Gospel Story Finder

William’s heart beat a little faster. He knew it was wrong to tease the old blind shoemaker, but at the same time, it was exciting being out after dark with his friends. Even the fear of getting caught was not enough to make him turn back. William watched as the kerosene lamps were turned low inside the houses that lined the main street of their small town. The lights flickered and went out, but in one house a lamp continued to burn.
Wilhelm Dithmer sat on his front porch playing his clarinet.
William reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of pebbles. His bare feet padded quietly through the dirt along the side of the road, and he and his friends approached the house that was Wilhelm Dithmer’s home and shoe shop.
William let his small stones fly and watched as the man jumped at the sound of the rocks raining above his head onto the tin roof.
“Stop! Come back!” Wilhelm stood and waved his fist into the air.
The boys laughed and darted away. “See you tomorrow,” William called to his friends as he headed for home.
In the light of early morning, William lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. The thrill seeking of the night before was haunting in daylight. What was it his father had said about the shoemaker—something about him going blind because he had the measles when he was a boy? And had he really been an orphan in Denmark?
The day seemed longer to William than usual. What was this uncomfortable feeling? Still, after school he agreed to meet with his friends again that night.
As he crept up the street watching for the lights to dim, William heard the sounds of Wilhelm’s clarinet. The melody was high and mournful. William stopped a moment to listen. Every night, Wilhelm closed up the shoe shop and then sat on his porch to play his music. It had become almost a ritual, but tonight the notes ended abruptly. William listened, but the only noise was the croaking of the bullfrogs.
William drew back his arm to throw the stones in his hand, but suddenly someone grabbed his arm.
“Help!” William cried, but the other boys ran away. “Let me go!” William struggled to loose himself from Wilhelm’s grasp.
“I only want to show you something,” Wilhelm said.
William stopped squirming, curious why the man did not scold him or call out for the authorities. “What?” William asked.
“I want to play a song for you on my clarinet,” Wilhelm said. “But first, promise me that you will not run away.”
William didn’t know what to say. “I guess,” he said at last.
“No,” Wilhelm said. “Promise.”
“All right,” William said. “I promise.”
Wilhelm relaxed his hold. He led William to his front porch and sat down in his chair. William watched as Wilhelm took a deep breath and began to play his clarinet. The melody lifted soft and sweet into the night air.
William sat still and listened. What must it have been like to grow up alone in Copenhagen? How hard would it be to lose both a father and a mother? He couldn’t imagine leaving his home and traveling across the ocean by himself to a strange land where no one understood the language he spoke. All the heartache of Wilhelm’s life seemed to be played out in the notes that came from the clarinet.
Wilhelm finished. He placed the clarinet across his knees and waited for William to respond, but the boy was silent.
“What is your name?” Wilhelm asked.
William hesitated. He wanted to reach out and touch the clarinet, but if he told the man his name, he would surely get into trouble. Still, there were not many musical instruments in the town.
“My name is William,” he said. “Almost like yours.”
“Well then, William,” Wilhelm said with his strong Danish accent. “Would you like me to teach you how to play my clarinet?”
“You would teach me how to play?” William asked.
“I will teach you to play my clarinet. If you practice very hard and learn to play well, I may even help you buy one of these for yourself. Maybe we could start a band.”
“A real band?” William asked. “Like the ones that play at dances?” This wasn’t at all what he had expected.
Wilhelm nodded. “But you must stop raining pebbles on my roof. And you must come every day after school to practice.”
William did learn to play, and so did his friends. They played for high school dances. They played when the town put on their Christmas plays. They played in the outdoor pavilion on warm summer nights. Long after their school days ended, the band stayed together.
For years, Wilhelm gave free music lessons in the evening after working all day in his shop. When Wilhelm died, many of his students played music at his funeral. William, now a grown man, was one of them.

Jenny Archer, Author When Jenny writes the story of her life for a school assignment, she tells about her birth on the banks of the Amazon. She exposes her great-grandfather as a bloodthirsty pirate. She reveals the dark secrets of Great-Great-Grandmother Buffalo Belle Archer, the notorious stagecoach robber and opera star. And she unmasks Horrible Hortense, her evil twin sister. It is clearly an A+ effort. So why does her teacher send a note home to her parents?

Forty-six years ago I was called as an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve, and for the first time, I came to this pulpit. I was 37 years old. I found myself standing among the venerable and wise prophets and apostles, “whose names,” as the song proclaims, “we all revere” (“Oh, Holy Words of Truth and Love,” Hymns, no. 271). I felt how keenly inadequate I was.
About that time here in the Tabernacle I had a defining experience. It gave me assurance and courage.
In those days Primary conference was held here before the April conference. I came through a south door as the opening song was being sung by a large choir of Primary children. Sister Lue S. Groesbeck, a member of the Primary general board, was leading them. They sang:
Rev’rently, quietly, lovingly we think of thee;
Rev’rently, quietly, softly sing our melody.
Rev’rently, quietly, humbly now we pray,
Let thy Holy Spirit dwell in our hearts today.
(“Reverently, Quietly,” Children’s Songbook, 26)
As the children sang quietly, the organist, who understood that excellence does not call attention to itself, did not play a solo while they sang. He skillfully, almost invisibly blended the young voices into a melody of inspiration, of revelation. That was the defining moment. It fixed deeply and permanently in my soul that which I most needed to sustain me in the years to follow.
I felt perhaps that which Elijah the prophet had felt. He sealed the heavens against the wicked king Ahab and fled to a cave to seek the Lord:
“A great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks … ; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake:
“And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire [came] a still small voice.
“And it was so,” the record says, “when Elijah heard it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle, and went out, and stood in the entering in of the cave” to speak to the Lord (1 Kings 19:11–13).
I felt something of what the Nephites must have felt when the Lord appeared to them: “They heard a voice as if it came out of heaven; and they cast their eyes round about, for they understood not the voice which they heard; and it was not a harsh voice, neither was it a loud voice; nevertheless, and notwithstanding it being a small voice it did pierce them that did hear to the center, insomuch that there was no part of their frame that it did not cause to quake; yea, it did pierce them to the very soul, and did cause their hearts to burn” (3 Nephi 11:3).
It is this still, small voice which Elijah and the Nephites heard that the Prophet Joseph Smith understood when he wrote, “Thus saith the still small voice, which whispereth through and pierceth all things” (D&C 85:6).
In that defining moment, I understood that the still, small voice is felt more than heard. If I hearkened to it, I would be all right in my ministry.
After that, I had the assurance that the Comforter, the Holy Ghost, is there for everyone who will respond to the invitation to ask, to seek, and to knock (see Matthew 7:7–8; Luke 11:9–10; 3 Nephi 14:7–8; D&C 88:63). I knew I would be all right. As the years have unfolded, so it has been.

Neiley led the cattle to the pasture, then closed the gate. After watching a moment while they chomped the dew-covered grass, she climbed onto the top rail of the fence. The smell of autumn was already in the air, and she looked toward the horizon. Soon she and her little brother, Tom, would don their emporium-bought clothes and head down the lane to school.
It was a long, long walk to the little schoolhouse, but Neiley looked forward to learning more about other peoples and places. She wiggled her bare toes luxuriously. This year will be better than last year, she daydreamed. Tom was never anxious to shove his suntanned feet into store-bought shoes, but he had seemed pleased to be able to print his own name.
“Neiley!” Tom shouted.
She turned her head and watched as he raced across the grass.
“I brought it,” he said breathlessly.
“Come on,” Neiley said as she jumped down from the rail and took the small sack from his hand. “We’ll count it in the barn.”
They sat side by side on the straw and counted their money, much of which they had earned during the long summer. Unfolding the birthday dollars Grandma had sent from Boston, they placed them faceup on Tom’s spread-out bandanna. Then they began counting the small pile of coins. Some were earned from gathering pinecones on the hill and selling them to the traveling peddler. Tom had asked who would buy pinecones, but the cones had sold along with the feathers they had found and collected.
Some of the coins were still marked with the blacking Tom had used on cattlemen’s dress boots. Neiley thought of the many hand-stitched aprons she had sewn and sold to the peddler in secret. She wondered how many of them were being worn this fine autumn morning in faraway homes.
When the counting was done, Neiley collapsed into the straw and whooped, “Tomorrow, Tom! Tomorrow, we buy a mule!”
The chores the children did were no different from those they did any other day, yet that day they seemed to take longer to complete. As Neiley gathered eggs, she glanced toward the house, where Tom and Mother were carrying buckets of water. Neiley smiled and thought of the many ways a mule would help. Not only could she and Tom ride it to school when the weather was bad, but a mule would also help with the work around the farm. It would make plowing easier, and maybe they could even build some kind of cart or wagon for it to pull. Then the walk to town to sell goods and crops would not be a walk—it would be a ride! She smiled and drew a long blade of grass through her lips. “Yes, Mother will be pleased,” she murmured.
The following morning Neiley and Tom were up before first light. They ate quickly, for they were anxious to be off.
“Now, Neiley,” her mother cautioned, as she wrapped the hand-sewn items with paper and string, “you know the value of our work. Don’t take more than is fair or less than is right.”
Neiley nodded. “Do you have Mrs. McDougal’s quilt there, too?” Neiley asked.
“It’s the moon pattern,” her mother replied with a nod. “And the settled price is three dollars.” Turning to Tom, she handed him another bundle. “This is the jam. Be careful you don’t drop it. And mind your sister.”
With a hug and a kiss from their mother, the two children started down the lane toward the rising sun. At the fork in the road they looked back and waved. Then, laden with goods and their sack of summer money, and with their hopes high, they continued on their way. When they reached town, people were already milling around the corrals and the bidding booths.
“Come on,” Neiley urged Tom. “We’ll sell the goods first. Then we can come back and look at the mules.”
Going from house to house, Neiley and Tom were invited inside while the hand-sewn items were inspected and the jam help up to the light. When they got to Mrs. McDougal’s, she was so pleased with the quilt that she gave Neiley an extra fifty-cent piece.
“Mother said the agreed price was three dollars,” Neiley protested, handing the coin back.
“Your mother doesn’t know the worth of her own work,” Mrs. McDougal insisted as she pressed the extra coin into Neiley’s palm. “You give this to her with my compliments for a beautiful job.”
Neiley looked from the coin to Mrs. McDougal. “Thank you, ma’am!” she said.
Outside, Tom jumped up and down happily. “We could put the fifty cents with our summer money, Neiley. Then we’d get a good mule for sure.”
“Tom!” Neiley frowned, her hands on her hips. “Shame on you for such a thought! That’s Mother’s quilt money. It would be stealing!”
“But,” Tom explained as Neiley hurried along, “Mother would understand. We want the mule for the good of everyone.”
“We’ll get a mule with our own summer money, or we won’t get one at all!” Neiley insisted.
Soon all the goods were sold, and Tom and Neiley headed toward the bidding booths. They sat on a bale of hay and waited.
Finally Tom poked Neiley’s arm. “There are the mules, Neiley!” he said in an excited whisper.
Neiley took their summer money from her pocket. Time and time again they raised their hands and bid, but each time the mule was bought by a higher bidder.
“Our summer money just isn’t enough,” Neiley said quietly. “We’ll have to save for another summer.”
Tom was disappointed as Neiley took his hand and led him away through the crowd. When he kept pulling back, Neiley only raised her chin higher and tugged on his hand harder. When the crowd was finally behind them, Neiley released Tom’s hand and wiped her eyes.
“Couldn’t we use just a little of Mother’s money?” Tom pleaded.
Neiley’s eyes flashed. “No!”
Someone touched Neiley’s shoulder. She turned. A tall man with gentle eyes was looking at her.
“Finished bidding?” he asked with a twinkling smile.
“We bid all we had, but it wasn’t enough,” Neiley replied.
“You have enough for my mule,” he said kindly.
“But if you watched us bidding, you must know how much money we have. It’s not really very much.”
“Money isn’t the important thing. I want to find a good home for an old friend.” The man smiled again. “Besides, anyone who is willing to give all he has for something certainly deserves to get it.”
Tom’s eyes widened. “Neiley? Did you hear him?”
As they rode the mule toward home, Neiley’s heart sang, and the stranger’s words rang in her ears: “Anyone who is willing to give all he has for something certainly deserves to get it.” Never before—even on the highest pine bluff—had Neiley felt so close to heaven as on the back of that mule.
Neiley wrapped her arms tighter about her little brother’s waist and clicked her tongue. “Get up, mule,” she said happily. “We’re taking you home.”

One of the most extraordinary experiences took place when I was 19 years old. I was released from serving as a counselor in my branch presidency so I could accept an assignment as chairman of family history for the mission. We were preparing for a visit from George H. Fudge of the Church’s Genealogical Department in Salt Lake City; he was hoping to microfilm some of the vital records of Uruguay. I was asked to help make the arrangements.
That night I prayed fervently for the ability to do what I had been asked. Later I noticed a newspaper headline that read, “Genealogy in Uruguay.” The story told about an upcoming meeting of Uruguayan genealogists. Then I saw that the newspaper was several days old. The meeting had already been held, but I decided to visit the address in the story anyway.
On the evening I decided to make my visit, I was also assigned to supervise a youth gathering and had to stay at the meetinghouse until 9:30 P.M. I didn’t have the money for bus fare, so I walked to the place where the meeting had been held. By the time I reached the address, it was late. I rang the bell, hoping for the best, and a few minutes later a man opened the door.
I introduced myself, and the man graciously allowed me to come in. What he said next filled me with surprise: “I am glad you came this late because I just arrived. Had you come a few minutes earlier you would have found an empty house.” I soon learned he was part of the only group of genealogists in Uruguay. I also found out that the newspaper had published the story about the meeting despite having been asked not to do so.
I was able to set up a meeting for Brother Fudge with this group of eminent genealogists. They opened the archives to him. At his request, some of the indexes of family history records in Uruguay were microfilmed. I believe these were the first records microfilmed by the Church in Uruguay.

Temple worship is as ancient as the hills. Whenever the Lord has had a covenant people upon the earth, He has always commanded them to erect temples or holy sanctuaries akin to the tabernacle (see Exodus 25), where He can come and dwell and instruct His children in the ways of righteousness. All sincere seekers of truth who enter these sacred edifices with a broken heart and a contrite spirit have the opportunity to make and keep sacred covenants that are both salvific and binding in nature.

In Doctrine and Covenants 109:8, we read about the special purpose of temples. Each temple serves as “a house of prayer, a house of fasting, a house of faith, a house of learning, a house of glory, a house of order, a house of God,” making temples the pinnacle of our worship.

My wife and I had the privilege of visiting the Accra Ghana Temple, thanks to the Temple Patron Assistance Fund. The whole process was an exercise in patience and faith. We learned to pray earnestly and wait on the Lord for the righteous desires of our hearts. Our prayers were answered when we got word from the Africa Central Area that our application had been approved. Our flight to and from the temple was safe and uneventful.

My wife and I got sealed for time and all eternity on 29 May 2024. It was an unforgettable experience—one that I will cherish for the rest of my life. After spending the day in the temple, I wrote that evening in my journal: “I felt a great outpouring of the Spirit today during Annet and my sealing ceremony. The blessings pronounced upon us are too great to fathom, yet we are grateful that the good Lord has deemed us worthy to receive the choicest blessings that heaven and earth has to offer. Eternal life is within reach.
“I am so lucky to have my wife as my eternal companion. Couldn’t ask for a better partner. She is my fellow traveler on the path that leads back home to our Father’s presence. I have a tangible witness of God’s love and mercy, and I’m excited to see what the future holds.”

What added to our joy as the opportunity we had to perform proxy work for my paternal grandfather and my maternal grandmother. There was a special presence in the air as my wife and I were baptized and endowed on their behalf. I know they are smiling down on us. I also had the singular privilege of performing the initiatory ordinances for ancestors of two members of my ward.

Some of the progenitors of our ward members lived in the 1700s. I feel a special connection to these individuals even though I do not know them. This must be the what the spirit of Elijah feels like with hearts turning to fathers and mothers—to our ancestors. I have a firm hope that the deceased individuals we did the proxy work for have been safely gathered into the fold on the other side of the veil. The gathering is truly the greatest work we can engage in right now, and it’s happening on both sides of the veil.

As a young man having just finished my first year of college and needing to earn money for a desired mission, I spent the summer working at the new Jackson Lake Lodge in Jackson Hole, Wyoming.
One co-worker was Jill, a young woman from San Francisco, California. Feeling that a young woman from a big city might be a little bit naive about her new environment, a few friends and I felt it our obligation to teach her about the ways of the real West. We decided to take her on a “snipe hunt.” For those of you who may not be familiar with a snipe hunt, it is a practical joke. The tools necessary for a snipe hunt are a stick and a cloth bag. The “hunter” is told to go through the brush, beating the bushes with a stick while calling the snipe in a high-pitched, ridiculous voice. The nonexistent snipes are thus to be driven into the cloth bag.
We gave Jill her cloth bag and a stick and an area to hunt across the hill. The plan was to return to our starting point in about 15 minutes, at which time we would supposedly count our snipes.
When she did not return at the appointed time, we gloated and took delight in the seriousness with which she took her hunt. After about 30 minutes, we felt it was time to rescue her, explain the joke, have a good laugh, and all go to dinner. However, it became apparent that she had taken her snipe hunt more seriously than we had expected—she was not to be found in her assigned area. After searching rather extensively and still finding no evidence of her, we began moving into the woods, calling for her at the top of our voices, but to no avail.
Hoping she might have gone back to her dormitory, we returned and asked some young women to search for her there, but this also was to no avail. It was now turning dark, and our concern heightened. We enlisted all the young men we could from the boys’ dormitory, and with flashlights continued the search deep into the woods. Well into the darkness of night—frightened, concerned, and hoarse from calling—we decided it was now time to report our ridiculous deed to the park rangers. While we were standing in front of the dorms, trying to determine which brave soul would have the privilege of reporting her disappearance, Jill suddenly appeared—not from her dormitory, but rather from that of a friend, with whom she had enjoyed dinner (which we incidentally missed) and a comfortable evening with her friends. Her first words to us as she approached said it all: “How do you fellows like hunting snipe hunters?”
The joke was on us, and I have never had a desire for any more snipe hunting.

Photograph of Concepción, Chile, from Getty Images
When I read in the Book of Mormon about how Nephi always supported his visionary father, I concluded that most youth in the Church were probably like Nephi. But when my family decided that we needed to move to the desert, I felt more like Laman and Lemuel. I didn’t want to leave my home.
Like Nephi and his brothers, I was “born of goodly parents” (1 Nephi 1:1). Both joined the Church when they were teenagers, and my mother waited for my father while he served a mission. They were active, hardworking members of the Church.
When I was in high school, the economy slowed down in our region of Concepción, Chile. Jobs dried up, and my father began having trouble finding work. Finally, he began looking for a job out of town.
His job search took him north to the city of Calama, in Chile’s mining region. He is a construction engineer, and he found a good job there. But he was alone and far away. We saw him only when he could afford the 32-hour bus ride home.
After a few years of seeing my father only two or three times a year, my mother felt that it was time to make a change. My parents concluded that the rest of our family needed to move north.
My younger brother had no problem moving. And my older sister, who was in college, set a good example for me.
“I’ll sacrifice my studies,” she said. “We need to be with our father.”
Everyone supported the decision to move except for me. I wanted to be with my father too, but I resisted making changes and personal sacrifices. I had my friends, I knew my surroundings, I enjoyed my lifestyle, and I wanted to go to college in Concepción. I did everything I could do to convince my mother that we shouldn’t go.
Finally, she said, “Son, your father is alone. He wants us with him. I wish you understood, but you’re too focused on yourself.” Then she reassured me, “We will have opportunities there.”
In my heart, I knew she was right—even though my head wasn’t convinced. I didn’t have a strong testimony at the time, but I decided to pray about whether I should go with my family. A clear answer came to me: “You need to leave this place.” I was sad, but I told my parents I would go.
Concepción is a green place with lots of trees. It receives 50 inches (127 cm) of rain per year. Antofagasta, the city near Calama we were moving to, receives only 0.1 inch (0.25 cm) per year.
The most shocking thing for me about the move was the actual trip. As we made our way north by bus, watching the transition from green to brown was agonizing. I wondered, “Where are the trees? Where are the cows in the countryside?” All I saw was dirt, rocks, and hills.
Obviously, northern Chile is a desert, so what else could I expect? I was reminded of how Laman and Lemuel felt when Lehi’s family left the land of their inheritance and headed into the wilderness.
I had a lot of fears when we arrived in Antofagasta. What would happen if I didn’t make any friends? What would happen if I couldn’t get used to the area? What would happen if my hopes for the future didn’t come true?
In the end, I shouldn’t have worried. My mother was right about the opportunities awaiting us—especially the spiritual opportunities.
Before our move, the gospel wasn’t a priority for me. The Lord was in the background. But in Antofagasta, people came into my life who helped me see the beauty of the gospel. I received help from special priesthood leaders. I made friends who remain a treasure to me. My spiritual life changed completely.
Sergio visits with friends at institute.
I’m grateful I listened to my mother. I’m grateful the Lord answered my prayer. I’m grateful I had the courage to move north with my family.
Here in the desert is where I made the changes that helped me become who I am today. Here is where I committed to embrace the gospel, serve a mission, marry in the temple, and dedicate my life to the Lord. Here is where I determined that I no longer wanted to be like Laman and Lemuel.
For my family and me, the wilderness turned out to be our promised land.

But changing colors is not the only unusual feat performed by octopuses. Since they have no bones, they can also dramatically change their shape and squeeze through extremely small openings. The story is told of a naturalist who caught an octopus about a foot long. He put it in a wicker basket and went for a ride on the streetcar with it. About ten minutes later there came a bloodcurdling scream from the other end of the car. Sure enough, the octopus had squeezed through a half-inch crack in the basket and was now sitting on the lap of a hysterical passenger.

“You’re crazy,” my weight lifting buddies told me when they heard I would soon be leaving our sport for two years to serve a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“You’ve been the Idaho state power-lifting champ in your class for the past four years, you’ve just won the Teenage National power-lifting title for the second time, and now Boise State wants to interview you for a position as their strength coach. You’re leaving all that behind to go out and preach? You’re crazy!” they said again, shaking their heads.
Crazy? I hoped not. I did worry a little about how much my competitors would progress while I was away, and I knew that I would lose some lifting ability, but I also knew that I had put a lot of time into training, and hoped that it all wouldn’t just disappear.
I found some comfort in Matthew 16:24–26, [Matt. 16:24–26] which taught me I should deny myself and follow the Savior, that it would profit me nothing if I gained the whole world but lost my own soul.
Besides, going on a mission was something I’d decided on a long time ago. Ever since I was little, the conversations around the dinner table involved comments like “When I go on my mission … ,” not “If I go on a mission …”
So off I went, to Seoul, Korea. I made the decision not to worry about weight lifting while I was gone—I would concentrate on serving the Lord. One thing lifting had taught me was that the loss of concentration can lead to failure. You lose your concentration, your goal disappears from your mind, and you never reach it. So I decided to put all the powers of concentration I’d learned in the gym to use in the mission field, and it worked!
It wasn’t easy, of course. Challenging people with the gospel was as hard as trying to lift a heavy weight. But when our investigators accepted our message, the feeling was far greater than winning a weight lifting competition ever was.
On my mission, I learned a lot about a different kind of lifting. The mission president encouraged us to try helping someone every day. That way, we would lift them, and lift ourselves. Service to others, service to the Lord—now that was true power lifting.
Once I got home, I took up weight lifting again, but with a considerably different attitude. I’d never looked on my weight lifting talent as a gift before. I hadn’t thought that training was a way of magnifying that talent. I began training with a new intensity. Also, I figured that as I continued to work hard, I would have more opportunities to meet people who didn’t have the gospel in their lives, and I could share it with them. And maybe my example could help someone.
It wasn’t easy to jump right back into lifting, but within seven months I won the National Collegiate Power Lifting Championship in the 198-pound weight class. The following year I won it again, and even managed to set two national records. It dawned on me that I hadn’t lost anything, but I’d gained a great deal. I’d learned about true happiness, determination, self-worth, and the belief in a divine purpose—and oh, yes—I’d learned what true power lifting really is.

When the First Presidency announced that a new temple would be built in Tuxtla Gutiérrez, México, Church members rejoiced. One young girl was so excited she told the news to almost everyone she knew.
“Temples are where dads and moms can be married for eternity!” she told them. “Temples are where families can be sealed together forever!”
Each time she passes the temple, she announces, “That’s where I’m going to be married someday.”
Seven-year-old Íngrid Fabiola Martínez Barredo knows something about temples. When she was five years old, she and her parents were sealed as an eternal family in the México City D.F. México Temple. The trip took 18 hours each way on a bus crowded with members from their ward and stake. Like many members in Tuxtla Gutiérrez, Íngrid is thankful now to have a temple just minutes away in her own city.
Even though the long journey to the temple was uncomfortable, Íngrid and the other Primary children accompanying their parents to the temple did their best to make it pleasant. “They sang their favorite hymns and songs on the way, such as ‘Count Your Many Blessings’ and ‘I Am a Child of God,’” says Íngrid’s dad, Javier. Several members who traveled on the bus thanked the children for helping make their journey more enjoyable.
Traveling a long distance wasn’t the only sacrifice Íngrid and her family made to get to the temple. Although her dad gave his employer plenty of notice when requesting time off from work, he lost his job because he left on the temple trip. However, after returning home he was able to get a better job.
While Íngrid was waiting to be sealed to her parents, she helped the temple nursery workers care for the younger children and babies. When it was time for her to leave, the workers said, “Oh, don’t take her! She helped us so much. She put the babies to sleep.”
A couple of years after they went to the temple, Íngrid’s mother, María Carmelita, gave birth to a baby boy. Later, Íngrid’s parents had a baby girl. “Luis Fernando and Mari Carmen are children of the covenant,” Íngrid says proudly. She explains to her nonmember relatives that since her family was sealed in the temple before her baby brother and sister were born, the babies are also members of their eternal family. Íngrid loves her brother and sister and helps her mother take care of them. “She often puts them to sleep by singing Primary songs to them,” says her mom.
Her dad says with a smile, “She tells us that when she grows up, she wants to be whatever she is thinking of at the time—a doctor, an artist, a teacher.”
“But mostly she wants to be a mother,” her mom adds. “Besides helping me with the babies, she holds her dolls and hugs them and sings to them. She has told me, ‘When I’m big, I’m going to get married. And I’m going to study a lot so my children don’t lack anything.’”
Íngrid enjoys drawing pictures of animals, running races, playing ball, and riding her bicycle. She especially loves to dress up in costumes and perform folk dances.
Her bishop, Juan José Albores Gallegos, of the Las Lomas Ward, Tuxtla Gutiérrez México Stake, says Íngrid participates with great energy in Primary and in ward activities. Bishop Albores especially appreciates the care Íngrid gives younger Primary children. “She loves them and gives them her time and attention,” he says. “She plays and sings songs with them.”
Never at a loss for words, Íngrid has told her nonmember friends and relatives about the Church and has invited several of them to attend. Although none of them have joined the Church yet, she isn’t discouraged.
“Wherever we go,” her dad says, “she tells people about the Church.”
For example, when her family was invited to a picnic one Sunday, Íngrid said, “No, we can’t go on the picnic because it’s Sunday, and we are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” When someone offers her a drink that is not in keeping with Church standards, she says, “No, we can’t drink it.”
“Íngrid has learned a lot in Primary and in our family home evenings,” her mother says. “She is often the one to remind us to say our prayers before going to bed. ‘Did you say your prayers, Papi, Mami?’ she will ask. And at mealtime, she will say, ‘Let’s bless the food before eating.’ She is teaching us all the time.”
“On fast Sunday, Íngrid is the first in our family to get up and bear her testimony in sacrament meeting, and she bears her testimony like an adult,” says her dad. “Sometimes she’ll ask me, ‘Are you going to bear your testimony today?’ I’ll usually tell her I’m not sure, because it’s hard for me to speak in public. And she’ll tease me by saying, ‘If you don’t, I’ll call you from the pulpit to come up and do it.’ I’ll say, ‘Don’t you dare!’ She smiles happily if I do go up.”
Íngrid’s parents are thankful for her strength and example. “She makes sure we obey the commandments,” her dad says. “Maybe she understands the gospel better than I do!”

A reporter from a leading Brazilian magazine studied the Church in preparation for a major news article. He examined our doctrine and visited the missionary training and humanitarian centers. He spoke with friends of the Church and with others who were not so friendly. In the interview with me, the reporter seemed honestly puzzled as he asked, “How could someone not consider you Christian?” I knew he was referring to the Church, but my mind somehow framed the question personally, and I found myself silently asking, “Does my life reflect the love and devotion I feel for the Savior?”
Jesus asked the Pharisees, “What think ye of Christ?” In the final assessment, our personal discipleship will not be judged by friends or foes. Rather, as Paul said, “We shall all stand before the judgment seat of Christ.” At that day the important question for each of us will be, “What thinks Christ of me?”
Even with His love for all mankind, Jesus reprovingly referred to some around Him as hypocrites, fools, and workers of iniquity. He approvingly called others children of the kingdom and the light of the world. He disapprovingly referred to some as blinded and unfruitful. He commended others as pure in heart and hungering after righteousness. He lamented that some were faithless and of the world, but others He esteemed as chosen, disciples, friends. And so we each ask, “What thinks Christ of me?”
President Thomas S. Monson has described our day as moving away “from that which is spiritual … [with] the winds of change [swirling] around us and the moral fiber of society [continuing] to disintegrate before our very eyes.” It is a time of growing disbelief in and disregard for Christ and His teachings.
In this turbulent environment, we rejoice in being disciples of Jesus Christ. We see the Lord’s hand all around us. Our destination is beautifully set before us. “This is life eternal,” Jesus prayed, “that they might know thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent.” Being a disciple in these days of destiny will be a badge of honor throughout the eternities.
The messages we have heard during this conference are guideposts from the Lord on our journey of discipleship. As we have listened during the past two days, praying for spiritual guidance, and as we study and pray about these messages in the days ahead, the Lord blesses us with customized direction through the gift of the Holy Ghost. These feelings turn us even more toward God, repenting, obeying, believing, and trusting. The Savior responds to our acts of faith. “If a man [or woman] love me, he will keep my words: and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him.”
Jesus’s call “Come, follow me” is not only for those prepared to compete in a spiritual Olympics. In fact, discipleship is not a competition at all but an invitation to all. Our journey of discipleship is not a dash around the track, nor is it fully comparable to a lengthy marathon. In truth, it is a lifelong migration toward a more celestial world.
His invitation is a call to daily duty. Jesus said: “If ye love me, keep my commandments.” “If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me.” We may not be at our very best every day, but if we are trying, Jesus’s bidding is full of encouragement and hope: “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”
Wherever you now find yourself on the road of discipleship, you are on the right road, the road toward eternal life. Together we can lift and strengthen one another in the great and important days ahead. Whatever the difficulties confronting us, the weaknesses confining us, or the impossibilities surrounding us, let us have faith in the Son of God, who declared, “All things are possible to him that believeth.”
Let me share two examples of discipleship in action. The first is from the life of President Thomas S. Monson, demonstrating the power of simple kindness and Jesus’s teaching, “He that is greatest among you shall be your servant.”
Nearly 20 years ago, President Monson spoke in general conference about a 12-year-old young woman suffering from cancer. He told of her courage and the kindness of her friends to carry her up Mount Timpanogos in central Utah.
A few years ago I met Jami Palmer Brinton and heard the story from a different perspective—the perspective of what President Monson had done for her.
Jami met President Monson in March 1993, a day after being told that a mass above her right knee was a fast-growing bone cancer. With her father assisting, President Monson administered a priesthood blessing, promising, “Jesus will be on your right side and on your left side to buoy you up.”
“Upon leaving his office that day,” Jami said, “I unfastened a balloon tied to my wheelchair and gave it to him. ‘You’re the Best!’ it announced in bright letters.”
Through her chemotherapy treatments and limb-saving surgery, President Monson did not forget her. Jami said, “President Monson exemplified what it means to be a true disciple of Christ. [He] lifted me from sorrow to great and abiding hope.” Three years after their first meeting, Jami again sat in President Monson’s office. At the end of the meeting, he did something that Jami will never forget. So typical of President Monson’s thoughtfulness, he surprised her with the very same balloon that she had given to him three years before. “You’re the Best!” the balloon proclaimed. He had saved it, knowing she would return to his office when she was cured of cancer. Fourteen years after first meeting Jami, President Monson performed her marriage to Jason Brinton in the Salt Lake Temple.
We can learn so much from the discipleship of President Monson. He often reminds the General Authorities to remember this simple question: “What would Jesus do?”
Jesus told the leader of the synagogue, “Be not afraid, only believe.” Discipleship is believing Him in seasons of peace and believing Him in seasons of difficulty, when our pain and fear are calmed only by the conviction that He loves us and keeps His promises.
I recently met a family who is a beautiful example of how we believe Him. Olgan and Soline Saintelus, from Port-au-Prince, Haiti, told me their story.
On January 12, 2010, Olgan was at work and Soline was at the church when a devastating earthquake struck Haiti. Their three children—Gancci, age five, Angie, age three, and Gansly, age one—were at home in their apartment with a friend.
Massive devastation was everywhere. As you will remember, tens of thousands lost their lives that January in Haiti. Olgan and Soline ran as fast as they could to their apartment to find the children. The three-story apartment building where the Saintelus family lived had collapsed.
The children had not escaped. No rescue efforts would be devoted to a building that was so completely destroyed.
Olgan and Soline Saintelus had both served full-time missions and had been married in the temple. They believed in the Savior and in His promises to them. Yet their hearts were broken. They wept uncontrollably.
Olgan told me that in his darkest hour he began to pray. “Heavenly Father, if it be Thy will, if there could be just one of my children alive, please, please help us.” Over and over he walked around the building, praying for inspiration. The neighbors tried to comfort him and help him accept the loss of his children. Olgan continued to walk around the rubble of the collapsed building, hoping, praying. Then something quite miraculous happened. Olgan heard the almost inaudible cry of a baby. It was the cry of his baby.
For hours the neighbors frantically dug into the rubble, risking their own lives. In the dark of the night, through the piercing sounds of hammers and chisels, the rescue workers heard another sound. They stopped their pounding and listened. They couldn’t believe what they were hearing. It was the sound of a little child—and he was singing. Five-year-old Gancci later said that he knew his father would hear him if he sang. Under the weight of crushing concrete that would later result in the amputation of his arm, Gancci was singing his favorite song, “I Am a Child of God.”
As the hours passed amid the darkness, death, and despair of so many other precious sons and daughters of God in Haiti, the Saintelus family had a miracle. Gancci, Angie, and Gansly were discovered alive under the flattened building.
Miracles are not always so immediate. At times we thoughtfully wonder why the miracle we have so earnestly prayed for does not happen here and now. But as we trust in the Savior, promised miracles will occur. Whether in this life or the next, all will be made right. The Savior declares: “Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.” “In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.”
I testify that as you love Him, trust Him, believe Him, and follow Him, you will feel His love and approval. As you ask, “What thinks Christ of me?” you will know that you are His disciple; you are His friend. By His grace He will do for you what you cannot do for yourself.
We eagerly await the concluding remarks of our beloved prophet. President Thomas S. Monson was ordained an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ when I was 12 years old. For more than 48 years we have been blessed to hear him bear witness of Jesus Christ. I testify that he now stands as the Savior’s senior Apostle upon the earth.
With great love and admiration for the many disciples of Jesus Christ who are not members of this Church, we humbly declare that angels have returned to the earth in our day. The Church of Jesus Christ as He established it anciently has been restored, with the power, ordinances, and blessings of heaven. The Book of Mormon is another testament of Jesus Christ.
I witness that Jesus Christ is the Savior of the world. He suffered and died for our sins and rose the third day. He is resurrected. In a future day, every knee will bow and every tongue confess that He is the Christ. On that day, our concern will not be, “Do others consider me Christian?” At that time, our eyes will be fixed on Him, and our souls will be riveted on the question, “What thinks Christ of me?” He lives. I so testify in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

David Conrad makes a fine-looking dachshund out of an orange balloon. He can whip out a wiener dog in about 30 seconds. A twist here and a twist there. Voila!
Then there is Dan Christensen, who likes doing magic tricks, has built a gas-powered airplane, collects foreign money, and started the MHL, the Mormon Hockey League, in his neighborhood.
Andrew Willis sings. Baritone, in case you’re wondering. He also likes history and science, and he just graduated from high school.
But let’s be honest about this. We’re not writing about these guys because of dachshunds, deep voices, and disappearing rabbits. And, actually, they don’t want to talk about their hobbies. They’d rather discuss other areas of their lives.
Okay, David, take it away.
“At Christmastime, I got my entire ward together and we had a collection of toys and food for needy families in our ward and stake area. We had one gentleman in the ward dress up like Santa Claus, and I put on a red hat—I was Santa’s helper—and we went door to door delivering food and toys. When we knocked on the doors and said ‘It’s Santa Claus,’ the kids’ jaws dropped. They were so happy, all of them jumping around.”
Your turn, Dan.
“My sister Nicole volunteered at a hospital, and so I just followed after her when I was old enough. I like volunteering. I like helping people.”
And, finally, Andrew.
“My friends and I love to hang out with Peter and do stuff. We’ll always include Peter. We’ll go out in the car; we’ll rent a movie. Sometimes we’ll take Pete out with us to see a flick and get something to eat.”
Peter, Andrew’s 15-year-old brother, has Down’s syndrome.
“All my friends like to come to my house, and I like hanging around my family. We have a warm house, and my best friend has said that,” adds Andrew, whose thoughts about a warm house have nothing to do with the furnace.
And the stories don’t stop here.
Becky Altimirano, 18, worked with the Fraternal Order of Police and planned a Christmas party for handicapped children in her area.
“You can make a difference in someone’s life, and that’s what I felt,” she says. “I felt really good about it.”
So did Sarah Drinkwater, 16, after she finished a project similar to David’s. For many years her ward had collected food and toys during Christmas to give to needy families. But the youth never had an opportunity to meet the families receiving the assistance. When Sarah, a member of the Sewell Ward, was called as Mia Maid president, she decided to change things. She wanted the youth to meet the people they were serving.
“I wanted to do something for the people living in the battered women’s shelter, so we decided to have a party for them at the ward,” she says.
Before the day was over, women and their children had received gifts and food, and Sarah knew her idea was a good one. “You just can’t replace the personal contact. We had one-on-one contact, and each child was assigned a big sister or big brother from the Young Men and Young Women. We found out they are real people. It was just great.”
David, Dan, Andrew, Becky, and Sarah are all members of the Cherry Hill New Jersey Stake, and all of them, plus many others, are finding the time to make differences in their communities. As they do, they see the differences in their own lives.
In Medford, New Jersey, Kristin Feuz, 17, a member of the Medford Ward, noticed that Medford was celebrating its 150th anniversary in 1997, which coincided with the Church’s sesquicentennial celebration. So she went to work. Along with other members of her ward, she helped plant flowers and clean up several different areas in Medford.
Shall we go on?
Robert Bramhall affiliated himself with a postmen’s food drive, where mail carriers picked up nonperishable food. The food, which was taken to a Camden, New Jersey, food bank, then had to be sorted. That’s where Robert came in. He had helped do the same thing when Andrew was working on his Eagle Scout project, so he knew what he was doing.
“We had about 100 tons of food, and between everybody that helped, we put in more than 150 hours into the project. It gave me a good feeling to know that we were doing something that was going to affect so many people,” he says.
So what’s the deal? Why are all these young people, with busy lives of their own, taking so much time to do things for others?
“I’ve thought more about my brother this year than usual because of scripture mastery [in seminary],” Andrew says. “One scripture we did this year was the scripture in Matthew, the one that says ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me’ (see Matt. 25:40). Every year there is something about service, and service has been on my mind more than it has before because it seems to be so stressed. I know that’s really important, to please God.”
“You know,” adds Dan, “how there’s that song ‘Because I Have Been Given Much’? (Hymns, no. 219). Well, I, too, must give. It’s my way of giving, other than tithing. Helping other people and seeing their reactions. It helps to strengthen my testimony to see the expressions on people’s faces when I’m serving them.”
Dan remembers the times when he wishes he could do more than answer phones, sort files, or distribute magazines and water to the hospital’s patients. “There are some people who really look like they are in pain, and there’s nothing I can do about it. What I do is worth it, though. If you can just help one person, that’s great.”
David, who calls himself “the balloon guy” and has business cards to prove it, shares many of Dan’s feelings.
He runs his own business working parties and making balloon animals to entertain children. David’s work provides a pretty good cash flow for somebody who wants to major in music in college and is preparing for a mission. “But I like to incorporate service and my work together. I was at this fund-raiser where I was doing balloons there for the kids. It was fun.” When asked, only then does he confess he volunteered his time and accepted no money.
“You get that good feeling of service,” he adds.
There you have it, a group of young people who have learned that service is important, and that stepping outside of their own needs and wants to influence others for good is a richly rewarding pursuit. Sure they’re busy, and they don’t have to do the things they do.
But since they began making time for others, they’ve learned something very important. They might like to sing, play hockey, and twist balloons into animals, but they love to serve.

Running was one of my favorite activities when I was young. I was on the track and field team, and my specialty was the 800-meter dash. That meant I ran two laps around the track.
My dream was to be in the Olympics. My trainer had been an Olympic athlete. He thought I was talented enough to go to the Olympics if I practiced hard.
I practiced a lot and ran in many races. When I was 15, I was the second-place champion for my category in the whole country of Argentina. I hoped that if I continued working, perhaps I could go to the Olympics.
But there was a problem. Often our races were on Sunday. Soon I realized that I could not continue competing. So I chose to stop running.
The choice was hard. I had to give up my dream of being in the Olympics. My trainer didn’t understand why I stopped. But I knew I had made a good decision. Even though sports are a good thing, choosing to follow the Lord and His Church is better.

I’ve tried studying the scriptures lots of different ways—by number of verses or pages, by time, front to back, and by topic. And I’ve been blessed in different ways no matter how I’ve studied.
But one challenge changed me.
A quorum adviser gave everyone a small notebook with simple instructions:
Don’t worry about how much you read or how long you read. Just read until something seems important to you.
Think about why it’s important.
Decide what you will do that day because of what you learned, and do it.
Use the notebook to write down what you read, what you learned, and what you did. We’ll talk about what happened on Sunday.
Connecting what I read with what I do has been amazing. I didn’t realize it was so simple. As I acted on the principles I learned, I began to recognize how Heavenly Father used the scriptures and the Holy Ghost to point out specific things He wanted me to know and do. I learned that He was there, that He loved me, and that He was speaking to me.
I still study the scriptures in a variety of ways, including occasionally just being happy I got a few verses in before falling exhausted into bed. But now, no matter how I study that day, I try to ask, “What will I do today because of what I learned?”

Recently, I visited the mother of a large family, whom I have known and admired for many years. I have watched her children grow and develop. Education, missions, temple marriages were all part of their program. I asked her what was the secret of her success. Modestly, she told me that success had not yet been achieved, that life was a continual series of tests and challenges. But she did indicate that keeping close family ties had been very important in their lives.

She said, “We have recognized that each family member needs to be treated with dignity and respect. Though the capabilities and talents of each are different, each needs to know he or she is a child of God, loved by Him. We hold regular family conferences (even after the children are married). We feel since the Church has general conference for the edification and instruction of the saints, we need to have family conferences for the same purpose. The have truly strengthened the love in our family.”

Many years ago I had the privilege of teaching early-morning seminary. The class was held between 6:30 A.M. and 7:30 A.M. each school day. For two years I watched sleepy students stumble into class, challenging their instructor to wake them up. After prayer was offered and an inspirational thought given, I watched bright minds come alive, to increase their knowledge of the scriptures. The most difficult part of the class was to terminate the discussion in time to send them on to their regular high school classes. As the school year progressed, I watched each student gain greater confidence, closer friendships, and a growing testimony of the gospel.

Growing up, I didn’t believe there was a God. My life was full of turmoil, and in my darkest days I was depressed enough that I wanted to end my life. That was when the missionaries came knocking on my door. The gospel was exactly what I needed; I was drawn to it like a magnet.
My trials didn’t end after I joined the Church, but I was in a better position to resist the influence of the adversary. For the first time, I knew what happiness felt like.
However, depression didn’t loosen its grip easily. At one point I wanted to give up again. At that moment Sister Ting, the bishop’s wife, called. She told me she had a feeling she needed to call me. She asked how I was doing. I bore my soul to her. To me, she was an angel sent by God.
That incident empowered me. My faith was strengthened. I felt like I could conquer death. I felt delivered, like it says in Alma 36:2–3:
“They were in bondage, and none could deliver them except … God … .
“… Whosoever shall put their trust in God shall be supported in their trials, and their troubles, and their afflictions, and shall be lifted up at the last day.”
I still have trials, but I will not be easily beaten again. God has supported me through all my trials and worries. He has saved me from spiritual prison and bondage, even death. He is my Savior.

Except that it isn’t about San Jose. It’s about San Francisco. There are a lot of fun things within easy reach of the young people in San Jose—everything from beach parties, to ski trips, to camping, to sailing, to sports and cultural events, to San Francisco, which is why this story happened.
San Francisco is about an hour from San Jose, just far enough to make it adventurous and close enough to make it convenient, and that’s how the priests and Laurels of the San Jose Seventh Ward came to make the trip one bright morning.
Their first stop was the Golden Gate Park, a giant green finger pointing out of the Pacific toward San Francisco Bay. They strolled in the shade of the gigantic trees and spent an hour in the lush beauty of the Oriental Tea Garden. They could easily have spent a day seeing the Park’s other attractions, but there was a city of 42 hills and 42,000 adventures waiting for them.
They visited the Golden Gate Bridge, standing on a windswept observation point and watching the vast red span stretch away from them. The intense blue of the bay was dotted with sails, and wave-swept Alcatraz Island looked foreboding in the middle of them.
Next they visited the quaint brick buildings of Ghiradelli Square and ate their lunches on the steps of a fountain there. Then, refreshed by the rest, they ambled along to Fisherman’s Wharf, passing on the street artists who sold their handiworks and street musicians who played in the open air, glancing hopefully now and then into guitar cases and hats where people would occasionally throw money.
One man sat in the back of a pickup truck parked by the curb and played an upright piano. Another innovative fellow climbed inside a painted box and billed himself as a human juke box. People put money in through a slot, and he played a wandering trumpet for them.
They walked along Fisherman’s Wharf, talking to the fish vendors and looking at the stacks of fresh crabs, lobsters, shrimp, and other seafood. Some of it looked back at them and snapped angry claws.
After spending some time observing the long rows of docked fishing boats, they boarded a cable car and rode up the steep hills to Chinatown. They walked up and down the steep streets lined with exotic buildings with upturned roofs, neon signs in Cantonese and English, and shops filled with the pungent aroma of unfamiliar foods.
By then the sun was getting low, and knowing the way to San Jose very well, they returned home.

Taylor loved Elder Turley and Elder Junker (Yewn-kur), the missionaries assigned to her ward. She especially loved having them over for dinner.
Elder Turley was tall and slender. His head almost touched the ceiling in Taylor’s living room, and he had to duck when he came through the front door. He had a Book of Mormon with colorful sticker pictures in it. He would flip through the pages, telling Taylor the stories that each picture illustrated.
Elder Junker was short and round. He was always laughing, and Taylor loved his accent. He told Taylor stories about his large family back home. He was the oldest of eight children. He had a brother who was her age and a sister who was just a little younger. Taylor was always glad to see his happy face.
One Sunday, Taylor saw Elder Turley and Elder Junker in church as usual, but she could tell that something was not quite right with Elder Junker. His beautiful smile was missing. And even though he turned up the corners of his mouth when he shook her hand and said hello, it was not the same jolly smile that she was used to.
“Mommy, why did Elder Junker look so sad?” Taylor asked after church.
“Well,” Mommy said, “Elder Junker comes from a faraway country called Germany. His entire family is there, and I think he is homesick.”
“What does homesick mean?”
“When you’re homesick, you miss the people and things of your home,” Daddy told her. “In Germany, the people speak differently. They eat different foods too. Even the sounds and smells are different.”
“Couldn’t we do something to help?” Taylor asked.
“Well, I suppose we could ask the elders to dinner,” Mommy said, “but I don’t know if that would help much.”
“Yes it will,” Taylor practically shouted, “if we eat food from Germany!”
Mommy laughed. “Of course—an authentic German dinner. The Guenters are from Germany. Sister Guenter could give me one of her mother’s recipes. What do you think, Daddy?”
“I think it’s a great idea. and I’ll get a German phrase book so we can learn to say something nice in his native language.”
“Hurray!” Taylor cheered, growing more and more excited. “I know exactly what I’ll do too.”
The next day, Taylor and Mommy went to Brother and Sister Guenter’s house. While Mommy explained to Sister Guenter what she wanted and why, Taylor went to the work shed out back to find Brother Guenter.
She watched him for a few moments until he looked up from his workbench.
“Oh, my goodness,” he said, “I wasn’t aware that I had a visitor. Come in, come in.”
“I’ve come to ask a favor.”
Brother Guenter patted the seat next to him. “Sit here,” he said, “and we will discuss it.”
Taylor told Brother Guenter her idea, and he agreed to help her. All that week she went to his house after school and stayed for an hour or so, learning to sing a special song in German.
On the night of the dinner, Taylor’s house was filled with exciting new smells.
When the elders arrived, a strange look came over Elder Junker’s face. He sniffed the air and smiled. “I smell bratwurst! And sauerkraut!”
Daddy bowed. “Wilkommen zu Hause (welcome to our home). Taylor thought an ‘evening in Germany’ might help you feel less homesick.”
“Oh, Taylor,” Elder Junker exclaimed, “how thoughtful of you! I have been feeling homesick lately. Thank you very much.”
“Bitte schön (you’re welcome),” Taylor said, beaming. “Möchten Sie ein Lied zuhören (Would you like to hear a song)?”
“Ja, bitte (Yes, please),” Elder Junker told her.
“Ich bin ein Kind von Gott (I am a child of God),” Taylor sang in a clear voice. She finished without a mistake while Elder Junker wiped happy tears from his eyes.
Later, he told Mother that the bratwurst and sauerkraut tasted just like his mother’s, and he asked Taylor for an encore of “Ich bin ein Kind von Gott.”
When the missionaries left, the jolly smile had returned to Elder Junker’s face.