Gospel Story Finder

Profile number three also relates to a missionary of unfaltering faith, Elder Mark Skidmore. When he received his call to Norway, he knew not one word of Norwegian—yet he realized that to teach and to testify he would need proficiency in the language of the Norwegian people. To himself he made a private vow: “I will not speak English until I have brought into the waters of baptism my first Norwegian family.” He plodded. He prayed. He pleaded. He worked. After the trial of his faith came the desired blessing. He taught and baptized a choice family. He then spoke in English for the first time in six months. I met with him that same week. His expression was one of thanksgiving and gratitude. I thought of the words of Moroni, that courageous captain: “I seek not for power. … I seek not for honor of the world, but for the glory of my God.” (Alma 60:36.)

As prepared as we may be, there will still be challenging times in every marriage and every home when you simply will not know how to proceed. At those times, you need to be able to live by the Spirit. If we are worthy and prepared, those are the moments when the Holy Ghost "will show unto [us] all things what [we] should do." In the past twenty years, I have benefited from the Spirit's guidance over and over again. When my worry over a child is so great that all I can do is fall to my knees and beg for the Lord's help, more often than not I receive an answer before I even finish asking the question. On one of these occasions, the answer I clearly received was that we needed to give our son a dog! This was not the answer I wanted. I am not really a dog person, but it was a wise answer, and it made a meaningful difference at a critical time.

In December 1837 Joseph Smith cut off from the Church approximately 40 dissenters in a “high and mighty pruning.”5 This action brought persecution, hatred, and threats of bodily harm and death to Brigham, who had vigorously testified against the malcontents and defended the Prophet. His life in peril, Brigham fled Kirtland on 22 December. Shortly thereafter, Joseph and other faithful members left Kirtland as well.

During that winter, Mary Ann and her five children had to fend for themselves while apostates terrorized them, ransacking their home in the pretended belief that Brigham was hiding there. The tormentors “used ‘threats and vile language’ that undid [Mary Ann’s] emotions until her health became frail. This was, she later told her biographer, ‘undoubtedly the severest trial of my life.’”6

In February 1838, Mary Ann, now suffering from tuberculosis, gathered her children and what few possessions the mob had not taken and undertook the long, difficult journey from Kirtland, Ohio, to Richmond, Missouri, to rejoin her husband. “He was so … shocked at the change in her appearance that his first exclamation was, ‘You look as if you were almost in your grave.’”7

Brigham could now devote himself to nursing Mary Ann to good health. The Lord also knew of her desperate need for relief and care. On 17 April 1838, Joseph Smith received a revelation temporarily relieving Brigham from his heavy Church responsibilities, thus allowing him to care primarily for his family and ailing wife.8

Everyone knows that computers are useful tools. You can play games, send E-mail to friends, even type up term papers for your European history class. But Laurels in the Aliso Creek Ward, Santa Margarita California Stake, know an even better way to use a computer.
“I looked up my parents in the Ancestral File™ [at her local family history center] on the computer and found the names of thousands of my ancestors. It was really neat!” says 18-year-old Rebecca Hope.
Liz Chocco, another Laurel, prepared the names of two deceased family members and was then baptized for them in the San Diego Temple.
“The Spirit was so strong,” says Liz. “I felt that these two relatives were actually there. I felt an eternal bond with them. The phrase ‘families are forever’ became real to me in the temple.”

Hi, I’m Jesse!
Every member can be a missionary. My stake president in California gave us a challenge to share the gospel. When I had to give a school report on a state in the United States, I knew this was my chance!
The Challenge
My teacher asked us to pick a U.S. state and build a diorama, or a miniature scene. I told my teacher I wanted Utah. I’ve been to Utah many times on family vacations. I wanted to learn more about the “Beehive State.” And I thought it might help me with missionary work!
Fun Facts
I learned that the golden spike that linked the First Transcontinental Railroad was placed in Utah. I put a picture of the Salt Lake Temple in my project. I also wrote facts about President David O. McKay (1873–1970) because he is my grandpa’s favorite prophet.
The Beehive
I wanted to show my class our Savior’s beautiful creations in my diorama. I covered a box in bees and designed it like a beehive. Beehives remind us to work as hard as bees to spread the gospel.
The Buzz about Bee-ing a Missionary
I took my school project to the open house. Everyone loved my bee box! My teacher gave me an A+! I hope people will see what a great place Utah is. Maybe they will ask questions about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I can’t wait until I’m old enough to go on a mission and share the gospel even more!

I used to have a 1978 Harley-Davidson motorcycle. I had invested a huge sum of money in it and was indescribably proud of it. It was everything to me. Every Sunday I joined a group of friends in Patillas, Puerto Rico, and we rode our motorbikes around the island. We forgot all our problems, our families, God—everything—for a brief period of pleasure on those bikes. In essence, my motorcycle was my idol.
That all changed when a former classmate, Jaime Rivera Gómez, introduced me to the Church. I will be eternally grateful to Jaime and to the missionaries for their teachings, patience, and genuine love. My wife and I were baptized on 31 March 1996.
Finding the gospel of Jesus Christ changed our lives completely. I immediately sold my motorcycle, for much less money than I had invested in it. But the sacrifice was worth it. As I changed my life, Heavenly Father—the only true God—poured out blessings on me. Now I am happy. My home is happy. I love my wife and my children. We hold family home evening, and we pray and serve the Lord as a family.
Three months after becoming members of the Church, we traveled to the Washington D.C. Temple and were baptized for some of our ancestors. Our second visit to the temple was in July 1997. There we received our endowments and performed sacred ordinances for our loved ones.
I know God loves me, and I am striving each day to become more like Him.

While competing in a national beauty pageant a few years ago, I saw how much the gospel helps me in many aspects of my life. During the pageant, I refrained from negative talking or backbiting. I knew that everyone there was a child of Heavenly Father and that participating in such activities would not be uplifting.
After a few weeks, the other contestants and I found out that there was an undercover judge—our makeup artist. She had always been in the dressing rooms and at photo shoots and appearances, and she heard everything we were saying. Some girls worried the judge had heard the bad things that they were saying, and I was thankful I didn’t have that burden on my mind and that I could be at peace. I was able to make a good impression by keeping my standards and not participating in any gossip or foul language.
After the pageant, a judge came to me and thanked me for my mature conduct. All the judges had recognized that I acted different from some of the other girls.

Can you grasp the meaning of the tremendous work of this Church? Let me paint you a scenario. A pair of missionaries knock on the door of a little home somewhere in Peru. A woman answers. She does not quite understand what the missionaries want. But she invites them in. They arrange to come when her husband and other members of the family are there.
The missionaries teach them. Touched by the power of the Spirit, they respond to the message of eternal truth. They are baptized.
The family is active in the Church. They pay an honest but very meager tithing. They have a son or daughter in that family who is in his or her late teens. At the right time, the son or the daughter is called to serve a mission. The family does all it can to support him or her, and the remainder is made up from the missionary fund, which comes of the contributions of the Saints.
The son or daughter works with a companion from the United States or Canada. He or she learns English, while the companion’s Spanish is greatly improved. They work together with love and appreciation and respect, one for another, representatives of two great divergent cultures.
Upon completion of their missions, the North American returns home and goes back to school. The Peruvian returns home and is hopeful only of finding work of a menial nature. The pay is ever so small. The future is dismal. He or she does not have the needed skills to rise above such employment. And then comes this bright ray of hope. Well, brethren, you know the picture. I need not labor it further. The way before us is clear, the need is tremendous, and the Lord has pointed the way.

Today is one of those days when getting out of bed is nothing but a trial. Six o’clock is just too early for any sane soul to be up. Even the birds aren’t yet awake! And besides, it’s Sunday—a day when I should be resting from my labors. But I have to go to work, and needless to say, I’m not thrilled. But I’ll go, grudgingly. Just let me sleep ten more minutes.
My name is Jana, and that is the attitude I had on that certain Sunday morning. Even though I love my work as a nurse at LDS Hospital in Salt Lake City, I just wasn’t in the mood to be there.
I arrived at the hospital promptly at 7:05; I was supposed to arrive at 7:00. Seeing the time on the clock in the hall, I panicked and pushed the elevator button several times, only to see that the elevator was on the fifth floor and not coming down. No time to waste. I ran up the six flights of stairs. By the time I reached the top, I was exhausted—huffing and puffing, my heart pounding in my ears in rebellion against the sudden exertion. I was relieved to know that I was in a hospital and if I had a heart attack, someone could save me.
I went down the hall, passing the clerk who looked up from her work and said without emotion. “They’ve started without you.” I smiled and stumbled into the report room where all the other nurses were gathered, to receive instructions for the day.
In the meeting several patients were assigned to me, each with special problems and needs. I had baths to give, bed linens to change, equipment to monitor, temperatures to check, food trays to deliver, medical charts to complete, medications to administer, bandages to change, sore muscles to rub, and to top it all off, doctors to please. Unfortunately, the work was not going to get done by itself. I had no choice but to start on the work.
In the midst of all the activity, a voice came over the loud speaker in the hall, “Any patient who would like to go to church, please notify your nurse.” Oh yes, I had almost forgotten; it was Sunday. I asked each of my patients if they wanted to attend the short half-hour meeting. No one seemed interested; most were too ill or too tired. That was how I felt too. Only one little lady, Mrs. Whitmer, an arthritis and bone cancer patient, answered my question with a quiet yes. This dear woman—who was confined to bed and in pain with every movement, every touch—desired to attend the meeting.
I told the brethren conducting the meeting that Mrs. Whitmer needed to be wheeled to church in her bed. Then without delay, I hurriedly prepared her for the trip, combing her hair, washing her face, and changing her gown and bed linen. She grimaced with pain at every move, but she never uttered a word of complaint. No sooner had I finished getting her ready than the brethren came for her, and off she went. I turned my attention to other patients without giving her another thought.
The day progressed, and finally my work period was over. I could relax! Before leaving duty I checked once more on the patients who had been under my care. Mrs. Whitmer had long since returned from church and was resting calmly—and so was everyone else, thank goodness. As quickly as I had run to work that morning, I ran back to my apartment, ending another working day.
A few days later when I was working the evening shift, just as I was ready to finish, the call light went on in room 4. I thought, “Why do they wait until I’m ready to leave before they call for me?” But I really didn’t mind. I went down the hall through the darkness to the patient’s bedside. It was Mrs. Whitmer.
“Jana?” she asked.
“Yes,” I answered.
She reached out and gently took my hand. In a quiet, quivering voice she said, “I just wanted to thank you for helping me get to church last Sunday. I haven’t been for awhile because I’ve been so ill, and you’ll never know how much it meant to me that day to go. When I partook of the sacrament …” There was a long pause; then in trembling words she continued: “I felt God’s Spirit, and I just knew that Christ is my Savior.” And with that she began to cry. I realized that I too was shedding some tears. This beautiful woman, as weak as she was, was stronger than I had ever been. She had a glowing testimony.
I couldn’t help but recall the times when I had only gone to church out of habit, never partaking of the Spirit, though I always partook of the bread and water. I also recalled the Sunday when I prepared Mrs. Whitmer for church and how hurriedly I had done so, as if it were a burden on me. Never would I feel that way again.
The two of us cried together that night, only for a few minutes, but it was long enough to share our souls. No other words were spoken; none needed to be. The tears and the touch of our hands had said it all.

Some time ago, I had worked a full morning in court. During the lunch recess I had to run an errand. Famished because I did not have breakfast, I longed for something to eat so that I would have the energy to finish the day. The lunch recess was not long enough for a sit-down dining experience. If only I could find something fast for lunch. As I drove down the street headed back to the court house, I spotted my opportunity-a Burger King restaurant-on the right hand side of the road. With no time to go in to place an order, I entered the drive-through lane. Unfortunately, in my haste, I drove right past the speaker for placing my order. I was now immediately behind a car waiting at the window.

Realizing my mistake, I put the car in reverse and looked over my shoulder. There behind me was another car. It would be impossible to go back and place an order now. I put the car back in drive and decided to use my negotiating skills to get something-perhaps a milkshake, or some French fries. When the car ahead pulled out, I drove up to the window with ten Dollars in my outstretched hand. The window popped open, the man put a bag in my lap and grabbed my ten Dollars. The window closed. There was no time to negotiate. An instant later, the window again sprang open and the man gave me some change, with the admonition to "move it buddy, it's the lunch hour and we're very busy."

I drove away with the bag I had been given and my change. I don't know what the person behind me had for lunch, but I did have something to eat. Finding the poor and needy is something like my lunch experience that day-we get what is given to us. We cannot place an order for those we would like to reach out and serve. Always be prepared to reach out to others and impart of your substance and spirit.

In January of 2019, I witnessed President Nelson’s visit to Paradise, California, after a devastating fire claimed more than 18,000 structures. The town was reduced to ashes. Yet, just before President Nelson was scheduled to leave for Paradise, his daughter lost her battle with cancer. We were not sure he would make the trip. But after spending time with his family, he and Sister Nelson boarded a plane.

When I had the opportunity to ask him one question during the trip, I simply said, “Why did you come.” President Nelson’s response was beautiful in its simplicity. “We mourn the loss of our second daughter,” he said. “Fathers can’t [lose a child] without feeling a deep sense of grief. And yet there is nothing we would rather do than to try to be of help to others.” [36]

To this day it is hard for me to describe the devotional where he comforted members who lost their homes and businesses and community. They were desperate for hope and President Nelson promised them peace. “Your hope, your joy, and your future will all be shaped by your faith in God and by your faith in the Lord Jesus Christ,” he said.

After his address, as President Nelson walked down the aisle of the stake center, a 12-year-old girl waited to shake his hand. However, just before he reached her, she was jostled out of the way by other eager members. She expressed her lament and her doubt as she cried to her mother a few minutes later in the foyer. “That always happens to me,” she said. The young woman’s family waited outside the meetinghouse with a crowd of other members to wave goodbye to President Nelson. The Prophet walked through the crowd to his car. But — just as he did in Vietnam — he paused, singled her out of the crowd and sent a member of Church security to bring her to him. [37]

It was a miracle. The God who prevails had connected a Prophet mourning his daughter and a daughter eager to be seen.

Mario Moro
Mario Moro could not understand why he was drawn to buy that unusual book in a bookstore in 1973. But it fascinated him. He carried it everywhere to read.
The two Latter-day Saint missionaries who came to his office one day nudged each other whey they saw the Book of Mormon on his desk. What they taught him about the book was not new; he had already read it through once and had started over. But even though he felt good about everything they taught him, he struggled for almost a month with their baptismal challenge.
Then one day he closed his office door and knelt in prayer to ask what to do. The answer was strong. He went immediately to the missionaries—he doesn’t remember being aware of anything around him until he arrived—and they baptized him in the font they had kept filled for days, awaiting his decision. As soon as he was dry, Brother Moro was off to do member-missionary work with the elders that afternoon.
He is now second counselor in the presidency of the Sardinia District, Italy Rome Mission, and mission leader in the Sassari Branch.

As a teenager, I was used to attending various crusades as a Christian, and returning from one such crusade, I met my older brother with two young men. They were introduced as missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and they wanted to share the gospel of Jesus Christ with us. I asked, “What do you have that I never heard before? Is it not about the preaching of Christ?”
With a smile, they responded, “We don’t know what you know about Jesus Christ and until you hear from us, you may not know what we have for you. We have six lessons to share with you.”
They proceeded to introduce the six discussions: “One, the plan of our Heavenly Father; two, the gospel of Jesus Christ; three, The Restoration—”
I interjected, “Please pause there.”
Something spiritual struck me about the topic of the Restoration. I asked if we could discuss the topic. They declined and told me that the lessons are sequential and I had to hear lessons one and two before we can get to the third. I obliged and an appointment was scheduled.
Finally, I was taught of the Apostasy, the First Vision of the Prophet Joseph Smith, the Restoration of the priesthood, the coming forth of the Book of Mormon, and the reorganization of the Christ’s Church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.
These messages enticed me to go to church and finally, I got baptized on 28 February 1987. I taught the same messages for twenty-six months in the Nigeria Aba Mission. I have since learned three important lessons about The Restoration.
Love of God
The Restoration of Jesus Christ’s Church embodies God’s love for His children. His infinite love is not limited to a particular dispensation regardless of the fallen state of His children. Amid the general Apostasy, the unconditional love of our Father in Heaven was demonstrated once again. In 1820, the heavens once again opened and a young boy, Joseph Smith’s, prayer was answered.
“When the light rested upon me I saw two Personages, whose brightness and glory defy all description, standing above me in the air. One of them spake unto me, calling me by name, and said, pointing to the other—This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him” (Joseph Smith History—1:17)!
This vision was the beginning of Jesus Christ’s restoring His Church. The Prophet Joseph Smith was used as an instrument by the Lord to restore the Church of Jesus Christ that He organized over two millennia ago.
Jesus Christ Built His Church
The Bible taught us that Jesus Christ organized His church.
“He saith unto them, But whom say ye that I am?
“And Simon Peter answered and said, Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God.
“And Jesus answered and said unto him, Blessed art thou, Simon Bar-jona: for flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee, but my Father which is in heaven.
“And I say also unto thee, That thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.
“And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven” (Matthew 16:15–19).
This is a clear indication that Jesus Christ organized His Church. By the revelation, Apostle Paul explained the structure of the Church.
“Now therefore ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellow citizens with the saints, and of the household of God;
“And are built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ himself being the chief corner stone;” (Ephesians 2:19–20).
Even though Jesus Christ Himself is the chief cornerstone, apostles and prophets were integral parts of the structures of the church to minister for the perfecting of the Saints and to avoid mingling the gospel of Christ with the doctrines of men.
“And he gave some, apostles; and some, prophets; and some, evangelists; and some, pastors and teachers;
“For the perfecting of the saints, for the work of the ministry, for the edifying of the body of Christ:” (Ephesians 4:11–12).
Jesus Christ told His disciples that they would be killed after His Ascension. (See John 16:1–4, Acts 12:1–3.) The martyrdom of the Apostles led to a dark age, the Apostasy that resulted in the priesthood being taken away. (See Amos 8:11–12, 2 Thessalonians 2:3.)
The Priesthood and Associated Keys.
Because Jesus Christ organized His church, He has to commission people to act on His behalf through the power of the priesthood. Jesus Christ called the Twelve Apostles, empowered them with the priesthood, and commissioned them to proclaim His gospel. (See John 15:16.) Almost two hundred years ago, the light of Christ overshadowed the dark age. Heavenly messengers, Peter, James, and John conferred the priesthood on the Prophet Joseph Smith, followed up with the various keys of the priesthood by Moses, Elias, and Elijah.
The Prophet Joseph Smith said, “The Melchizedek Priesthood . . . is the channel through which all knowledge, doctrine, the plan of salvation, and every important matter is revealed from heaven.”
On 6 April 1830, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints was organized, and Jesus Christ restored His Church. President Russell M. Nelson made this spiritually insightful statement “consider how your life would be different if priesthood keys had not been restored to the earth. Without priesthood keys, you could not be endowed with the power of God. Without priesthood keys, the Church could serve only as a significant teaching and humanitarian organization but not much more. Without priesthood keys, none of us would have access to essential ordinances and covenants that bind us to our loved ones eternally and allow us eventually to live with God.
“Priesthood keys distinguish The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints from any other organization on earth. Many other organizations can and do make your life better here in mortality. But no other organization can and will influence your life after death.”
I testify that Jesus Christ has restored His Church and that is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and the restored gospel has been a blessing to my family.

An account of an unnamed Scandinavian Latter-day Saint father whose young son died on the journey from New York to Utah in 1866:
“With the help of a friend the little grave was dug and the remains placed therein. The child dying from a contagious disease, there were no assembled mourners, no formal ceremony, no floral emblems, no spiritual song, no word of eulogy. But ere the bereaved father departed he uttered a brief dedicatory prayer in his native language (Danish) as follows: …
“‘Heavenly Father: Thou gavest me this little treasure—this darling boy, and now thou hast called him away. Wilt thou grant that his remains may lie here undisturbed until the resurrection morn. Thy will be done. Amen.’
“And rising from the ground his parting words were:
“‘Farewell, my dear little Hans—my beautiful boy.’ Then with drooping head and aching heart he stoutly bent his way to his camping ground.”1

When I was 12, some of the girls in my new school invited me to a birthday party. It was the first party with these school friends I had been invited to. When I asked my parents if I could go, they said no because the party started too late.
A short time later, I got another invitation. I again asked my parents, but they again said no, and I got mad. Couldn’t I have any fun?
Then one of my closest friends planned a party. I was one of the first people she invited. The party started earlier than the others. It would be private and held near my home. I asked my parents for permission to go, and they said yes! I was excited.
The day arrived. As my parents drove me there, they said that they would pick me up at 10:00 p.m. When I got to the party, I found my girlfriends. Twenty minutes later, I still hadn’t seen the birthday girl.
A few minutes later, a young man came up to us and asked, “Have you brought money for the pisto?” He made a sign that let me know that “pisto” was beer. My girlfriends gave in at the request for money. I didn’t have any money with me, so I decided to go off with some other girls while these ones did their business.
Finally, the birthday girl arrived—an hour late. I congratulated her, and while we were talking, a big truck arrived. Five men got out and unloaded two crates of beer. Everyone crowded around and started handing out the beer. My girlfriends went off, and I was alone, watching those young people fighting to drink beer.
My girlfriends came over and offered me some. “No, thanks,” I told them. They again insisted. I again said no. My heart started beating fast, and I felt strange, like in a suspense movie where I was the main character and I was trapped in the middle of nowhere. Then I heard a car horn—it was my parents! I made my exit with a single good-bye and ran to the car.
I got in, breathing hard. I started thinking how heavy the environment felt where I had been. My mom asked if I was all right. “Yes,” I replied, “but something surprised me.”
“What surprised you?” asked my father.
“All my friends were drinking, and there I was, startled, waiting for something good to happen. How I wished for you both to get here, and now I’m here.” I looked at the car clock; it wasn’t yet 10:00.
My mom said, “That’s how parties are in the world. That was why we didn’t allow you to go to previous parties.”
That night when I prayed, I thanked my Heavenly Father that my parents had arrived early.
We members of the Church are in the world, but we are not like the world. I have learned that if I would have continued attending those parties, I might have fallen into breaking the Word of Wisdom and even the law of chastity. Many of my acquaintances have fallen into this, most of them outside of the Church, but even members of the Church themselves can reach the point of falling if they do not remain firm.
I feel happy with that decision I made to not drink. I thought that I would be made fun of afterwards, but my friends ended up with more respect for me because they know my standards. After that, I have not been afraid to say no to what I know will harm me.

Brother Ashton Garcia of the Port of Spain Trinidad Stake shared his experience of preparing line upon line. He said, when his wife was serving as Relief Society president, she received personal revelation after reading the words of President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) to start a food storage.7 They learned valuable lessons of following the prophet, starting a kitchen garden, storing fruits and vegetables managing a budget and using resources wisely. He shared that “As we moved forward in faith and followed the Lord’s commandments, the Lord guided us with revelation line upon line on how to act and not be acted upon. We received peace from the Spirit by knowing we were prepared and keeping the commandments.”

While serving as a missionary in Quito, the beautiful capital city of Equador, I met a young member of the Church who exemplified what it means to give of oneself completely in the work of converting our fellowmen. Her home was among the shabbiest of Quito—her heart, among the greatest.
I’ll never forget the first time I met her. She was very short, at most five feet tall, and her light brown hair hung to the base of her neck with a slight upward curl. But what set her apart from the rest of the girls her age was that she had no teeth. This wouldn’t have seemed so unusual if she had been quite elderly, but Mirian was barely 19.
“What happened to Mirian’s teeth?” I questioned my companion as we left her home a short while later.
“I’ve wondered about that, too,” he replied, “but no one has ever said anything about it.”
The mystery was forgotten for the time being as we busied ourselves in the missionary work. But a week after our first visit, we returned again to Mirian’s home. Her father, Brother Sanchez, had died about a year earlier, and this had created many difficulties for his family. Sister Sanchez now had to work long hours for only a dollar a day as a washerwoman across the city. And consequently Mirian had been forced to drop out of school to take care of the family while her mother was at work. They also had had to move from their old neighborhood into this one-room house so small the kitchen consisted of a mere kerosene burner on a night stand. We couldn’t help feeling concerned about their well-being and promised to stop in periodically to see them.
On this particular day, Rosa, a non-Mormon friend of Mirian’s, also stopped by, and Mirian suggested we teach her a little bit about the gospel. We gave her a portion of a discussion, but it soon became apparent that she was not interested. Nevertheless, we asked her if we could come and share our message with the other members of her family, and she agreed.
The next day we went by the Sanchez home and asked Mirian to go with us to see Rosa’s family. To our surprise she turned us down, offering a number of lame excuses for not being able to go. We could tell she was keeping something from us and asked her to tell us what was really wrong. She then proceeded to explain.
Rosa lived in the neighborhood where Mirian had lived before her father died, she told us. After his death, the people of the area began to spread rumors about Mirian’s mother.
“One night I had had enough so I went out to defend my mother and what I knew was right. Several of those in the neighborhood decided to gang up on me and teach me a lesson, one I would never forget. They started to beat me, hitting me mostly in the face. This is how I lost all my teeth,” she said, pointing to her mouth.
After she had told us what happened, she seemed relieved and said she would go with us if we really wanted her to. We were impressed by her courage and agreed that she should come.
The evening of the discussion arrived, and my companion and I made our way up the dirt pathway leading to the Sanchez home. Sister Sanchez met us at the doorway, disapproval lining her face. “I do not want my daughter returning to that horrible place,” she told us emphatically. We didn’t know what to say, but Mirian did. We listened in silence as she bore testimony to her mother that she knew there was a special reason she must go with us. Reluctantly, Sister Sanchez consented, but only with our solemn promise that we would return immediately if there were any problems.
Unfortunately, it turned out that Rosa’s family was not interested in hearing about the Church. As we turned away, Mirian began to tell us about the other families in the neighborhood, including a man she had dated for a while. Although she hadn’t realized it when she started dating him, he was a very worldly person with some bad habits. The Spirit touched me, and I insisted that Mirian take us to see him. Even though she was extremely hesitant, she guided us down a path to the home where Luiz lived with his parents and son. Upon answering the door he seemed quite surprised to see us, but invited us in and listened intently to the message we gave him. After we completed the formal discussion, he told us of his recent desire to join the true church of God, but he did not know which one it was or how to find it. He had already been going through the preliminary steps of repentance but felt the need of something more. He declared to us that his heart was telling him we were indeed representatives of the Lord’s true church. He was baptized a week later.
With the continued help of Mirian, coupled with Luiz’s assistance, we baptized nearly 25 people in this neighborhood in a period of six weeks. I’ll always remember the time we decided to talk with those who had harassed Mirian so badly before. As if nothing had happened between them, Mirian helped teach these families, several of whom became converted to the gospel.
I was transferred not long after this and shortly thereafter was shocked to learn that Mirian had died of complications following a ruptured appendix. Yet as sad as that was, she had accomplished a great mission. Because of her deep faith in the Lord and his powers to protect, Mirian had overcome her fear of her fellowmen and had helped to teach the gospel to those who had physically scarred her for life. Many of them now revere her name for forgiving them and bringing them the gospel of Jesus Christ. Looking back now, I realize that one of my great missionary experiences in Equador was to see the true spirit of member-missionary work in action.

Learning from his parents, though, wasn’t always Ark’s preferred source for education. Like his love of spicy food, this discovery of a valued resource came a bit later in his life.
“I used to be very stubborn,” Ark admits. “I didn’t really care about learning from my parents.”
He’d try to go it alone or to learn from his friends and schoolteachers only. Then he read something in the Book of Mormon that made a big difference in how he viewed things.
In Alma chapters 36 and 37, Alma gives advice to his son Helaman. Alma teaches Helaman about everything, from Alma’s own remarkable conversion story (which included three days of being unconscious after an angel told him he wasn’t exactly making the best life choices [see Alma 36:6–10]) to the dangers of secret combinations.
In the middle of it all, a single verse jumped off the page to Ark: “O, remember, my son, and learn wisdom in thy youth; yea, learn in thy youth to keep the commandments of God” (Alma 37:35).
Something clicked in Ark’s mind at those words. “My parents can teach me wisdom too,” he says. All at once he realized he had a wealth of information right in front of him. “Now I care a lot about their wisdom. They love me and can help me prepare for my future.”
They love me and can help me prepare for my future.
And their wisdom goes a lot further than business tips shared during board games.
One valuable lesson Ark’s parents have taught him is to not allow bad influences around him to trip him up. “Here at my school, a lot of kids want me to try coffee, tea, cigarettes, and so forth.”
This is a regular conversation topic at home. “I’ve had a lot of conversations with my parents about this. They repeat themselves a lot,” he jokes.
Still, all that repetition has paid off. Each time he’s asked to do something against his beliefs, Ark draws strength from what his parents have taught him.
Another lesson he’s taken to heart is how to dress. No, Ark didn’t need fashion advice from his parents in order to fit in better at school. In fact, he was doing a little too well in that department. “I used to dress in all the cool clothes,” Ark said. “I was trying to impress girls.”
His parents helped him see, though, that there were also some unintended consequences to dressing that way. “The clothes we wear can influence how other people think about you,” Ark explains. As he paid closer attention, Ark realized he didn’t like some of the ways people seemed to think of him when he dressed like he did before.
Now he chooses more conservative, modest—or, as he likes to call them, “nerdy”—clothes. He likes his new look and feels better spiritually about how he dresses. (Besides, Ark, nerds are cool! Indisputable fact.)
Ark loves where he lives, he loves his family, and he loves learning from his parents.
He also loves learning the gospel.
“I believe that Jesus Christ lives,” Ark says. “I believe our living prophet is President Russell M. Nelson and that through Joseph Smith, Jesus Christ restored His Church. I believe the gospel can help us through our lives and through any obstacles or trials we experience.”
No matter what incredible things Ark is going to learn in the future, he’s already learned some of the most important of all. Near the top of that list is this: spending time with family adds a lot of spice to life!

What of marriage responsibility? Are there some who delay marriage for fear of the responsibility? When my wife and I were married, we had the magnificent sum of twenty English pounds between us. Although young, we felt ready for the challenges and responsibilities that we knew lay ahead. What a glorious experience it has been for almost forty years now to shoulder responsibility and struggle together in building a happy home and a wonderful family of ten precious children.

“Come on, guys,” Brother Larmouth said, breaking into our discussion of the basketball game our team had lost the night before. “We have a service project to think about.”
Brother Larmouth leaned forward in his dark suit, placed his forearms on his knees, and held his black pocket calendar in front of him. Brother Larmouth was vice president of one of the banks in town and everything he did was always precise, proper, and meticulous. He studied his calendar a moment and then asked, “Well, men, what’s it going to be?”
The room went quiet. I always hated this part of our planning session. Service projects never were my first love. I didn’t mind doing them, but coming up with the idea was always a royal pain. They were always so much the same.
“Sister Seymour might need some help,” Brother Larmouth suggested after observing our sudden silence.
“Yeah, that sounds all right,” Chris Frei mumbled without conviction.
“She can always use some help.”
I leaned back in my chair and stretched. “The widows get all the breaks,” I muttered jokingly. “Let’s skip them this month.”
“Any suggestions, Kyle?” Brother Larmouth asked, glancing over at me and adjusting the tie that didn’t need adjusting.
I thought for a minute. “How about picking out a good widower?”
Brad and Chris began to smile while Brother Larmouth shook his head and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.
“We could activate Willard Weatherford,” I suggested, fighting not to smile.
“Kyle, can we get back to our planning?”
“What’s wrong with Brother Weatherford?” I asked.
“Kyle, I’ve lived in the 12th Ward since I was a kid. To my knowledge Brother Weatherford has been inside this church twice during that time. Once for his wife’s funeral and the other time for a friend’s. He smokes. He cusses. For years he wouldn’t even let the home teachers inside his house. He’s been a prospective elder since I went on my mission.”
“Well, I say it’s about time we got him out to church.”
“Kyle, can we wrap this up in the next few minutes?”
“So we just write him off?”
“Kyle, he wrote himself off a long time ago.”
Because our stomachs were growling, Sister Seymour finally ended up as our service project for the month, but as I left the church and headed for home in the crisp January air, I couldn’t help thinking of Willard Weatherford and wondering what it was like to be written off by everyone.
Willard lived just five houses down from me in a modest, red brick home with a large garage to the south. He had been an auto mechanic for years, so he’d set up an auto shop in his garage to tinker in his spare time. He was a stocky, grizzly old guy with gray, short-cropped hair, a round head, and flat nose. He rarely spoke or smiled, always looking like he’d just bitten the heads off a handful of nails.
Before I went into the house that Sunday afternoon, I glanced down the street toward Brother Weatherford’s place where a few patches of old snow lingered on his lawn. His old Ford truck was parked in front and the living room drapes were pulled closed.
Mom called me in to dinner and her fried chicken, hot rolls, mashed potatoes, and cherry cheese cake made me forget all about Willard.
Four days later a winter storm moved in and dumped seven inches of snow overnight. Dad woke me up in the morning, pushed a snow shovel into my hands, and pointed me to the driveway, reminding me that I would have to hurry to make it to school on time. I grumbled most of the time but worked fast to get out of the cold. I was about to hurry into the warmth of the house to eat breakfast when I glanced down the street in Brother Weatherford’s direction. The house was dark; the snow in the driveway, undisturbed. For a moment I pondered. Then I did one of the craziest things I’d ever done in my life. I walked down the street and began pushing the snow from Brother Weatherford’s driveway.
“What you doing, boy?” a voice growled behind me when I was about half finished with the driveway.
Startled, I turned to see Willard Weatherford standing at the top of the driveway wearing a faded, grease-spotted parka. His hands were stuffed into the pockets, and his head was scrunched into the coat’s collar.
I shrugged. “Just pushing a little snow to stay in shape.” I banged the shovel on the cement and stomped my feet.
“I do my own driveway. I can’t pay you, if that’s what you’re planning.”
“Wasn’t planning on it,” I answered undaunted, returning to my shoveling.
He watched for a moment and then turned and walked into the house. I finished the driveway. Then, just to be ornery, I shoveled his sidewalk too. I suppose I was curious about him, wondered what made him tick.
“Hey, boy,” Brother Weatherford called to me from the front door as I was about to head for home. He came down the steps in a T-shirt and held three dollar bills in his hand. “This is all the change I have,” he mumbled. “I usually do my own work.”
I looked at the three dollars. “I didn’t do it for money.”
He seemed puzzled. “You Tom Jordan’s boy?”
I nodded.
“He put you up to this?”
I shook my head and muttered something about being late for school.
Three other times I cleaned off Brother Weatherford’s walk and driveway. Each time I finished he came out with a few one dollar bills and handed them to me. Each time I refused.
The last time I cleaned off his walk was the end of March after a wet snow dumped two or three inches. He came out with a 20 dollar bill.
“Take it,” he insisted, thrusting it towards me.
I laughed, shaking my head and shouldering my shovel. “I’m still trying to get myself in shape.”
Who makes you do this?” he demanded.
We stared at each other for several seconds without speaking. It was a question I had asked myself. Part of the reason went back to the fact that everyone had just crossed him off as one more negative Church statistic. Ever since that first morning I’d felt sorry for Willard Weatherford, living alone in his house, just waiting for life to run out on him. Everybody deserved more than that out of life. Chances were that the next time he went to church might be to attend his own funeral. “I guess I just figured you—” I hesitated, chewing on my lower lip. “I better get going,” I mumbled. “School, you know.”
Willard pulled out a cigarette, put it in the corner of his mouth, and lit it. He inhaled deeply, and as he exhaled he muttered, almost as though he didn’t want me to hear, “Well, thanks.”
One Saturday morning in late April the Young Men and Young Women planned a cleanup day in Sister Seymour’s yard. Brad Hunt and Chris Frei stopped by so we could walk over together. On the way I spotted Willard Weatherford in his backyard putting up a fence.
“Sister Seymour’s going to have more people than she needs,” I remarked, stopping.
“You skip out on another service project,” Chris grinned, “and Brother Larmouth will have the bishop all over you.”
“Nobody’s skipping out. We’re just changing projects. We can call Sister Seymour’s to let them know we can’t make it. Brother Weatherford needs a hand.”
“Old man Weatherford?” Brad groaned. “He wouldn’t let you help him even if you wanted to.”
I started into Willard’s yard.
“You’re not serious?” Brad called after me.
I just kept walking.
Brad and Chris hesitated a moment, but their curiosity got the better of them and they soon followed.
“Well, what do we do?” I asked jovially.
Willard looked up from the posthole he was digging. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, glancing first at me and then at Chris and Brad. “I can’t pay you anything,” he muttered.
I grabbed a shovel. “What do you want us to do?”
Things were awkward for a moment, but then Willard saw that we weren’t going to leave, so he grumbled some instructions to us and we got to work. Brad and Chris thought I was crazy at first, but they didn’t hold back. It was a bigger project than any of us had anticipated, but we stayed with it.
Willard chain-smoked most of the day and occasionally grunted instructions. Several times he told us we should go, that we’d done all that a person could expect us to do. But we stayed till the end, which was about three in the afternoon.
As we were helping Willard put the tools away, Brad announced, “Well, I better get home. I need to do some work on my car.”
“When did that old bomb of yours start working?” Chris asked.
“I didn’t say that it was working. I said that I had to work on it.”
“What kind of car do you have?” Willard asked.
“A ’67 Mercury,” Brad said sheepishly.
“The one his dad dated his mom in,” Chris kidded.
“Maybe I could look at it sometime.”
“It’s not a bad car,” Brad said.
“Yeah,” I said, “everything works but the engine.”
That evening Willard dropped by Brad’s place and towed the Mercury back to his garage.
The following day in quorum meeting, Brother Larmouth mentioned that he was sorry the three of us hadn’t been able to make it to Sister Seymour’s for the service project.
“We found another project that was more urgent,” I explained.
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah. We were helping Brother Weatherford.”
The rest of the quorum began to snicker—except for Brad and Chris. I looked around without smiling. Back in January when I had first brought Willard’s name up, I would have appreciated the chuckles because Willard was just a joke then, but the last three months had made him a person, and finally a friend. I knew then that I hadn’t skipped Sister Seymour’s service project just to do my own thing. I had been at Willard’s place because I really wanted to be there.
A week later Willard called and asked if I’d bring Chris and Brad over to his place. I was shocked. The last person I had expected to call me on the phone was Willard.
When the three of us arrived, Willard was in the garage puttering about. Brad’s car was parked in the middle of the garage. Willard reached into his pocket, pulled out Brad’s keys and tossed them to him. “See what you think.”
Brad caught the keys. “Does it work?” he asked.
Willard shrugged and turned away, going to his workbench and pushing a set of wrenches about. “Try it,” was all he said.
Slowly, Brad put the key into the ignition and turned it. The engine cranked over and began to purr.
“I don’t believe it,” Chris gasped.
“What’d you do to it?” Brad called out, stepping from the car and letting the engine idle.
Willard turned around, his face expressionless, but his eyes beamed with pleasure. “Don’t ever give up on a car like that.”
“What do I owe you? I mean—how much did all this cost?”
“Didn’t cost me a thing. Some of the wrecking yards around here owe me some favors. They coughed up the parts.”
After that it seemed that Brad, Chris, and I were always over at Willard’s. We worked in his garage, sipped sodas on his front lawn, talked baseball. We even teased him about his smoking. We told him that every time he took a drag he was throwing away 30 minutes of his life.
He chuckled and wagged his head. “I’ve been at it too long to kick it now.” But after that we noticed that when we walked up, he would flip his cigarette away.
Then one afternoon as we sat in his shop, he seemed more nervous than usual. He kept rubbing his hands on his pants, scratching the back of his neck, pacing the floor, and shuffling his feet.
“What’s on your mind, Willard?” Brad asked.
Willard shook his head. He tried to smile, but his attempt was more a grimace. He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “I chucked my smokes. I haven’t had a smoke for a couple of days. But I don’t know if I can handle it.”
For a moment the three of us were quiet. Then Chris jumped up. “You’ll make it, Willard. You just need something to take your mind off it. Do you chew gum?”
“I could chew nails.”
“You need to stay busy too,” I offered. “I have an uncle that quit. He said the only thing that saved him was to stay busy. He worked himself into exhaustion.”
For the rest of the day we stayed with Willard and pulled him through. It was almost ten when we left him, but he’d made it. As far as we knew, he never took another smoke.
“Hey, Willard, we’ve got a favor to ask,” I mentioned one afternoon as we were changing the oil in Brad’s car. “We’re in charge of a dinner over at the church this weekend.” I shrugged and felt my cheeks color. “The kids in the ward are putting on a dinner for some senior citizens. Now I don’t mean that we think you’re a senior citizen or anything like that,” I quickly added, “but we wanted you there. How about it?”
Willard looked up. His eyes went to each one of us, and then he stared down into the Mercury’s engine. For a long time he didn’t speak. Slowly he pulled a rag from his back pocket and wiped his hands. A wan smile tugged at his lips. “The last time I was in church was when Mary died. That’s been better than three years. And it was a lot longer before that. There’ve been times when I wanted to go back, but I couldn’t come up with a good enough excuse. And there’s nobody there I know.”
“You’ve got an excuse now. We’re having barbecued chicken. And you know us. We’ll be there,” I pointed out.
“Why would you want me to go to a nice, fancy dinner with you?” he asked without looking at us.
For a moment I didn’t answer, pondering the question. “Because you’re our friend,” I answered simply.
He shook his head. “I don’t know if I could. People would stare. They’d wonder why—”
“You’ll be with us,” Brad spoke up. “The whole time. Honest.”
We all waited, holding our breath. Willard thought for a long time. Finally his face softened into a smile and he said, “Well, I’ll think about it.”
The night of the dinner I was nervous. Brad had promised to pick up Willard while Chris and I helped get things ready at the church.
“Did you invite anyone tonight?” Brother Larmouth asked as I was carrying food from the kitchen to the serving table in the cultural hall.
“Willard Weatherford.”
Brother Larmouth sighed. “When are you going to get off this Willard Weatherford kick?” He smiled and shook his head. “The day you get old Willard inside this church I’ll buy you the biggest, fattest steak you’ve ever had in your life.”
Just then Chris and Brad came through the doors on the far side of the cultural hall with Willard between them. Brother Larmouth had his back to them so he didn’t see them approach until they were right there. When he turned around, he almost dropped his jaw.
“Brother Larmouth,” I started out, “I’d like you to meet a good friend of ours, Brother Weatherford.”
For a moment Brother Larmouth could hardly speak. Then he held out his hand and greeted Willard. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he stammered. “The guys here have talked about you a lot.” He looked at the three of us and then back to Willard. “I guess I can believe everything they’ve told me.”
Willard nodded his head. “They’re good boys. I figure you can believe what they say.”
As Brad and Chris led Willard away, Brother Larmouth turned to me and muttered, “I would have never believed it. I guess I owe you a steak.”
I shook my head and swallowed back the lump in my throat. “Forget it.” I smiled. “Some things you don’t do for a steak.”