Gospel Story Finder

I was new to our neighborhood, so I was excited when a boy named Ken* came over to play. One day we rode our bikes past a silver car that had silver hubcaps on the wheels. Ken said to me, “Hey, Spencer, steal one of those hubcaps.”
“I’m not going to do that!” I said. I didn’t want to break one of Heavenly Father’s commandments. Ken decided to steal it himself.
I didn’t feel good about what Ken had done, so I told my mom. After talking with her, I told Ken that he should return the hubcap he stole, and that I didn’t want to play with him if he kept it. I was really happy when Ken took the hubcap back.

In September 2004, lots of hurricanes hit Florida, where I live with my mom, dad, and sisters Morgie and Maddie. Our family had never been in a hurricane. We prepared to be inside for a few days and to maybe go without power for a few days. We also prayed that we would be kept safe during the storm. On September 5, church was cancelled because of Hurricane Frances. That Sunday was stormy and ugly outside, but inside we were safe. My mom and dad got permission from the bishop for us to have sacrament meeting at home. Mom and Morgie played the piano, and we sang. Dad blessed and passed the sacrament. Then everyone gave a talk. Morgie, Maddie, and I all gave our talks from the Friend. The storm was still blowing outside, but I felt peaceful inside.

It was just a few days before Christmas, and we were newlyweds traveling home for the holidays. It was a 42-hour drive by car, but that didn’t discourage us at all because we were so excited to be home with our families again! We had been on the road all day and most of the night when we came upon a terrible snowstorm. We found ourselves in a blinding blizzard, and the snow was growing deeper on the highway with each passing moment. The night was pure black. We couldn’t see where we were going, and because of the deep snow we couldn’t see the lines on the road. This was a frightening situation!
Suddenly in front of us we began to see a huge semitruck going slowly and steadily ahead. We could barely make out his taillights, but seeing them gave us hope. My husband, who was driving, fixed his eyes on the lights from the truck, and we drove along in the tracks it made through the deepening snow. Our panic subsided somewhat with that guide up ahead, because he knew the route, he sat up higher than we and could have a better view, and surely he had communication equipment if it was needed.
With prayers on our lips and white-knuckled hands holding on, we followed that light through the storm. We passed many cars off both sides of the road before we sensed that the truck was slowing down and pulling off the highway. In an act of faith, we followed him and soon found ourselves, to our great relief, in a place of safety, a place of refuge. We were so very thankful! We could hardly wait to tell the driver of the truck how grateful we were for his help—for leading the way.

From an accident that could have been devastating to any future accomplishment, Peter Jeppson struggled against adversity to become a successful businessman, Church leader, husband, and father. He is now the owner of his own insurance and investment agency, has served on the General Board of the Young Men, and has three children, two daughters and a son.
While Peter was lying in the hospital as a 19-year-old trying to figure out his future, he asked himself, “What one thing would I have to accomplish that would mean I had overcome my problems?” He was influenced by some books on setting goals that his friend had read to him before his bandages were removed from his eyes. He decided that if he could be a successful life insurance sales manager that would mean (1) he was able to develop a good relationship with people individually, (2) he would have gained an education, and (3) he would have proven his credibility and ability in one area.
With this goal in mind, Peter began researching insurance companies. He contacted 59 companies and was not offered a single job. He finally got a position as a planning manager for an insurance company. It was a very small beginning. Through persistence, hard work, and going to school at the same time, Peter began learning the business.
By the time Peter got married, he had paid all his debts to doctors and hospitals, but he was starting married life with no assets except his confidence and attitude. In ten years, he has built all that he and his family have from nothing by determination and discipline.
Now, Peter, Marjorie, and their children all keep journals recording the progress they are making on their goals. When the children are too small to be able to write, Marjorie records in their journals for them.
With a slim, athletic build, Peter points out that one of his goals this year was to be able to run 3 kilometers in 16 minutes. He has reached that goal.

He is also a caring brother. On the day the Friend magazine interviewed Nolan, he and his brothers were enjoying lunch from a local fast-food restaurant. The younger boys all received toys with their meals except for Austin, Nolan’s three-year-old brother. When Austin told his mother that he wanted a toy, too, Nolan immediately tossed his toy over to his brother, saying, “Here, you can have mine.”

My mom called all the children in my family together one morning. She told us that President Howard W. Hunter had been sick and had died. We were sad. President Hunter was the prophet, and we loved him.
“Who will run the Church now?” Erik, my youngest brother, asked.
“Well, the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles will be in charge until another prophet is chosen,” Mom answered. “But remember, Jesus Christ is the head of this Church. We will not be left without a prophet.”
“Really?” I asked. “We’ll have a new one?”
“Absolutely,” Mom said. She explained to me that when a prophet dies, the members of the First Presidency return to their former positions in the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, and with the guidance of the Lord, the Apostles reorganize the First Presidency. Mom also explained that the Church follows a pattern established by the Lord. When the Lord calls a new Apostle, that Apostle gradually moves forward in seniority in the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles as other Apostles die. At the death of the President of the Church, the senior Apostle becomes the new President of the Church. Mom said that we can pray to know for ourselves that the new Church President has been chosen by the Lord.
A little while after President Hunter died, I got a phone call from my friend Molly, who is not a member of the Church. “Hey, Angie, that’s too bad about your prophet. My dad and I were really worried about you. Is your church going to shut down now?”
I almost dropped the phone from surprise.
“Of course not,” I said, remembering my mother’s words. “The Lord promised us that we would always have a prophet.”
“You mean, they’ll choose a new one?” Molly asked. “Don’t you need an angel to come down and declare that he’s the prophet?”
“I believe God will choose another prophet. Jesus Christ is the head of the Church,” I said with a smile because I knew it was true.
“But how do you know the new prophet is chosen by God?”
She didn’t understand that we could pray to Heavenly Father and find out. But I knew that that was exactly what I was going to do. Right after I finished my prayers that night, I knew that the Lord would take care of His Church.
A few days later an announcement was made that the new President of the Church was Gordon B. Hinckley.
I raised my hand high a few weeks later during general conference to sustain President Hinckley as the prophet. And in the years that have followed, I have continued to raise my hand to sustain him. I support him in all he says and does. I am thankful that President Hinckley has been called of God to be the prophet. Truly, the Lord does not leave us alone.

When I was 17, living in West Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA, the missionaries taught my family about Joseph Smith’s First Vision. Young Joseph’s desire to communicate with God and know His will resonated deeply with my own desires.
As the missionaries taught us about living prophets and apostles, I asked, “There are Apostles today? Where are they?” They showed us a picture of President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985), his counselors in the First Presidency, and the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles in 1980. This strengthened my sprouting testimony that God, who is the same yesterday, today, and forever, still needed prophets and apostles to guide His children in modern times.
Over time, both my parents and all 10 children were baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Since coming to know living prophets and apostles, my testimony of their sacred calling and keys has only grown stronger.

When Enoch LaVell Manwaring served as a building missionary in Tonga in 1957, he took some of the building missionaries to the island of ‘Uiha to build a chapel. A small, elderly lady named Vaikato insisted upon helping with the construction, although she was believed to be more than one hundred years old. The missionaries tried to persuade her not to carry heavy bricks and lift buckets, but she refused to quit helping them.
As the work progressed on the building, some of the Tongan building missionaries approached Brother Manwaring and asked if he had talked to Vaikato about the construction plans. He told them no, and was surprised when they told him that Vaikato already knew what the chapel would look like:
The men told me that she was telling all of the workers just where the classrooms would be, where the pulpit would stand, and just how the chapel would look when it was finished. It was amazing what she knew.
I learned through an interpreter that twenty years before the building program began in the South Pacific, she had received a blessing from Elder George Albert Smith, who was visiting the Tongan islands. In the blessing, he told her that if she would be faithful, she would live to see a beautiful chapel erected on her island—and she envisioned it perfectly while he spoke.

Growing up I thought the Spirit only spoke in an audible voice, which made me think very few people were privileged to hear that voice. So when I met with missionaries and accepted their invitation to pray to Heavenly Father for a confirmation that the gospel is true, I expected to hear an audible voice. And I was disappointed when I didn’t. Even though I felt their message was true, I was reluctant to be baptized because I had not heard the voice of the Spirit.
As my family members were baptized and bearing testimonies, I felt like I wasn’t doing something right, since Heavenly Father wasn’t “speaking” to me. When my mum and older brother went to the temple, I had a strong feeling that the temple was truly the house of the Lord and that I needed to prepare to go there one day. But I still didn’t recognize that my feelings were promptings from the Spirit.
One day I was reading from the Book of Mormon with the missionaries, and I had a strong feeling that what we were reading was true. I told the elders what I was feeling, and they helped me understand that the witness I felt was the Holy Spirit speaking to me. In that moment I realized I had been feeling the Spirit in so many ways, but I hadn’t considered He speaks with us all so differently. I accepted the invitation to be baptized that day.

The world is full of people in need. It can seem overwhelming. Victims of disasters need food, clothing, hygiene supplies, and often shelter. Students in impoverished areas need school materials. And the list goes on. What can one person do?
Actually, each person, by combining efforts with many others, can accomplish a lot. Assembling humanitarian kits is a great example of this principle.
There are several different types of humanitarian kits, such as hygiene kits, school kits, and simple games for children. These kits are sent to areas of the world to help with basic needs and relieve suffering. The contents may seem simple (for example, hygiene kits* consist of unbreakable combs, toothbrushes, soap, and hand towels), but when these kits reach someone who has lost everything, they provide not only needed personal care items, but also comfort that comes from knowing someone cares and took time to put them together.
When the Murray Utah West Stake decided to make hygiene kits as part of their youth conference, Amy Woodland, of the 13th Ward, was one of those asked to collect and organize supplies for her ward.
She says of the experience, “When I was asked to help with my youth conference and gather items for a humanitarian project, I sat down with my mom and talked about how I was going to organize the project and get all the items I could. I started by passing out flyers that told what items we needed and took them to each house in my neighborhood. I also went into priesthood meetings, Relief Society, Primary, Young Men, and Young Women to announce the items needed.
“Before I knew it, I had people dropping items off at my house, calling me to find out more about the humanitarian project, and giving me money to purchase supplies that we needed the most. Then, when youth conference came around, we had tons of items that other girls had collected from other wards in the stake.
“Being able to participate in this project was amazing! It felt so good knowing that these hygiene kits were sent out to children, adults, and families who were really in need of them. Service is something that really should be spread throughout the world. It has helped me want to serve others more. I learned that by serving others we are serving Heavenly Father.”
Maria Sanchez of 11th Ward agrees, “My experience doing the hygiene project was great. I have to say that my favorite part was getting together as a stake to put the kits together. Everyone had fun, and having so many people to help made the project go very fast. I learned that when everyone helps in little ways, it can help a lot of people.”
On the day of the youth conference activity, the young men and young women met to put the hygiene kits together. They had hoped to assemble 300 kits and ended up assembling more than 600. Reagan Eisert, 15, of the Liberty Ward said, “I never knew that there were so many specifications in gathering hygiene products to put into a plastic bag. When I saw the generosity of my ward members, I realized how much love they had for people they didn’t know and were likely to never see. As I watched the kindness of so many people, my own testimony grew. I’m so grateful that I was a part of this service project and that the hours I spent really helped someone else.”

Thunk, thunk, thunk! My two older brothers and I were “washboarding” our baseball bats along the rails on our banister. There were twenty-three steps heading down in a gentle, sloping curve. Between the noise of the bats and our own squeals, we didn’t hear Mom come in.
“What are you three doing? I left you working. You promised that if we moved here, you’d help with the fixing-up. Now get busy.”
We trudged back to our chores.
I felt like Cinderella. Work, work, work! And I couldn’t even escape to a friend’s house, since I hadn’t met anyone here yet.
I sprayed my bedroom walls with water and scraped the ancient layers of wallpaper till strips of brown paper lay in soggy piles at my feet.
When we first moved here, it was fun. We all enjoyed destruction. We helped knock down rickety sheds in the yard and plaster from the walls. By now, however, everything was drudgery.
Our house had been built by our great-great-grandfather, and when the opportunity came for my father to buy it, he leaped at the chance. Mom was more reluctant. I understood why better now.
I brushed a sweaty strand of hair from my eyes. At least the scraping was nearly done. Next we’d patch cracks and put up the wallpaper that waited in my bottom drawer.
As I was scraping near the mantel, I noticed marks on the plaster. I uncovered more and saw that someone had painted flowers twining all around the fireplace—and down near the baseboard something was scribbled: Lizzie Johnson, August 10, 1905!
“Well, for goodness’ sake,” Dad said when I showed him. “Her last name shows that she’s a relation. Let’s look her up in the old family Bible.”
Dad lifted the heavy book from its shelf and gently turned the brittle pages. He found where the names of my great-great-grandfather’s family were listed. They were all boys except one. “Elizabeth Johnson” was written in faded, curlicue letters.
“That must be her,” Dad said. “Lizzie is short for Elizabeth, so she’s your great-great-aunt. I bet your bedroom was hers when she was a girl.”
Suddenly Dad clapped a hand to his forehead. “I knew that name sounded familiar! I think I have her journal with our family papers. She’s one of the people your mother and I have done the temple work for. Would you like to read her journal?”
I was jumping up and down with excitement. “Yes! Please, please, please!”
That night I eagerly read what Lizzie had written. The June 6, 1905, entry made me gasp:
I was angry with Freddy when he took my journal and drew pictures in it.
So Lizzie was tormented by her brothers too!
I’m not mad anymore. We were rattling sticks along the stair railing, and he broke a spindle in it. Dad says he has to do extra chores all week. Poor Freddy!
I dashed to the stairway and searched the banister till I came to a spindle with a thin crack where it had been glued. What a strange feeling it gave me—it was like secrets being whispered through time!
Over the next three days I read Lizzie’s journal. She was so much like me! I felt as if I knew all about her and, strangely enough, as if she knew all about me.
What happened last week made me feel even closer to Lizzie. It was a steamy, sweltering day, and Jacob and I were digging in the cool earth beneath our back porch.
We found pieces of broken china buried there. We pretended we were archaeologists and sorted them into bags.
Then I dug up something small and round, caked with red clay.
“What is it?” Jacob asked.
“I think it’s a doorknob. I’m going to wash it off.”
As I carefully scrubbed away the mud, a rosebud mouth, dark eyes, and round pink cheeks emerged. It was the tiny head of a doll, made of thick china! Even her black hair was china. Except for a few nicks, it was in amazingly good condition.
“Cool!” Jacob cried. “Let’s see if we can find the rest.”
It felt sort of gruesome, digging for body parts.
We found her feet and hands, minus the tip of one foot and a thumb. Mama said her body had probably been made of cloth and had rotted away. She helped me sew a new body from muslin, and a gown of pink taffeta.
How did the doll end up beneath our porch? Did someone leave it there and forget about it till it was buried by time? I guess we’ll never know.
I like to think it belonged to Lizzie. I hope she knows that I have it now and is glad.
When school starts, I’ll make other friends, but Lizzie is my best friend right now. I think we knew and loved each other before I was born.
My family have only been members of the Church for a few years. We have a lot of work to do, finding and turning in our ancestors’ names and dates so that we can do the temple work for them. I’m glad that Lizzie’s work is done so that we can be together some day. Thanks to her, I know that all those names belong to real people, people who were once kids who played with dolls and rattled sticks along the railing—like my friend Lizzie.

When I was about eleven years old, I gained an understanding of our Heavenly Father’s love. My parents were not then very religious, but they were good people. They loved me and taught me to be good, clean, and honest, and they helped me to develop righteous desires. Although they were always interested in questions of truth, they did not know God, so they could not tell me about Him. I had an undeveloped hope for the reality of God, but never seemed to find anyone who knew Him and could tell me about Him.
I remember seeing a person killed in an accident. Faced for the first time with death, I was so shaken that I couldn’t sleep for a couple of days and became ill. No one could tell me what happens after death. A great fear developed within me that some accident would happen to my father and nobody would be able to explain where he had gone.
Later, during World War II in my home country of Germany, I lived with my mother and four sisters far away from home in southern Germany in two very small, humble rooms. We had fled from our home because of the many air attacks that had destroyed our city and threatened our lives. My father was separated from us because he had been drafted into the army. And I was too young to understand the dramatic events happening around me during that terrible war.
Lying in bed one night in the room I shared with two of my sisters, I remember an intense feeling of loneliness. My mother and two other sisters slept in the next room, but I still felt lost in our temporary home and strange surroundings. The people even spoke a different dialect than I was used to. I had a most frightening thought: What is the purpose of my being here on this earth? I could not answer this question, and it led right into another one that was even more frightening: What is eternity?
I looked into my heart for the answers to these questions. But the more I thought about eternity, the more lost I felt. There was nothing to hold onto, nothing to stand on. I had the feeling of falling, falling, falling without stopping. It scared me terribly.
I can still remember the details of that room—the pale light of the moon and the sound of the church clock bell ringing every fifteen minutes. I was awake until early in the morning, and I was so overcome with despair that I began to cry. I wept and wept.
Suddenly something changed. A comforting power enveloped me, and a small voice said to my soul, “You are My child. Have trust in Me.”
Immediately joy and happiness filled my heart. All my fear, loneliness, and despair were changed into feelings of warmth and comfort. That night I learned for the first time that there is some unseen but loving Person who is concerned about me. Especially is this true when I feel despair and need help.

Sister Haju Julloh of the Waterloo Branch is a nurse. Caring for the sick, she was exposed daily to the virus. As patient loads increased, protective gowns at the hospital where she worked were sometimes not thoroughly washed and cleaned. Shortly after she joined the Church in August 2014, Sister Julloh tested positive for Ebola and was quarantined in her home.

"I could not attend church, so branch members called and encouraged me," she said. "Confined to my room, I decided to concentrate on studying the Book of Mormon. I read about many spiritual experiences, including miracles that happened to ordinary people like me. I wanted a miracle but did not know if I should even ask. I kept reading and talking to friends on the phone about the things I was reading. After some weeks at home, I was retested for the virus and the test results came back negative. I had to remain quarantined for another week and was then retested. Again, the results were negative. So I was allowed to leave my house and attend church as well as return to work. That was a miracle to me."

I think of a friend whom I knew when I was a missionary in London many years ago. He came to our door through the rain one night. I answered his knock and invited him in.
He said, as I remember, “I have to talk to someone. I’m all alone.”
I asked what the problem was.
He said, “When I joined the Church, my father told me to get out of his house and never come back. A few months later my athletic club dropped me from membership. Last month my boss fired me because I am a member of this Church. And last night the girl I love said she would never marry me because I’m a Mormon.”
I said, “If this has cost you so much, why don’t you leave the Church and go back to your father’s home, to your club, to the job that meant so much to you, and marry the girl you think you love?”
He said nothing for what seemed a long time. Then, putting his head in his hands, he sobbed as if his heart would break. Finally he looked up through his tears and said, “I couldn’t do that. I know this is true, and if it were to cost me my life, I could not give it up.”
He picked up his wet hat and walked to the door and went out into the rain. As I watched him, I thought of the power of conscience, the loneliness of faith, and the strength and power of personal testimony.

I would like to tell you a story of a young man who sought out a wise man who was recognized far and near for his good judgment. He asked for his expert advice on how to attain new heights of achievement in his field of endeavor.
“Come with me,” said the wise man. Taking the youth to a nearby stream, he immersed him and held him under the water. When the young man was released, he was nearly drowned and came up fighting for breath, gasping, “Air, air, give me air!”
“There,” said the wise man, “that’s the first lesson. When you want to succeed as badly as you wanted air, you will attain your goal. You will succeed!”

And ‘doing what’s required’ has been his guideline for the last five years. Prior to that, Jo’s legs were the same as most people’s—active.

Then came the blood clot in his spine. Only one in a million people ever suffer from this problem. Usually they are middle-aged and end up mentally retarded due to brain damage or even die.

Jo survived, perfectly normal except for his legs.

Despite frequent hospitalization, he has become more and more cheerful, relying on priesthood blessings and developing a testimony that takes him places where legs are not important.

Looking back, Jo has a clear picture of that turning point in his life. “I was prepared, through promptings of the Spirit, for the information that my legs would always be paralysed,” he says. “So when the doctor appeared solemnly saying, ‘I have something to tell you,’ I thought it must be, ‘Sorry, no hope, you’re going to die.’ When he said, ‘You’ll never walk again,’ it was a relief. I could handle that.”

That was the easy part. Adapting and learning to do everything differently was not. So Jo developed ways of dealing with setbacks. His favourite saying when things get tough is, “You can either laugh or cry, but if you laugh, people like you better.”

Jo did progress, becoming more and more independent and mobile.

His testimony also became independent. Although brought up in the Church, Jo had, earlier in life, gone through a less-active stage. He drifted in with the wrong crowd, did some things he regretted. Gradually, through the influence of missionaries, and to keep his mum happy, he returned.

“It was while I was in the hospital that I decided to find out for sure whether the Church is true,” he says. “I had plenty of opportunity to fast and pray in there as my visits lengthened into months.” (His spine began curving, needing replacement with bones from his ribs.)

By the end of the first fast, the Aylesbury Ward bishop turned up unexpectedly, offering to take Jo for a ride. “We entered a beautiful woodland area,” Jo recalls. “As we drove slowly through I was reminded of the First Vision. I had the strongest impression of God’s hand in all that beauty. The feeling also came clearly—this is the Savior’s church, and I should go on a mission.”

Jo’s testimony never wavered after that.

Later, during a class discussion on missions back in his home ward, his yearning for service came sharply into focus. The teacher, not wanting him to feel left out or embarrassed by the emphasis on serving missions, made the comment, ‘Of course, Jo is excused. He won’t be able to go in a wheelchair.’

“That really fired me up,” exclaims Elder Folkett. “My immediate reaction was, ‘Oh yes I will!’” Soon after, Jo received his patriarchal blessing, which confirmed his decision, stating he would serve and proselyte.

Before leaving for the England Manchester Mission, it became evident just how much Jolyon’s new attitude toward life had affected him. Not only did he take part in, and win, several national paraplegic sporting events, but his social life also improved.

“We had a stake fireside on dating standards,” Jo says. “And the final challenge was a competition to get youth mixing. We had to see who could have the most dates (same partner allowed no more than five times) in six months. The prize would be a trip to London for a meal and a show.”

Despite the fact that Jo was in the hospital for one of those months, and his mission departure was a month before the competition finished, he still came out winner. His total—38 dates in four months. Now he has a two-year wait for the prize.

And Jo has more good news waiting for his return home. When he applied for a training job at his local council offices they agreed to take him—and that was after he told them he wouldn’t be available to start for another two years. They accepted his explanation, promising to keep the vacancy especially for him.

Blessings like these keep outweighing hardships in Jo’s life. He’s even found advantages to serving in a wheelchair. “I must be the only missionary to get through two years in one pair of shoes,” he jokes. “These cost me 13 pounds (about $25 U.S.) at Leicester market and they’re good as new!”

There are a few disadvantages, however. Like the number of new tyres needed for his special wheelchair. Jo saved up for a lightweight, thin-tyred sports model before he left on his mission. The smaller chair makes tracting easier and has allowed him to develop the art of wheelies, crowd navigation, and step bouncing to breathtaking degrees.

He has another saying. “You can do anything you want, if it’s possible. If it’s impossible it just takes longer.”

Elder Folkett’s companion, Elder Dean Beale from Weston-super-Mare, England, says he appreciates such attitudes from his companion. “After working with Elder Folkett,” he says, “I’ve also come to realize that many of the people who blame God for the afflictions of others are not the sufferers themselves. The suffers are often the ones with faith and humility.”

As Elder Folkett says, “Life’s not supposed to be easy. It’s a tough testing ground. But if we behave ourselves and follow God’s plan, then we’ll get the blessings in the end.”

Often the blessings come long before the end when you’re in the service of the Lord. Jo has seen that many times on his mission. Take the day he met Kevin Smith, for instance.

Kevin had become interested in the Church through the fine example of a young Latter-day Saint girl in his office and had requested a copy of the Book of Mormon from the Blackpool Ward. Jo and his companion volunteered to deliver the scriptures.

“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 16 years. “I had a stereotyped image of Mormon elders—tall, fresh young American lads straight out of college, clothed in sharp suits, with toothpaste-advert smiles. I probably wouldn’t have opened the door if they’d looked like that. But here were two down-to-earth people, one just as surprised as myself at the sight of a wheelchair.”

“Kevin is such a cool 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 good about things that would happen.”

Elder Folkett and Kevin hit it off from the moment they met, and Jo baptized Kevin not long after that first discussion.

The power of example is switching on eternal possibilities for Jo. Inactive members have returned to church because of his example; he has shared the gospel with anyone willing to listen; and his mission president delights in his, “good, cheerful spirit.”

Just as Blackpool’s illuminations bring life to the shadows, so too does Elder Folkett’s bright faith enrich the lives of those he meets.

There’s a sparkle to his testimony that knows no handicap, travelling beyond boundaries, turning barriers into blessings.

Recently during a special women’s conference, a speaker told about how he’d been quite successful in land development and how everything he’d touched had turned to gold. He’d also tried to live a faithful life and had been a very active servant in the gospel. Then he’d been called as a mission president. He had apparently been a very effective mission president and had subsequently returned to his home state. Throughout his life he’d experienced one success after another—he was a recognized leader in his community, had built a prosperous business. Being called as a mission president had sort of cemented in his mind that he’d “made it”—that he was an all-around success.
When he returned from his mission, a combination of changing interest rates and other business factors caused his once-prosperous business to plummet. In fact, he’d lost nearly everything. Telling the story, this man said, “I realized that I’d become quite boastful—that while I felt I had a testimony of Jesus Christ, in my mind I had brought about all of these wonderful things through my hard work, intelligence, and so forth. But when hard times hit, I began to realize how offensive I must have been to others and to my Heavenly Father to assume that I had brought all of these good things on my own. I felt like I’d lived a life of arrogance and boasting.”

At school there was a girl with a disability. Most people used that as an extra excuse to make fun of her. My friend and I were the only ones who tried to help her. Some days it seemed like the whole class teamed up against her. It was challenging to know how to react. I wanted to just walk away, but I chose to remember that she is a child of God and to think about how Jesus would treat her. I felt the calming effect of the Holy Ghost. I remembered that I could make a difference. Following the Savior’s example helped me a lot, and I knew everything would be OK.
In my baptismal covenants I am promised to always have the Holy Ghost with me if I act as the Savior would. I’m grateful to have felt that comfort and strength from the Holy Ghost.
Alexis L., 13, Kansas, USA

Kayla Walker followed in her father Kay’s footsteps as he approached the river. Their friend, Tim McCormick, also moved out onto the ice. But even though she was excited to make the crossing, she was a little scared. Their guide, Jerry McLeod, had already warned them both that if they felt the ice crack beneath their feet to spread out their arms to catch themselves from falling in completely. Kayla said, “He told us to try to stay above the ice. If you fall below, the current will carry you under the ice, and they wouldn’t be able to get you. That was sort of scary.”
Kayla stepped out on the ice. Exactly 150 years ago that month, the first pioneers to leave Nauvoo crossed on the ice of the Mississippi to the other side, leaving behind their beloved and beautiful city with the white temple shining on the hill. Kayla was reenacting that night with her father and a friend. (Any unauthorized activity on the river ice is prohibited.)
“I was wearing three pairs of pants, a turtleneck, and a sweater. Then I had on a big ski coat, a hat, a scarf, and gloves. I had on two pairs of boot socks and hiking boots, and I was still cold. It was, like, minus-20 degrees. That’s why the ice was so thick. It was frozen 18 inches down. I could see cracks in it, but all you could see was more ice because it was so thick.
“It was dark. It was slippery, but we kept a steady pace. There was snow on top of the ice, so we did have some traction. We hit some slick spots where it was hard for me to keep up. I just didn’t want to stop. I wanted to get across. It took us 18 1/2 minutes.
“Brother McLeod’s wife met us on the other side in her van and drove us back home. I was very glad to get in that van with the heater on high and hot chocolate waiting. It was neat to think about my ancestors doing the same thing. Only they did it with long dresses and their children and some people who were sick. They did that, with no questions asked, because they believed in the Church. What a strong testimony they had. I think I would have gone hesitantly. I would have been asking, Why can’t I just wait? Just doing what they did so long ago was a big testimony builder.”
Kayla, 17, is a member of the Nauvoo Ward in Nauvoo, Illinois. She and the other youth in the ward have heard the stories about the pioneers who built their town at least a thousand times each. They all know that Nauvoo means the City Beautiful. And they know every street, every house, practically every flower and blade of grass in the city that they are helping to make beautiful once again. After all, many of their service projects and a lot of their summer jobs involve planting those flowers and mowing those blades of grass.
The city of Nauvoo today still occupies a gentle bend in the Mississippi River. It is a small town with only slightly more than 1,000 residents. In its day, 150 years ago, Nauvoo was a booming city of 10,000 residents. Now the streets of the old part of town on the flats are mostly filled with visitors. Pioneer homes, made of the local red brick, are slowly being rebuilt and repaired. When the youth are asked to come help decorate the Kimball home for Christmas, they immediately know it isn’t the home of one of the local ward members. It’s the home of Heber C. Kimball, an early leader in the Church.
Although there are no ghosts, it’s easy to feel the presence of those early settlers and how happy they were living gathered together, worshipping together, and just being where the Prophet Joseph was so they could see him and hear him often.
The Nauvoo teens know well the feeling of being in the presence of a prophet. They have had the last two presidents of the Church visit Nauvoo. Dustin Powell, 17, said about President Hinckley, “When the prophet came to speak, I was really paying attention to him. Everyone was more attentive. Everything was quiet so everyone could listen to him. I thought it was amazing.”
Trampas Powell, 16, added, “You just felt good to be where he was.”

This story took place in New Zealand.
Jacob’s gumboots squished into the ground wherever he stepped. He followed his brother, Isaac, carefully across the yard back to the house. There were leaves and branches all over!
A hurricane had hit New Zealand a few days before. Because of the storms, there was lots of flooding. Jacob was grateful his house didn’t get flooded, but lots of their friends’ houses did. Their family friend Monique and her husband Mark lived in a historic house that was now flooded.
Jacob H.
Jacob and Isaac were moving things out of Monique and Mark’s house so they could mop the floors. They gathered loads of papers from all over the house. They found recipes, photos, and letters. Some of the papers were a little wet, but luckily not ruined.
They put the papers in a plastic bin and moved them to the trailer outside. The trailer was a little home Monique and Mark were staying in until the house was safe again.
After gathering all the papers, Jacob walked to a cupboard and found some board games and plastic toys. Some of the games closer to the floor were wet.
Jacob wanted to make sure they did a good job helping. “What next? Do you want us to move these toys and games out?” he asked when Mark walked by.
“Yes, please. Thank you!” Mark said.
Jacob and Isaac gathered the games and toys in their arms and carried them to the trailer. They raced back to the house for the next assignment.
Isaac H.
“Thanks for the help, you two,” Monique said.
“No problem,” said Jacob. “What next?”
She looked around. “Do you mind mopping the floor now?”
Jacob took a mop from Monique and got to work. He did his best to mop up the puddles of water from the dark wood floors.
His legs and arms were starting to get tired when someone called, “Time for lunch!”
Jacob finished, then ran outside to meet Dad, Isaac, Monique, Mark, and some other friends.
Dad handed him a brown bag of fish and chips. The smell made Jacob’s stomach grumble. He’d been so focused on mopping he forgot about lunch! He took out a chip and dropped it into his mouth. Mmm, warm and salty.
“Thank you so much for your help,” Monique said while they ate. Her eyes were shiny with tears. “I don’t know what I would have done without all of you.”
Jacob felt a warm bubble fill his heart. He forgot all about his tired body. It would have taken Monique and Mark much longer if they had to clean out the house by themselves! He had helped friends in need.
“Thanks for helping today,” Dad said on the car ride home.
“It was fun,” Isaac said.
Jacob stretched his sore arms. “Yeah. Plus, if Jesus was here, He would have done the same thing. Right?”
“I think so too,” Dad said. “I’m sure Jesus is really happy you were there to help Monique and Mark.”
Jacob liked making Jesus happy. He wanted to be someone Jesus could always trust to help.
“What next?” Jacob asked.
Dad laughed. “What do you mean?”
“What are we going to do to help Jesus next?” Jacob said.
Dad grinned. “There might be more storms coming, so we can help make sandbags. Then we can take them to our friends so their houses don’t flood. How does that sound?”
Jacob smiled. “Perfect.”