that they had helped someone. Dr. McConnell calls this exercise his father’s most valuable legacy, for that expectation and those words inspired him and his siblings to help others throughout their lives. As they grew and matured, their motivation for providing service changed to an inner desire to help others.
Besides Dr. McConnell’s distinguished medical career—where he directed the development of the tuberculosis tine test, participated in the early development of the polio vaccine, supervised the development of Tylenol, and was instrumental in developing the magnetic resonance imaging procedure, or MRI—he created an organization he calls Volunteers in Medicine, which gives retired medical personnel a chance to volunteer at free clinics serving the working uninsured. Dr. McConnell said his leisure time since he retired has “evaporated into 60-hour weeks of unpaid work, but [his] energy level has increased and there is a satisfaction in [his] life that wasn’t there before.” He made this statement: “In one of those paradoxes of life, I have benefited more from Volunteers in Medicine than my patients have.”2 There are now over 90 such clinics across the United States.

Not long ago the boys faced another challenge. Their eighty-four-year-old grandfather was recovering from a severe stroke. After leaving the hospital, he still couldn’t walk or talk; he was sent to recuperate at the farm where he lived. Twelve days later someone killed him. “We don’t know who killed him,” Sister Lopez said.
“One of our priesthood leaders told our family to pray for whoever it was who killed my father-in-law,” Brother Lopez said. “And for ourselves, so that we would be able to forgive that person.”
“Two or three days later,” Sister Lopez added, “Benjamin came to me crying, ‘Mommy, I want to be able to pray to Heavenly Father for the person who killed my grandfather. But I can’t do it; I’m too mad at whoever did it.’ For me it was something special that he wanted to be obedient. So we talked about how Heavenly Father can help us to forgive others. Then my husband and I said, ‘Let’s pray as a family for the person who did this,’ because it was just too hard for Benjamin and the other children to do on their own. With Heavenly Father’s help, we have forgiven the killer and pray that one day he will have the gospel in his life. It has been a very special experience for our family.”

When I was 15, my mom was diagnosed with an advanced stage of cancer. In the blink of an eye, our family felt the weight of overwhelming new stresses, fears, and changes. That year, candle time was a profound refuge from the storms of sadness and uncertainty.
A few years later, after my mom passed away, we continued holding the tradition each Christmas. It took on new meaning as we remembered her voice, her touch, and her love.

A group of young women came to the Jordan River Utah Temple to do baptisms for the dead. As they were waiting, their leader started thinking. That day they were doing baptisms by proxy for people who could not do them for themselves. She starting thinking about a Laurel in her ward who, because of a terrible traffic accident, was not able to earn her Young Womanhood medallion for herself.
Could they all help? Could they do something like Personal Progress by proxy?
The leader, Suzanne Rentmeister, and the Young Women of the Prairie 13th Ward in the West Jordan Utah Prairie Stake, made a plan. First they went to their bishop and stake president. After receiving an enthusiastic OK, they felt they needed to talk to Laura White, the Laurel who would be the one to receive their gift of service. Even though Laura cannot speak, her bouyant smile answered louder than words that she loved the idea. The other girls in Young Women were asked if they wanted to participate but were told they didn’t need to if they were too busy or did not feel the desire. Every girl and every leader wanted to be involved.
The Young Women leaders created a chart with all the value experiences and projects on it. Then they held something like an auction. Girls could pick which value experiences and projects they wanted to do.
“Who wants Good Works #7? Who will take Divine Nature #1?” The chart filled up as fast as they could write. Taylor Ligman, 13, remembers that Sunday. “Our leaders pulled out this chart. It was like names were everywhere. I signed up for four of the experiences.”
Before things got going in high gear, they all agreed on three rules: (1) The girls could not do double duty; (2) working on the experiences they chose could not count towards fulfilling their own Personal Progress—they had to sacrifice their time; and (3) they had to keep it a secret from Laura’s parents. Laura’s younger sister, Amy, a Beehive, agreed that doing the project as a surprise for her parents was a fun idea.
“We were really excited,” said Bailee Bloomquist, 14. “I haven’t had a lot of opportunities to do much service. This was a cool experience. I had to spend 10 hours on a talent. I practiced a piece on the piano to play for the program when Laura would receive her medallion.”
Alexa Pengue, 14, said, “I chose to focus on living righteously following For the Strength of Youth for three weeks. I just wanted to keep going.” Alexa will get the chance because she did this experience for Laura and has yet to do it for her own Personal Progress.
“It feels good to do this for Laura,” said Arienna White, 13. “It makes you feel good that you’re helping someone who couldn’t do it for herself.”
“It doesn’t seem fair that we can just pass things off and get it done and Laura can’t,” said Braygan Berrett, 15. “I thought our Young Women president was totally looking out for her. The only way she could earn it was through us.”
Actually Laura was able to do one Personal Progress experience for herself. She was able to participate in family home evening and family scripture reading. Her leaders were thrilled to sign that off for her.
When the girls all volunteered to help and as they were dividing up the experiences, Sister Rentmeister said, “Laura was with us in that meeting, and she was just beaming. She lit up.”
This experience has brought all sorts of blessings to these Young Women. For example, all the other Laurels in the class wanted to receive their medallions at the same time as Laura, so they went to work and finished the requirements for their medallions.
The Mia Maids reported having some of their most spiritual experiences working on the experiences they volunteered to complete for Laura.
And the Beehive leader reports that the Beehives have been “just crazy” about service ever since. They want to do something every week—pull weeds, help with the food drive, anything anyone needs done.
On the ward’s Night of Excellence, Laura and Amy’s parents wondered why their six sons with daughters-in-law and grandchildren had traveled into town for the program. When Laura was wheeled to the front and lined up with those who were to receive their medallions, everyone in the room understood. It was a visible lesson of what it means to do something by proxy, doing something for someone who cannot do it for themselves.

Let me help you understand how this pattern of making early commitments can help you by relating the experience of one Church leader. As a young man he decided that he would always keep the Word of Wisdom and never use alcohol or tobacco. He does not remember what prompted him to make that important commitment at the time, but a crucial victory was won in his heart, and on his knees he made a commitment with the Lord to always keep that commandment. Over the years there were invitations to use these substances, but he learned that “no, thank you” was a good answer. There was no personal battle over the Word of Wisdom because years before he had made a commitment in his heart, and he had sincerely made a commitment to the Lord to obey that law.

While on assignment in Central America, I asked a 9-year-old Primary child what he was feeling after we had sung in his grandmother’s home, Families Can Be Together Forever.He responded the same way many of you did. He indicated that he felt love, peace, and joy. I then asked him, “Where do you think those feelings were coming from?” He said, “God.” I followed up with, “Why? Why do you think God wants you to have feelings of love, peace, and joy when you sing Families Can Be Together Forever?” He thought for a minute and then replied, “Because He has a work for me to do. ”I then asked him, “What is that work?” He responded, “He wants my family to be eternal.” Notice, I did not tell him what he was feeling, where those feelings were coming from, or why. He taught and testified to those inherent truths to us. We should never underestimate the capacity of children to understand and bear witness of truth!

“Thank you, President, I’ll be there tomorrow.”
What a great man, I thought to myself as I hung up the telephone. The president of the Mississippi Jackson Mission had just called me to serve a two-week mission in the Bossier City, Louisiana, area. What a way to find out what true missionary work is like, I said to myself over and over.
I spent the next twenty-four hours packing, praying, and preparing myself for everything I could possibly come in contact with during the next two weeks. I prayed that I would be helpful to the missionaries, Elders Abbott and Watkins, with whom I would serve.
Saturday came quickly. My family drove me to Bossier, where we ate lunch before I telephoned the elders to let them know I was ready. After what seemed like an eternity but was only ten or fifteen minutes, the two young men, only a few years older than myself, arrived in their mission car. I didn’t know what to do or how to act, but I timidly introduced myself to Elder Abbott. What a spiritual giant, I thought; I can’t possibly be of any help to him. And I wondered why I was there.
After meeting Elder Watkins, I had nearly convinced myself that I couldn’t be of help to either of them.
I said good-bye to my family, and before I knew it the elders and I were out on the streets knocking on doors. I was amazed at how eloquently the elders approached the people. After an hour of tracting, Elder Abbott turned to me and said, “You can introduce us at the next house, Brother McWhorter.”
“I can’t,” I said embarrassed.
“Yes you can,” he said. “You’ve got to think positively. There may be a potential convert to the Church living here.”
“Okay, I’ll try,” I answered.
I knocked at the door.
As the door opened I could feel my heart sink within me. The room was filled with drunken teenagers—I was only a teenager myself. As I introduced myself and my companions, they began mocking and tempting us. Why me, Lord? I silently asked.
I didn’t knock on another door the rest of the evening. Later that night I began thinking about my day as a “full-time” missionary. Why did I have such feelings? Why was I scared to talk to people about the gospel? How would I be able to serve a two-year mission if I couldn’t even stand up to people and share the truths of the gospel for two weeks? I decided that there was only one way to get help.
As I knelt down in humble prayer and poured out the desires of my heart to Heavenly Father, a peaceful, comforting feeling came over me. A still, small voice told me to search the scriptures. I began going through the pages of my Bible when I saw a verse outlined in red. It was a scripture I had marked in seminary class. As I read it, I knew my prayer had been answered. A warm feeling of insight and understanding came over me as I read: “For it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth” (Rom. 1:16).
Never before had this scripture meant so much to me as it did now. “The power of God unto salvation,” I said aloud. I need not be ashamed of the gospel because it is the very key to salvation. Without it, not one soul will ever progress after this life.
The next morning I awoke with a strong desire and determination to spread the gospel.
Today, already five of the people I helped teach in those two weeks have joined the Church. What a strength we can receive through listening to the promptings of the Spirit!
I vividly remember the feeling I had as the Holy Ghost bore witness to me of that important scriptural message found in Romans. And to this day when I am confronted with an opportunity to share the gospel, that same still, small voice whispers in my ear, “the power of … salvation, the power of … salvation.”

Several years ago was assigned to go to Germany to take care of some important Church business. As I looked forward to that assignment, I worried a great deal. I knew there would be some very important interviews and that I do not speak German. I knew that most of those with whom I would conduct the Church business did not speak English. I felt helpless. After taking care of some work in English for about two weeks, I was finally on the plane to Germany. As I sat there pondering and praying, the voice of the Lord came into my mind, and gave me some instructions. You know, the Lord doesn’t speak in either English or German, and he can speak pure intelligence into our minds without passage of time. The message was something like this: “What are you worried about? There is another language, the language of the Spirit. Those brethren will know that language. You know the language. There will be no problem.” I was greatly comforted. And I had a great experience on that occasion.

Partway through my mission in Arizona, USA, I was hit with my first panic attack. I talked to leaders, asked for help, and prayed a lot. But the help I needed did not seem to come. I felt alone and afraid. I was even told I might have to go home.
One day my mother called. She asked, “Can you keep going?” I responded with, “I don’t know. I really don’t know.” Then my mom said, “Can you do one more month?” I said, “I don’t know.”
“What about one more week?” she asked. “I don’t know,” I said again. “What about one more day?” she asked. “I. Don’t. Know,” I said.
Then she asked, “Can you do one more minute?” Finally I said, “Well yes, of course.” She told me, “Then just do that. Go minute to minute, until you can get to an hour. Then let it progress, slowly. Don’t rush. Just let God take over. I promise you’re going to be OK.”
I trusted in her words. I have now been out for almost 21 months. I still struggle with mental health sometimes. But I also experience a lot of joy. And I have faith that as I go step by step, minute by minute, I can do this through the power of the Lord and His infinite Atonement. Struggles with mental health are real. But as we turn to Christ, we can do hard things.
Elder Rhett Turley, Arizona Mesa Mission

Recently Sister Cook and I attended a women’s conference in South Africa. After we listened to some inspiring messages on applying the Atonement in our lives, the stake Relief Society president invited everyone outside. We were each given a helium balloon. She explained that our balloon represented whatever burden, trial, or hardship was holding us back in our lives. On the count of three, we released our balloons, or our “burdens.” As we looked up and watched our burdens float away, there was an audible “Ahhhh.” That simple act of releasing our balloons provided a marvelous reminder of the indescribable joy that comes from looking up and thinking of Christ.

Ever since he was a boy, Wilford Woodruff wanted to know which church was true. When he was 26 years old, he still had not joined any church. He lived with his brother Azmon on his farm.
Wilford: Heavenly Father, help me to know how to live my life.
On December 29, 1833, two Mormon missionaries stopped at Azmon’s house. He and Wilford were both away working, but Azmon’s wife was home.
Missionary: God has restored His Church upon the earth, and we would like to tell you more about it.
Woman: My husband and brother-in-law are not home right now, but we would definitely be interested in hearing more.
The missionaries rented the local schoolhouse that afternoon. They passed out notices inviting anybody who wanted to learn more about the gospel to come to a meeting that evening.
When Wilford got home from working, his sister-in-law told him about the meeting. He immediately turned his horses around and started to the schoolhouse, praying the whole way to know whether or not the missionaries were true followers of Christ.
Woman: But, Wilford, what about supper?
Wilford: These men could be the answer to my prayers! I must go.
Wilford arrived at the schoolhouse, which was packed with people. His brother Azmon was already there. Wilford couldn’t find an empty chair, so he sat on one of the writing desks where he could see and hear everything.
Missionary: I bear strong testimony of the divine authenticity of the Book of Mormon. I also know that Joseph Smith is a prophet who has come to fulfill a great mission here on earth.
Wilford: I can feel the Spirit telling me that these are men of God.
After the missionaries were finished speaking, they asked members of the congregation if they would like to stand and say anything. Immediately, Wilford stood up and told everyone that he knew the missionaries were speaking the truth.
Wilford: The Lord urges me to bear testimony of the truth of this message. Do not oppose these men, for they are true servants of God. They have preached to us the pure gospel of Jesus Christ.
Two days later Wilford and his brother Azmon were baptized.

Anders had a new cap. His mother had knit it for him, and he thought no one could ever make anything quite as nice as his mother! The cap was red except for a small blue section in the middle and a blue tassel.
All of Anders’s brothers and sisters thought the cap was beautiful, and he wanted everyone else to see and admire it too.
One day he put the cap on and went for a walk. The very first person he met was a farmhand, who was walking beside a cart loaded with wood and driving his horse. When the man saw Anders’s new cap, he bowed so low that he was almost bent double. Anders was pleased, but he only nodded as he walked by.
At the turn of the road Anders met the tanner’s overgrown boy Lars, who was wearing a pair of fine high boots and whittling on a stick with a bone-handled jackknife. Now when Lars saw Anders’s beautiful cap, he stopped whittling to admire it. And he could not keep himself from going up close to Anders to touch the handsome blue tassel.
“I’ll trade you my cap for yours,” he cried, “and my jackknife besides!”
Lars’s knife was a splendid one, and Anders was sure that having a jackknife would make him feel manly. But still he would not give up the cap his mother had made even for the knife. So he nodded goodbye to Lars and went on his way.
Soon after this Anders met a strange little lady. She curtsied to him until her skirts spread out about her like a balloon. “Lad, you look so fine in your cap that you could wear it to the king’s ball!” she declared. Then why don’t I? thought Anders. Wearing this cap, I am certainly properly dressed to go and visit the king.
And off he went.
Two uniformed soldiers with guns on their shoulders and shining helmets on their heads were guarding the palace gate.
“Where are you going?” one of the soldiers asked.
“To the king’s ball,” answered Anders.
“No, you are not,” challenged the other soldier. “No one can go to the king’s ball except in formal dress.”
But just at this moment the princess, dressed in a white gown with ribbons of gold, was out walking. She overheard the guards arguing and went to see what the commotion was about.
“It’s true this boy is not formally dressed,” she said, “but his elegant cap is enough. Let him in so he can attend the ball.”
Then the princess took Anders by the hand and walked with him up the broad marble stairs, past all the soldiers who stood on every third step, and through the long, magnificent halls where gentlemen and ladies in silk and velvet were waiting for the ball to begin. And wherever Anders went, the people bowed to him. Such attention is all because of my cap, thought Anders, nodding to each one as he passed.
At one end of the largest hall a table was set with long rows of golden plates and shining goblets. Pyramids of tarts and cakes were heaped on huge silver platters. The princess seated herself at the table and motioned for Anders to sit in a golden chair by her side.
“But you must not eat with your cap on your head,” she said and reached over to remove it.
“Oh, but I can eat just as well with it on,” claimed Anders, holding onto the cap with both hands.
“Please give it to me,” begged the princess, “and I will give you a kiss.”
The princess was beautiful, and Anders would not have minded a kiss from her, but he was afraid she would not give him back the princely cap that his mother had made. So he only shook his head and moved farther back in his chair. Then the princess filled his pockets full of cakes, put her own heavy gold chain around his neck, and bent down and kissed him.
At that moment the doors were opened and the king himself entered, accompanied by his attendants in glittering uniforms. The king wore a mantle of blue velvet, bordered with ermine, and he had a large gold crown on his head.
When he saw Anders in the golden chair, he smiled and said, “That is a very fine cap you are wearing.”
“Yes it is,” Anders agreed. “My mother knit it herself from the very best yarn, and now everyone wants to get it away from me.”
“But surely you would change caps with me,” said the king, lifting the sparkling jeweled crown from his head.
Anders did not say a word. But when the king came close to him, holding his gold crown in one hand and reaching for the beautiful cap with the other, Anders leaped from his chair. Like an arrow he darted out of the hall, through the palace, down the stairs, and across the courtyard. He ran so fast that the necklace the princess had given him fell to the ground, and all the cakes tumbled out of his pockets.
But he still had his cap! With both hands he clutched it tightly until he was home.
“Well, Anders, where have you been?” cried his mother, startled.
So he told her the surprising things that had happened to him, while his brothers and sisters stood and listened, their mouths open in amazement.
When his older brother heard how Anders had refused to give his cap in exchange for the king’s golden crown, he cried out, “Anders, you foolish boy! Just think of all the things you might have had after selling the king’s golden crown! Besides, you could have bought yourself a much finer cap, one with a feather instead of just a tassel on it.”
“I was not foolish!” Anders declared. “I could never have bought a finer cap, not even in exchange for a king’s crown. I could never have bought anything in all this world half so fine as the cap my mother made for me!”
And his mother smiled at him lovingly and kissed him.

Jessica gazed at her reflection in the mirror. She felt very grown-up. Nana (her grandmother) had made her a new Sunday dress for her baptism this week. It was a beautiful dress with daisies and a green sash. The sleeves reached to her elbows and were trimmed with the same delicate lace that Nana had sewn on the hem. It looked like a dress from a fancy department store. Nobody would ever know the material came from a dress Jessica’s mother wore at a senior dance! That was what made Jessica feel so grown-up.
She sat on the edge of Nana’s bed and tried to remember her mother. Sometimes it was awfully hard! She looked at her family’s last picture on Nana’s dresser. Mommy and Daddy were posing with a wheelbarrow full of vegetables from Poppy’s garden. They had put four-year-old Jessica at the top of the heap. They were laughing at Jessica because she had peeled a small ear of corn and was eating it.
The memory of that day was like a dream, but the pain of it was still sharp four years later. After everyone had posed for pictures, they had gone in to clean up. They were tired from working in the garden all day. Nana had decided to take a nap.
Poppy and Daddy walked down to the barn to check a sick calf.
Mommy said that she was going to make a salad and grill hamburgers for supper. First, she would need to buy some hamburger buns at the market in town. Jessica asked Mommy if she could go with her to the store. Her mother smiled and said, “Sure, sweetie!” She strapped her daughter into her car seat. Mommy drove down the dusty, unpaved road to town.
They had not gone far, when a dog ran in front of their car. Mommy swerved to avoid the animal and ran the car into a tree. Jessica was unharmed, but her mother was hurt. A passing motorist stopped, put them into the back of his station wagon, and took them to the hospital.
Jessica remembered the prayer her mother whispered over and over as they bumped along the dirt road in the back of the stranger’s station wagon: “Heavenly Father, take care of my family.” Then, after they arrived at the hospital emergency, Mommy spoke once more before they separated mother and daughter—“Jessica, I love you.” Jessica watched them put her mother on a bed and take her away.
Jessica did not remember much about her overnight stay in the hospital. She did remember that her mother did not go home when Nana and Poppy picked her up. Daddy said Mommy fell asleep and never awakened. He told his little girl that Mommy went to live with Heavenly Father.
The happiness Jessica had enjoyed a few moments ago slowly seeped away, and tears began to roll down her cheeks. She missed her mother so much! If only Mommy could see how pretty she looked.
It would be so nice if Mommy could be at her baptism.
Jessica felt prompted to kneel beside Nana’s big bed. She folded her arms and began to pray. “Heavenly Father, I thank Thee for blessing me with a neat dad. And I thank Thee for Nana and Poppy. I love them! But Heavenly Father, I miss my mom. I wish she could be here for my baptism on Saturday. Sometimes it is hard not having a mom like my friends. …” She began to cry.
A calm feeling crept into her. She lifted her head, remembering when her family had been sealed in the temple shortly before her mother died. Because they were sealed, Daddy said, they were a family for eternity. He said that even though Mommy was no longer with them on earth, she was waiting for them in the spirit world. He said that Mommy could see their family and still loved them. So, Jessica thought now, Mommy will be at my baptism in her own way.
Once more the eight-year-old stood to look at herself in the full-length mirror. This time her grin grew wide as she understood what it meant to be an eternal family. When she wore her new dress this Sunday, Jessica would feel very close to her mother.

I was afraid a lot.
I was afraid my dad would kill himself while driving drunk. I was afraid he’d kill someone else when he was driving drunk.
Late at night I would lie in my bed with all the lights out. I would wait and wait to hear his car pull in. I’d pray over and over, “Please help him get home safely. Please don’t let him hit anyone.”
In the morning I’d look at how the car was parked in the driveway. Sometimes it would be barely an inch from the house. Sometimes it would be over into the neighbor’s flowers.
I was afraid he’d embarrass me. He did. He’d wake up from sleeping off a drunk and not really be sober. He’d stumble out of the bedroom. He’d stink of beer. He’d say dumb things. I hated it.
My real friends still liked me. Still, it was embarrassing.
I was afraid my parents would get a divorce. Many times they would have fights when my dad drank. He had a black leather suitcase in his closet. He’d get it out and start packing his clothes. If it were daytime I’d run out of the house. One day I took my dad’s white pocketknife with me. I wanted to have something of his if he left.
Sometimes I was afraid my parents would not get a divorce. I was afraid they would keep living together and I would never have a home that was nice. I thought my mother and I could go live with my grandparents. It sounded so safe.
Fear
Your friend may worry that her dad will get into an accident while driving drunk.
She may be afraid her parents will divorce. Or she may be equally afraid this painful way of living will go on forever.
She fears that her dad may embarrass her with inappropriate behavior.
She’s afraid no one will like her because of her father’s actions.
Of these fears only the last one is within your control. Make very sure your friend knows that you love and respect her. Your friendship can help reduce the corrosive effects of all the other fears.
Fear
Your life is full of fears—fear of a drunken accident, fear of divorce, fear of humiliation—the list seems endless.
I wish I could give you an easy formula for banishing fear, but I can’t. For one thing, many of your fears are well grounded.
I can only give you two bits of advice. First, when you are afraid, pray. Our Father in Heaven knows your fears and can help you master them.
Second, let some trusted adult counselor help you distinguish between real dangers and imaginary ones. With so many real things to fear, there is no room for phantoms.

The young men and young women in Welland, Ontario, Canada, get excited about seminary. Winters in Welland are long and harsh, and during the greater part of the school year, going to seminary means a trek to the church in the dark and cold. Of course, teenagers in Welland are no different than teenagers anywhere else. Getting enough sleep is a paramount concern—something that can be a bit of a challenge when you get up for an early-morning class. But a few years ago, the Welland seminary students had a teacher who changed their lives, and their mumbling and grumbling about the early hour seemed to shrink, while their excitement about seminary seemed to grow.
Despite the fact that he had been ill with cystic fibrosis all his life, their teacher, Brother Ron Cunningham, wouldn’t have traded his calling as a seminary teacher for anything. In terms of his health, some days were better than others. But every day he taught seminary, he said, was a good day.
“He was our friend,” says James Burton, 17. “We all had such a good time, even though he was sick. He had such a great sense of humor, even about things that made him look silly. Sometimes, especially at the beginning of class before everyone was fully awake, he would fall asleep—while he was teaching.”
Because cystic fibrosis fills the lungs with fluid, breathing is difficult, causing extreme fatigue. Consequently, it seems that just about everyone has a favorite “Brother Cunningham fell asleep” story.
There were other ways he filled the seminary with laughter and fun, too. There were games and contests for scripture mastery, treats and stories to make lessons easier to understand.
“One year, Brother Cunningham brought an entire set of army men for us to use to reenact battles from the scriptures,” says Craig Dumoulin. “At first we thought it was crazy since none of us have played with toys like that since we were little, but it really did make it easier to understand. And it was a lot of fun.”
But Brother Cunningham taught his students much more than how to have a sense of humor. Make no mistake, the gospel was his life, and he wanted to help his students feel the same way.
“Because of his illness, he was pretty small physically,” says Matthew Glanfield, 18. “But I have never known such a spiritual giant.”
It was that spirit, that great feeling, that kept the students excited and happy about getting up before dawn to study. Even in the Toronto area’s brutal and icy winter. Even during exams when time was scarce. Even when it would have been easier to stay in bed and catch a few more minutes of sleep. Everyone knew that no matter how hard it was for them to get out of bed in the morning, it was harder for their teacher. If he could do it, they knew they could too.
The young men in the ward seemed especially responsive to his style of teaching. Although he didn’t fit the stereotype of macho strength and he was unable to participate in many athletic activities, the young men all say that he was exactly the kind of man—an honorable priesthood holder who was married in the temple—that they all aspire to be.
“There were a lot of things he couldn’t do, but he worked hard at the things he could do,” says Matthew. “He always told us that it was his number one wish for us to go on missions and be great missionaries. He couldn’t go on a mission because of his health, but he could contribute to the missionary effort by training others to share the gospel.”

I’m sure I’ll never forget the branch president in Semarang, Central Java—President Samad. My companion and I were assigned to serve as a resource to him as he gained more ability to lead and teach the people of his branch. Very few missionary or training materials had at that time been translated into the Indonesian language.

We met with President Samad each Sunday for about forty-five minutes. He would ask us to discuss some topic—fast offerings, teacher development, or some other gospel-related subject—and we would prepare the best we could with this still-awkward second language of ours. We always began with prayer, and then he would say, “Sisters, you just do the best you can to tell me what you’ve prepared. Every so often, I’ll have you stop, and then I’ll tell you what the Spirit has taught me.” And that’s exactly what would happen. Those were some of the most spiritual experiences of my life.

One of Lucy’s most poignant memories is her distress when she realized that they were going to lose the home that had been designed by her beloved Alvin for the express purpose of seeing that she and Joseph Sr. would be comfortable in their old age. “I was overcome and fell back into a chair almost deprived of sensibility,” she wrote. She asked Hyrum: “What can this mean? … How … is [it] that all which we have earned in the last 10 years is taken away from us in one instant?” Her feelings were natural, but when they had to move from the home three years later, she told Oliver Cowdery, who was boarding with them: “I now look around me upon all these things that have been gathered together for my happiness which have cost the toil of years. … I now give it all up for the sake of Christ and salvation, and I pray God to help me to do so without one murmur or a tear. … I will not cast one longing look upon anything which I leave behind me.”

On occasion, mission leaders can postpone serving due to business or family concerns. When Heidi and I were being considered as mission leaders, we had previously discussed that if we were given that option, we would delay going for one year because this change could be a significant struggle for our daughter who was going to be a senior in high school. We weren’t even sure that this daughter would go with us on the mission.

With that as background, we met with President Oaks. As we walked into his office, he said, “I’ve been studying about you and asking the Lord two questions: First, does He want you to serve? And second, if He does, when would He want you to serve?”

President Oaks continued: “I have felt impressions about those two questions, but before I share my feelings, I would like to know yours.”

Now I have felt pressure before in my life, but this was low-key next-level!

I was grateful that President Oaks turned to Heidi first.

“I don’t know the answer to the first question,” she said, “but about the timing of when we should go, I think we should go now.”

My jaw hit the floor. I turned to Heidi and whispered, “What did you say? I thought we talked about this.”

She whispered back, “I know. I’m sorry!”

To which I replied, “Well, that’s just not gonna cut it!”

President Oaks began to be amused at this. He chuckled and finally said, “Well, my feelings align with Sister Shumway’s.”

Now I felt about two inches tall. But I found the courage to express our concern for our daughter.

President Oaks tenderly replied: “I understand. I’d like to visit with her.”

We were stunned. With President Oaks’s busy schedule, how would he ever manage this?

Still, we set up this meeting with two of our daughters. In the meeting, President Oaks again asked us to share our feelings. Heidi and I went first, followed by our younger daughter Sophie.

Then President Oaks turned to Callie, and she began to cry. It was difficult for her to say anything.

President Oaks lovingly said: “Oh, sweet Callie, I have all the time in the world for you. When you are ready, we can chat.”

Then he patiently waited and kindly listened to Callie.

Did President Oaks have all the time in the world? No! And yet he took time to love and minister to the one.

He blessed me. He blessed my daughters. He blessed our family. And now, as God’s living prophet, he blesses the entire world!

Yes, President Oaks is the Lord’s voice “unto the ends of the earth.”5 To accomplish the mighty work of dispelling darkness that I spoke of earlier, you will need to know this truth deeply for yourself. But I also hope you know that President Oaks is a loving and compassionate disciple of Jesus Christ who is personally interested in helping each one of us return to live with God.

I saw this truth with our Callie—who did decide to join us in the mission field and had a life-changing experience.

About 15 years ago, my family had the blessing of feeding the full-time missionaries in our home. At the conclusion of the meal, the missionaries shared a short message with my family. After the message, I thought I knew what was coming next. The missionaries would ask us if we knew anyone who they could share the gospel with. I always found this a bit difficult. I want to share the gospel and, as a former missionary myself, I knew that member referrals were the most productive way to introduce others to the gospel of Jesus Christ. But it seemed that all my friends, family, work colleagues, and neighbors were already members of the Church. But this time, instead of asking for referrals, the missionaries challenged us to pray for missionary opportunities. I remember thinking to myself, “I can definitely do that.”

Praying for missionary opportunities became part of our family and personal prayers, that continues to this day. A few weeks later I was working upstairs in the Lorenzo Snow Administration Building. It was the late afternoon and most people had gone home for the day. There was a student worker from an Eastern European country, who was a new student and had just started working for our department. He turned to me and asked me a question. He asked, “Who is Brigham Young, and why is the university named after him?”

I responded that Brigham Young was a prophet who led the Church after the martyrdom of Joseph Smith. His next question was, “Who is Joseph Smith?” I quickly realized that this student did not know anything concerning the Church or the restoration of the gospel. I received a prompting to share with him the account of Joseph Smith’s first vision and to share my testimony of it, which I did. I taught him about the restoration of the gospel and how we have a living prophet on the earth today who leads and guides us. I felt the spirit as I taught and testified. I could tell that this student felt the spirit as well. We had other conversations about God and the gospel of Jesus Christ. I was thankful to have this missionary opportunity. To receive a prompting and to have the courage to act upon the prompting. This student didn’t stay long at BYU–Hawaii and I do not know where he is today, but I do know that he knows who Joseph Smith is and has an understanding of the restoration of the gospel.