Gospel Story Finder

I was converted to the gospel when I was very young. Throughout my youth, I held different Church callings, and it is impossible to describe the joy I received from them. But one of the most remarkable experiences I had as a young person came the week before my mission.

I turned in my mission papers in January 1976. After some time, which seemed very long to me, I received a letter calling me to serve in the México Monterrey Mission.

Because my stake president was about to be released, he set me apart a week before I was to leave for my mission. He cautioned me about how I would need to live now that I had been set apart, but we agreed that I would continue at my job for one more week—as I had planned. I wanted to continue working as long as possible to earn more money for my mission and to help my family. As I left the stake president’s home on the Sunday evening I was set apart, I felt a beautiful warmth fill my entire body.

The next morning I got up to go to work as usual. As I entered the office building where I worked, I greeted the elevator operator and told him which floor I wanted. The operator did not answer but just stared at me. Then the owners of my company got on the elevator, and we greeted each other. After the elevator doors closed, I noticed my bosses were staring at me too. They asked me what had happened. I answered that nothing had happened.

When I walked into the department where I worked, my coworkers stopped talking and looked at me. I still could not understand why.

Later that day my bosses called me into their office. They asked me to recommend someone responsible to take my place. Then they asked why I seemed so different. I told them about my religion and my mission. They congratulated me and refused to accept my resignation. They said they would instead allow me to take leave for a year and a half so I wouldn’t lose my job benefits. And they asked me to return to work as soon as I finished my mission.

As I looked at my coworkers on my last day of work, I realized how much I loved them, even though their standards were very different from mine. María, who worked near me, asked, “What is happening to you? Why are you so different?” She said she could see a light in my countenance. “Why is that?” she asked.

Finally I began to understand the importance of missionary work from a new perspective. I had been called as a servant of the Lord, and the influence of the Holy Ghost was shining through me.

I am grateful to our Heavenly Father for that week of preparation before my mission. I am also grateful for my coworkers. They strengthened my testimony of the gospel by letting me see the importance of my calling through their eyes.

I remember the first time Jenni walked into my seminary class and said hi to me. She had a very difficult time speaking, her words were slurred and hard to understand, and she limped and hobbled as she tried to make her legs carry her frail body toward her desk. During Jenni’s first week of “mainstreaming” in my class, she seemed content to be mostly ignored by her classmates, who appeared to be struggling to figure out how to interact with her.
Jenni would try to speak, and very few students could understand her. She had a difficult time keeping her nose wiped, and sometimes she would drool and soil her shirt. The students in my classroom were unaccustomed to the needs and actions of someone like Jenni, so most of them distanced themselves from her both physically and socially and, as a result, proceeded to politely ignore her.
However, they weren’t aware that inside Jenni’s deformed body was a keen mind, a heart of gold, and an indomitable spirit crying out to be heard, to be understood, to be accepted, and to be loved. She wouldn’t be ignored, politely or otherwise.
I’ll never forget the day when Jenni asked me if she could say something to the class. I wondered what she wanted to say to everyone, but I never expected her to deliver the message she did.
“I neeeeed a frrriennnd,” she stuttered. “I neeeeeeeed sommeonne toooo ssiitt bbyy mmee attt lllunnch.”
As she finished her last word, a hush settled over the class. Jenni stood erect and, rather than doing the socially acceptable thing and taking her seat, she waited for a volunteer. Finally, from the back of the classroom, Treasure raised her hand and said, “I’ll be your friend, Jenni.” Jenni responded by asking, “And sit by me at lunch?”
Treasure responded, “And sit by you at lunch.”
“Every day?” asked Jenni.
“Every day,” answered Treasure.
This conversation relieved the class but also gave Treasure’s friend Wendy the confidence to raise her hand and tell Jenni that she would also be her friend and sit by her at lunch every day. The “miracle of Jenni” had begun!
The next day Treasure and Wendy sat by Jenni at lunch and then helped her through the school parking lot to the seminary building. I noticed as the days turned into weeks that Treasure and Wendy began to translate Jenni’s words when we couldn’t understand her.
As the students began to see what a beautiful, intelligent person Jenni was, they began to invite her to activities, to pick her up, to help her with her difficulties. On one occasion, Jenni excitedly told me she had a date with a young man named Kurt. “He’s so cute!” she told me. This led to other dates, more recognition, and more fun.
Often during class when someone would be sharing their feelings and begin to weep, Jenni would, unannounced, get up and walk over to this person and put her arm around them and hold them. This would touch the class, and soon we would all be weeping. Jenni would often bear her testimony to the class. She would express her gratitude for her many blessings, especially her family, and then share her firm conviction of Jesus Christ.
The months turned into years, and soon it was time for Jenni to graduate from seminary. I remember the love I felt for her as she awkwardly walked up to receive her diploma, and I realized all over again how she had blessed my life. As the ceremony and the meeting ended, I encountered Jenni’s mother at the back of the chapel. As we talked, her eyes watered as she said something like this: “You’ll never know what you’ve done for my little girl.”
I replied, “Oh, not me. Look around,” as I pointed to Jenni’s classmates. “They’re the ones.”
Jenni’s classmates helped her realize what a wonderful person she is. They’re the ones who included her in their circle of friends and helped her feel like she belonged; they’re the ones who saw through her handicap to the special needs of her heart—a young woman wanting to be accepted and understood; they’re the ones who came to see into the beauty of her soul; the ones who helped perform a modern-day miracle—the miracle of Jenni.

Marcella frowned as she tried to wiggle her toes in her shoes. The shoes were too small and they hurt, but she knew she shouldn’t complain. At six years old, she knew there was no money for new ones.
The past year had been hard for the Nelson family. In May, Marcella’s tiny baby sister had died of pneumonia. And just six weeks later, her father, Eric, had been killed in an accident at work. How she missed her gentle father.
Now Marcella’s mother was struggling to support her two young daughters with her sewing. Even though she was a skilled seamstress, there wasn’t enough money. The kitchen cupboards in their small home were practically bare. No, bigger shoes just weren’t an option right now.
“Time for breakfast,” Mother called. Marcella struggled not to limp in the tight shoes as she walked to the table.
“Oh, honey.” Her mother knelt at her side. “Those shoes are too small for you, aren’t they?” Marcella could hear the worry in her mother’s voice.
“A little.” Marcella tried to sound unconcerned. “It’s all right.”
“You’re trying to be brave,” Mother said gently. “But I can see they hurt. I will try to get you some new ones soon.”
“I want new shoes too!” piped up little Arvella.
Their mother picked Arvella up in a big hug. “You know your shoes are just fine,” she said. Arvella’s shoes were hand-me-downs from Marcella. They were worn, but at least they fit properly.
Arvella stuck her bottom lip out. “I want new shoes, too,” she repeated obstinately. Marcella and her mother smiled at each other. Arvella didn’t understand their difficult position, and somehow her innocence made them feel better. They talked and laughed as they ate breakfast and cleaned up.
Suddenly Mother became serious again. “Girls,” she said slowly, “we need to go to town today. I have $2.50.”
Marcella couldn’t believe it! That was a lot of money in Utah in 1905. “That’s great!” she exclaimed. She imagined the food they could buy to stock their empty shelves. Maybe she could even get new shoes!
Marcella’s smile faded when she saw the tears in her mother’s eyes. “We owe $2.50 for tithing,” she said softly. Then she gathered her girls around her. “I know we are almost out of food. I know that you need new shoes so badly, Marcella. But if we want the Lord to bless us, we must keep His commandments.”
Then she pulled out her worn Bible and turned to Malachi. She read to the girls the Lord’s promise that if they paid tithing, the windows of heaven would open to them.
“What does it mean that the windows of heaven will open?” Arvella asked.
“It means that Heavenly Father will bless us,” Mother said. “It says that we will receive such a great blessing that there won’t be room enough to receive it. I know that we need the Lord’s blessing now more than ever. I believe His promise.”
“I believe it, too,” Marcella said.
“Me too,” Arvella chimed in.
“Oh, you are good girls.” Mother pulled them close. “Let’s pray together, and then I am going to take this money straight to the bishop.”
The girls and Mother knelt. Mother asked Heavenly Father for a way to get more food for her little family and shoes for Marcella. After the prayer, they all wiped tears from their eyes. Then, with a smile, Mother said, “Let’s go pay our tithing, girls!”
They walked the short distance to the bishop’s house and gave him the tithing. Although her feet hurt, Marcella enjoyed the walk and the good feeling in her heart. She knew Heavenly Father would bless them.
As they approached their home, they saw Uncle Silas and Aunt Maud pulling up. Both girls ran to Uncle Silas, and he swung them high into the air.
“Hello, Sarah,” Aunt Maud said, giving Mother a quick hug. “We just came to see how you and the girls are doing.”
“Well,” Arvella said seriously, “Marcella’s shoes are too small, but we paid our tithing and it will be fine.”
“Arvella!” Her mother gave her a stern look. “We’re fine, Maud. How is your family?”
They all went into the house and chatted pleasantly. Marcella quickly took off her tight shoes and put them away. She noticed her aunt and uncle looking around the house carefully. Aunt Maud even opened a cupboard as she visited. Too soon, their visitors had to leave.
Later that afternoon, Marcella was surprised to hear a cart outside. It stopped at their home, and a delivery boy came to the door. “A delivery for Sarah Nelson,” he said.
“That’s my mother,” Marcella said.
“But I didn’t order anything,” Mother objected.
Suddenly Uncle Silas appeared in the doorway next to the boy. “It’s for you, Sarah,” he said gently. “You can put everything here on the table,” he directed the delivery boy.
The boy brought in bags of food. The girls danced around the table in delight. They hugged Uncle Silas, who quickly excused himself to go home. There was so much food! Sugar, beans, flour and cornmeal, cured meats and dried fruit—the cupboards would be full! Last of all, the delivery boy brought a small package wrapped in brown paper to the table.
After the delivery boy left, the girls approached the small package. What could be inside? First Marcella and then Arvella shook it. Then Marcella carefully pulled back the paper. Into her lap fell not one, but two pairs of shoes! Marcella picked up the largest pair and put them on. They fit perfectly, and she happily wiggled her toes in complete comfort.
Then she saw Arvella’s face. Her sister had picked up the second pair of shoes and was staring at them in delight. She looked at her mother in wonder. “I thought you said I didn’t need shoes, Mama,” she said questioningly.
“Your old shoes would do,” her mother said through her tears. “But when Heavenly Father opens the windows of heaven, you never know what might pour down.”

My senior year in high school was beginning, and I was full of anticipation as the first few weeks of September rolled by. Everything seemed to be pointing to a great year ahead.
For the first time, I was really interested in my classes, which included calculus and a college-prep psychology class. I was determined to get my first-ever 4.0 grade point average.
I had also just been put in as president of my seminary class and as first assistant in the priests quorum. In addition, I was developing a new photography hobby and was working toward making it into the Iron Man bench press bracket in the school weight room. I was also fellowshipping a good friend from work. Even the weather seemed exciting and refreshing.
But perhaps the most important thing to happen at the beginning of that school year was a decision I made to read the scriptures for half an hour each day.
I chose to read the New Testament, and I immediately became attached to it. Every day after school I would put away my school books, sit down at my desk in my room, and pull out my scriptures. I must have gone through three red pencils in just the first few chapters. Reading about the life of Christ every day put me on a real spiritual high. But after the first week of this, trouble hit.
It was a normal afternoon. I came home from school, opened my Bible to Matthew and started reading. But something was different. I didn’t feel that spiritual high, and I wasn’t getting any insight. I was just skimming meaninglessly and couldn’t seem to get involved in the passage. I stopped reading and looked up from the pages of the book.
“Wait a minute,” I thought. “Why can’t I seem to grab hold of anything? What am I doing wrong?” I sat for a minute and then, suddenly, a small episode from the long day at school entered my mind.
Some nonmember friends and I had been sitting around talking about whatever came to mind. Soon what was coming to mind were funny stories and jokes. And then some not-so-funny stories. In fact, they got downright shameful, and I had been a part of it. I had laughed and even made some off-color comments of my own.
The life of Christ hadn’t affected my actions, not then. I hung my head over my scriptures and silently apologized to my Heavenly Father. As I refocused my eyes on the page, they fell across these words, found in Matthew:
“But I say unto you, That every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment.
“For by thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned” (Matt. 12:36–37).
Never before had I felt the ever-watching presence of Heavenly Father so strongly. I turned from my Bible and offered up a prayer of repentance.
I had known many uses for the scriptures before. I had read them for gospel instruction, for increasing scriptural knowledge, for spiritual comfort, for seminary scripture chases, and probably most often for finding answers to a Sunday School teacher’s elusive questions. However, this was the first time I had ever used the scriptures to receive personal revelation.
I knew that the Spirit had directed me to these words at this time. The answer to my question, “What am I doing wrong?” was simple. I was reading the scriptures, marking the scriptures, and even really enjoying the scriptures; but I was not living the scriptures, which in some degree made me a little like the hypocritical Pharisees whom the Savior so often rebuked.
Although my answer was not accompanied by a booming voice or violent earthquake, its power was sufficiently intense to make me reevaluate myself.
Each time I came across some new point of Jesus’ life in my reading, I would check myself in the same area. While there were a few areas that I didn’t have any trouble with, many others required changes in my personality, attitudes, and actions. As I did this, I began to like myself more.
With these new standards came blessings. It was funny how taking a half hour from each day seemed to lengthen it so much. Since I began reading the scriptures and trying to live by Christ’s example, I noticed how different areas of my life began to blossom.
I was able to accomplish many of the goals I had set for myself and, to my surprise, I even got that 4.0.

A final example of being blessed during adversity is finding heightened joy in the return of temple ordinances.
This is best described with a story. When Sister Kaitlyn Palmer received her mission call last April, she was excited to be called as a missionary but felt it equally important and special to go to the temple to receive her endowment and make sacred covenants. Shortly after she scheduled her endowment, the announcement came that all temples would temporarily close due to the worldwide pandemic. After receiving this heartbreaking information, she then learned she would attend the missionary training center (MTC) virtually from her home. Despite these disappointments, Kaitlyn focused on keeping her spirits high.
In the intervening months, Sister Palmer never lost hope of attending the temple. Her family fasted and prayed that temples would open prior to her departure. Kaitlyn would often start her home MTC mornings by saying, “Is today going to be the day we receive a miracle and temples open back up?”
On August 10, the First Presidency announced that Kaitlyn’s temple would reopen for living ordinances on the exact day her early-morning flight to her mission was scheduled. She would not be able to attend the temple and make her flight. With little hope for success, her family contacted temple president Michael Vellinga to see if there was any way the miracle they had been praying for could be realized. Their fasting and prayers were answered!
At 2:00 a.m., hours before her flight departure, Sister Palmer and her family, in tears, were greeted at the temple doors by the smiling temple president with the words, “Good morning, Palmer family. Welcome to the temple!” As she completed her endowment, they were encouraged to move quickly, as the next family was waiting at the temple doors. They drove directly to the airport just in time to make her flight to her mission.

He loves being around the Prague full-time missionaries. One day he was playing softball with them, and an elder accidentally hit him in the head with a big metal baseball bat. The elders wanted to take Lukáš to the hospital, but he refused and said he just wanted to go home. He felt certain that if he prayed, Heavenly Father would make him better. As soon as he prayed for help, his head stopped hurting. He knew that Heavenly Father had answered his prayer.

Andrew stood in front of the mirror and scowled at himself. He decided he looked stupid. Who wanted to wear a tie anyway? “I feel like I’m choking,” he said to his dad.
“Loosen your tie,” said Dad. “Maybe you have it on too tight.”
Andrew slid his finger between his collar and the knot of the tie and pulled. He still felt like he was choking. “How come Amanda has to get married, anyway?”
“Because that’s what little girls do when they grow up,” Dad said. “Come on, Sport, it’s time to go. We don’t want to be late for your sister’s wedding. You look fine.”
In the car, Andrew slumped down in the seat until his chin was nearly resting on his chest, and stared straight ahead. This morning Amanda had been in the bathroom for what seemed like nine hours. He had heard her singing “Families Can Be Together Forever,” and when she got to the part that goes “I want to marry in God’s temple for all eternity,” she sang really loud.
Andrew tugged at his tie again, and a mean, mad feeling settled in his chest. If families are supposed to be together forever, why did Amanda want to leave them and marry Brad? She wasn’t even riding to the temple with the family. Brad had come earlier to get her, and she had gone with him. She hadn’t even waved good-bye.
“Here we are,” Dad said, stopping the car. Andrew got out slowly. He could see a carpet of grass a little way up the hill, then flowers, and at the top, the Jordan River Temple. The statue of the Angel Moroni on the spire shone golden in the sunlight.
“Andrew,” Mom said, “let’s go. Do you have your Friend to read?”
“Yes,” he said. They walked together up the sidewalk, and the temple seemed to get taller and whiter with every step. He wished that Amanda was with them. She would’ve been holding his hand or fixing his collar or pointing to the ducks that were waddling across the lawn.
The temple doors opened silently, and they stepped inside. A woman in a long white dress was standing there smiling. “Welcome,” she said quietly.
“Good morning, Sister,” said Dad. “We’re here for the Smithton–Peters wedding. Is it all right if my son sits in the waiting room? His cousin will be here soon to sit with him.”
“Yes,” said the woman. “I’ll get him settled while you go on in.” She put her hand on Andrew’s shoulder and led him to a glassed-in room full of chairs and sofas. “Here we are,” she said. “We have lots of chairs, so choose any one you want. Change chairs every five minutes if you like. I’ve sat in all of them myself, and they’re all comfortable.” She told him that if he needed anything, to let her know, then went back to the door to greet people.
“Great,” Andrew grumbled quietly. “Here I am by myself. I’m just the little brother, and no one cares, anyway.” He plopped himself on a soft chair. He didn’t even want to read. He just felt left out and sorry for himself. He closed his eyes.
The door to the waiting room opened, and he heard someone come in and sit down on the chair next to him. “Hey, Andy,” his cousin Ernie whispered.
Andrew opened his eyes. “You look funny in a suit.”
“Thanks.” Ernie looked at Andrew for a minute. “What’s the matter, man?”
“How come we don’t get to go in?” Andrew scowled, looking through the glass wall at men in white suits, sitting at a desk and checking people’s recommends.
“We’re not old enough yet.”
“How come we have to be old enough?”
“For the same reason you have to be eight to be baptized and twelve to get the priesthood and nineteen to go on a mission. You have to be old enough to understand things.”
That made sense. Andrew didn’t understand lots of things—like why Amanda wanted to leave their family. He still felt mad. “I don’t know why Amanda wants to get married at all,” he said. “She never even talks to me anymore.”
Ernie grinned. “Jealous, huh? Think she won’t love you anymore?”
Andrew shrugged, but he did think that a little bit. She hadn’t had time to take him to the library or out for ice cream or anything lately because she was always with Brad or doing something for the wedding.
Ernie picked up a copy of the Book of Mormon that was on a table and started to read. Andrew knew that he was trying to get ready for his mission, so he didn’t bother him. Instead, he watched the second hand sweep around and around the face of a wall clock. When he watched the seconds, the minutes seemed to go faster.
He wondered what his sister was doing. He wondered if she would even think about him at all.
Next he watched people coming into the temple, all of them dressed in Church clothes and most of them carrying little suitcases. His dad had told him that the suitcases had white clothes in them because everyone wears white in the temple, like the lady by the door. She was still smiling at everyone who came in.
Andrew had never been in such a quiet place. It was even quieter than church because there were no babies crying or loud talking. People even seemed to walk more quietly. The longer he listened to the stillness, the quieter he felt. His tie didn’t choke him anymore, and he let his shoulders relax against the back of the chair. It was nice to not feel mad for a while. The second hand on the clock kept sweeping around.
“Ernie,” he whispered, “why is it so quiet? Why do I feel good in here?”
Ernie looked up from the scriptures and smiled. “Remember how you felt after you got baptized and confirmed?” Andrew nodded. “How you felt warm and good and quiet because the Holy Ghost was there?” Andrew nodded again. “Well, since this is Heavenly Father’s house, His Spirit is here all the time. That’s why it feels good.”
“I like it,” whispered Andrew.
“So do I.” Ernie bent his head over his book again.
Andrew closed his eyes. He wondered if the feeling was even stronger inside the temple than it was by the front door.
“Hey, Andy,” Ernie said, bumping his shoulder against Andrew’s, “they’re coming out.”
Andrew opened his eyes. The foyer was filled with people he knew—aunts and uncles, his grandparents, his mom and dad. Brad’s mom and dad—but he couldn’t see Amanda.
“Let’s go outside and wait for them, OK?” said Ernie.
In the bright sunshine, Andrew looked at the water fountain in front of the temple. He stood on one foot, then the other and wondered if Amanda would ever come out. Maybe she’d forgotten all about him.
He looked up and saw her coming. Brad was holding her hand, and in her other hand, she had a bunch of pink flowers. She was still dressed in white, and they both looked so happy that they almost glowed.
“Andrew,” Amanda called. Pulling Brad over to where Andrew stood, she bent down and hugged him. Andrew just stood there for a moment. Then he put his arms around her and hugged back. Her hair tickled his nose.
“I love you,” Amanda said.
“You do? I thought you loved Brad more than me.”
Amanda looked surprised. “I do love Brad,” she said. “But you’re still the only little brother I have.”
Brad reached out and messed up Andrew’s hair. “Guess you’re my brother now too.”
Andrew squinted up at Brad. “You’re part of my family now?” He hadn’t thought about it that way.
“Sure,” laughed Brad, “and since families are forever, I hope you like me. Think I’ll make a good big brother?”
Andrew had never had a big brother before. It might be fun. “Sure!” He wanted to laugh and sing and dance. Instead, he stepped back, looked up to where the statue of Moroni was, and smiled.

He also served several missionary assignments, accompanying American missionaries to other areas for proselyting. On one of these journeys, Opapo, his long-time friend Elisala, and one of two American missionaries went to the island of Manu‘a. Upon arriving they found that the local king, Tuimanu‘a, had forbidden anyone from receiving or assisting the Latter-day Saints in any way—the punishment for disobedience was immediate stoning. However, the missionaries were determined to succeed and stayed for two months, eating fallen coconuts from the beaches and sleeping each night in holes. They covered their heads with leaves to protect themselves from the mosquitoes, each one taking a turn nightly to help the others arrange their leaves and then unassisted himself, suffering from bites the rest of the night.
After several weeks of this grueling ordeal, Opapo was awakened by the smell of some freshly baked food in a nearby basket. The missionaries did not know whether through a human or a divine source; but after weeks of coconuts, they were profoundly grateful. Near the end of their stay the incident was repeated when an elderly woman brought them some food, saying that if she had to die for her kindness, she would, but she did not fear Tuimanu‘a.
A few weeks later, after exhausting every possible avenue, the missionaries prepared to depart. Ceremonially, Opapo and Elisala spoke directly to Tuimanu‘a and his people, warning them that they would feel the wrath and power of God if they did not repent. As his last act before boarding the longboat, Opapo paused at the edge of the village and dusted off his feet as a witness against the island. A couple of weeks later a devastating hurricane struck the island, killing many, destroying all of the crops above ground, and leveling every house except one—the fale (hut) in which lived the elderly lady who had helped the missionaries.
It is true that miracles strengthen the faith of believers but do not necessarily give faith to the unbelieving. It was not until 1974 that a branch was actually organized in Manu’a. On the other hand, the Saints to whom Opapo returned heard of the incident and increased in faithfulness.

In the same talk from which I quoted a statement from President Woodruff, he also said: “After I came to these valleys and returned to Winter Quarters, I was sent to Boston by President Brigham Young. … While on the road there, I drove my carriage one evening into the yard of Brother Williams. Brother Orson Hyde drove a wagon by the side of mine. I had my wife and children in the carriage. After I turned out my team and had my supper I went to bed in the carriage. I had not been there but a few minutes when the Spirit said to me, ‘Get up and move that carriage.’ I told my wife I had to get up and move the carriage. She said, ‘What for?’ I said, ‘I don’t know.’ That is all she asked me on such occasions; when I told her I did not know, that was enough. I got up and moved my carriage four or five rods, and put the off fore wheel against the corner of the house. I then looked around me and went to bed. The same Spirit said, ‘Go and move your animals from that oak tree.’ They were two hundred yards from where my carriage was. I went and moved my horses, and put them in a little hickory grove. I again went to bed.
“In thirty minutes a whirlwind came up and broke that oak tree off within two feet from the ground. It swept over three or four fences and fell square in that dooryard, near Brother Orson Hyde’s wagon, and right where mine had stood. What would have been the consequences if I had not listened to that Spirit? Why, myself and wife and children doubtless would have been killed. That was the still, small voice to me—no earthquake, no thunder, no lightning—but the still, small voice of the Spirit of God. It saved my life. It was the spirit of revelation to me.” (Millennial Star, 53:642–3.)

It all began when Annie was just six years old. One early August morning, Cousin Golda came skipping barefoot through the red sand to our house.
“Guess what!” she panted, “we’ve got two new babies, and one of them is a brother.”
“Twins!” Mama exclaimed, setting the milk pans on the kitchen table.
Happily Golda nodded. “A brother and a sister!”
Mama stooped and hugged Golda.
“Oh Mama, can we go see them?” Annie pleaded.
“Later,” Mama replied.
“How come Aunt Mary has two babies?” four-year-old Kate asked.
“Because it’s a ‘double blessing.’ That’s what Grandma always says,” Golda replied. “Especially if one of them is a brother. Now I’ve told you, I have to hurry home.” The screen door slammed behind her.
Papa came in with a foaming bucket of milk and strained it into the pans Mama had set out. “You should have seen Lew this morning,” he said. “His feet scarcely touched the ground. He didn’t bother to open the pasture gate, but jumped the fence to tell me about his son. ‘Mary has a baby boy!’ he hollered.”
“Mary has twins,” Mama corrected.
“Yes, I know. But one of them is a boy,” Papa stressed.
Annie wondered if Papa had something in his eyes, because he blinked as he said, “I’m glad for Lew. It’s important for a man to have sons.”
“I know,” Mama said, turning her face toward the cupboard.
Poor Mama, Annie thought, all she has is girls, three of them, counting Baby Mildred. A hundred times over Papa had said, “If we had sons of our own, I wouldn’t always be borrowing Ren’s boys to ride the range with me.”
Mama’s usual retort was, “Be thankful you have nephews.”
For the next few days Papa had so much to say about Lew’s son that it was plain to see that he was eating his heart out for a boy of his own.
“After all, George,” Mama finally reminded him, “we have to leave some things up to Heavenly Father.”
One day just when Annie had begun to think Papa didn’t care for girls at all, Mildred toddled over to him and wrapped her chubby arms around his legs. With a hearty laugh, he picked her up and tossed her to the ceiling. “Ah, you’re a precious one,” he crooned. “Little girls bring joy to a man’s heart.”
Well! What a relief! Annie thought.
Mama had said they could see the babies later, and later had finally come. How cuddly the twins looked, sleeping side by side in the wide new cradle Uncle Lew had built.
Fascinated, Annie and Kate gazed at them while Golda stood proudly by.
“Oh, aren’t they cute,” Annie purred.
“The one with the most hair is my brother,” Golda volunteered.
“They don’t either one have hair,” Kate observed.
“Yes, they do,” Golda countered. “See that little bit of pink hair?” Golda pointed.
“He’s a boy.”
“Why is a boy so much?” Kate asked.
“Because boys don’t get scared of the dark,” Annie replied.
“But the baby sister is the cutest,” Kate insisted.
Aunt Mary chuckled from her stack of pillows.
“They’re both the cutest. Two babies are twice as cute as one,” Annie defended.
The baby girl squirmed.
“Would you like to rock the cradle, Annie?” Aunt Mary asked.
“Oh yes,” she said, beaming. Gently she rocked, then remarked, “I love them and I wish we had twins just like them.”
“Papa only wants a boy,” Kate observed.
At the supper table that evening, Annie and Kate prattled on about the twins.
“Do all baby boys have pink hair?” Kate asked.
“No,” Mama replied. “Aunt Mary’s little boy has white hair. But it looks pink because his head shines through.”
“Oh,” Kate said, satisfied. Then, after a moment, “Do boys always tease? When he grows up will Aunt Mary’s boy tease like my cousin Cliff does?”
“Maybe Cliff did put a beetle in your mud pie once, but he made a water-willow whistle for you too,” Papa reminded her.
Thoughtfully she said, “I like my whistle. I think maybe we’ll have a brother too.”
Chuckling, Papa patted her head, then went out to do the chores.
Annie and Kate sat on the front steps in the gathering dusk, while sleepy birds twittered in the mulberry tree.
“Kate, shall we surprise Mama and Papa?” Annie asked.
“How?”
“Let’s ask Heavenly Father to send us twins like he did to Aunt Mary and Uncle Lew—a girl and a boy.”
“All Papa wants is a brother,” Kate said glumly. “We’ve already got a little sister.”
“But Mildred doesn’t look little anymore. Think what a big surprise it would be if we had twins.”
“Especially the boy part,” Kate giggled.
That night as they knelt by their bed, Annie prayed first. “Dear Heavenly Father,” she said, “Papa wants a boy so bad. Please bless us with a baby brother. And, also, could you send us a little sister too. We want twins just like Aunt Mary’s. Thank you for Papa, Mama, Grandma, my sisters, and my happy home. We will take good care of the twins. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen. Now, Kate, you pray.”
So, for the days, weeks, and months that followed, Annie and Kate faithfully prayed in secret for the big surprise for Papa and Mama. In Kate’s mind the deadline for the twins to arrive was Christmas. When they did not come then, she was very disappointed.
“But you got a rag doll and some cookies. That’s plenty,” Annie comforted.
“From now on, I’m only asking for a brother,” Kate said decisively. “A brother can help carry water from the barrel like Cliff does.”
“Well, I’ll still keep praying for a really big surprise,” Annie emphasized.
Springtime brought a problem. The family moved to the sawmill on Kolob Mountain, and Kate decided to put off praying for a brother until they moved back to town for the winter. “Heavenly Father would have a hard time finding our little one-room cabin and tent among the pines,” she reasoned.
But Annie said, “I’ll tell Him where we are.” And she did.
July was more than halfway gone. The hammering, hollow sound of a woodpecker in the ponderosa by the tent awoke Annie. It was barely daylight, still everyone was up and busy except her and her two sisters. She knew, from the smell of wood smoke curling from the cabin chimney, that the cracked wheat for breakfast would already be simmering. The music of the dawn was sweet contentment to her as she listened to the rush, then the hush of the wind in the pines. Mingled with the jubilant chirp of the robin and the cheeping of the wrens was the ring of Papa’s axe, chopping firewood. Through the open tent flap, she saw the bracken ferns and larkspurs waving in the breeze.
Slipping quietly out of bed, she walked out into the morning, barefoot, holding her long nightgown above the trampled meadow grass. A squirrel chattered from his perch in an oak, and wild roses fluttered delicately pink by the door. Heaven seemed to kiss the earth. Surely, this must be a special day.
“Well now, how’s my little early bird? Papa asked, approaching with his armload of wood. “I’ll bet you can’t guess what a big surprise we have for you!”
Annie’s heart leaped. “Mama has twins,” she declared.
Papa stopped with astonishment. “How in the world did you guess?”
Breathlessly she opened the door and rushed inside. There sat Grandma in front of the warm oven with a tiny baby on her lap.
“Come and see your brother, Annie,” she said.
“Oh, baby brother,” Annie cooed, “I knew you’d find us.” Then scanning the dark shadows of the cabin, she asked, “Where is our baby sister?”
“Who said there was a sister?” Papa teased.
By now Annie’s eyes were accustomed to the dimness and she spied the bunk bed. With a bound, she was at Mama’s side. There, nestled snug against her was another baby.
“Oh Mama, what a tiny, cute sister.”
Everybody looked at everyone.
Tenderly Annie said, “We prayed a long, long time for this big surprise. Kate just asked for a brother, but I kept praying for twins like Aunt Mary’s. We knew how surprised and happy you’d be.”
Amazed, Grandma shook her head, and her voice choked as she said, “The simple and perfect faith of a little child!”
Papa blinked his eyes, the same as he did when Uncle Lew’s son was born. Only this time he couldn’t blink fast enough to keep the tears from falling. “It’s a miracle,” he said softly.
Annie slid into the empty chair next to Grandma. “May I hold him please?”
Gently Grandma laid the tiny bundle in her arms. Papa picked up the baby from the bed and put her in Annie’s arms too. Softly Annie cooed as she rubbed her cheek against each little silken head. With a face as radiant as that of an angel, she whispered, “Oh you sweet, sweet little double blessing.”
And that’s how I happened to be a twin, for I was that baby girl.

It’s Sunday, time for sacrament meeting, but nobody at your house wants to go except you. What do you do? If you’re Ricardo Navas Ruiz of Los Jardines Ward, Trujillo Peru Primavera Stake, you put on your shirt and tie and walk to church on your own. In fact, you get there a little bit early so you can help the bishop get ready for the meetings.
“I’m very happy to be a deacon here in Trujillo,” says Ricardo. “To hold the priesthood really means a lot to me.”
Ricardo, who is now one of only three deacons in his ward, faithfully walked to church every week by himself for three years. Most of his family were members of the Church when Ricardo was two years old, but by the time he was around seven, they were no longer interested in attending. That didn’t change Ricardo’s desire to go to church.
“I wanted to prepare to be baptized. I wanted to feel the Spirit and leave everything else behind,” he says. “My greatest desire is to be a missionary, which is one of the reasons I keep coming to church.”
No longer does Ricardo walk to church alone. Now every Sunday he puts on his shirt and tie, takes his grandmother by the hand, and they walk together. Who knows? In time, Ricardo will probably be leading others to church with him.

Suddenly it dawned on me. What about a mission. Oh sure, I always told my friends and family that I would go. I even told my employer I was planning on a mission. But all of that seemed unimportant now. All I could see was personal satisfaction, and I didn’t care what kind of spiritual development I’d surely miss. The voice of the prophet still echoed in my mind, “Every young man is to fulfill a mission.” But the thought always came back, “In two years’ time, look how far you could be as a paramedic.”
I didn’t know what to do! I knew deep down in my heart that a mission was the right thing, but I was so terribly blinded by worldly greed. The decision to go or not to go was constantly on my mind. I thought about it from the time I got up until the time I went to bed at night. Because we worked 24-hour shifts, I had lots of time to think.
One night right after I had gone to bed, I was awakened by the ring of the telephone. The highway patrol was calling for an ambulance to respond to a car-truck accident on the freeway, and soon I was at the scene of a two-car accident. A small car had run into the back of a semitrailer loaded with wooden fence posts. The badly mangled car had two occupants—a young couple that had recently been married. The husband, who was driving, had been killed instantly. His wife was critically injured. We worked desperately to save the slowly fading life of that beautiful nineteen-year-old woman. I thought to myself, How could something so terrible happen to this fine couple and totally destroy their future plans and happiness?
We rushed her to the hospital, where a team of highly trained doctors and nurses were waiting. Soon a helicopter arrived to transport her to a hospital in Salt Lake City, where she could receive special treatment for a severe head injury.
After I calmed down from the shock of such a terrible accident, I remembered talking to the highway patrolman who would be responsible for notifying the next of kin. I’ll never forget the solemn look on his face, and the glaze of tears in his eyes as he drove away. I thought to myself, What a horrible assignment! What if they were my parents being notified? Then another thought came to my mind: What will be the look on my face when I give an accounting to the Savior of the time I spent here in mortality?
The night air was chilled with a late frost. As I gazed up into the night, I noticed how clear and calm the sky looked. Tears ran freely down my cheeks, and I found myself pleading with the Lord for that young woman’s life. At that moment, when my heart actually seemed to swell painfully with love and compassion, I finally began to understand. Doctors and nurses and paramedics were wonderful, but they could only treat the body. They couldn’t heal the deeper wounds, the ones that would keep us from going home to our Father. Only one Physician could do that, and I was denying myself the chance to be his helper. I made a decision. I would do all I could to further the work of the Master Healer. I would serve a mission!

One day Sam accidentally hopped on his grandmother’s toe. He accidentally ate a plate of fresh cookies that his mother had baked for dinner. Then he accidentally cut pictures out of his father’s evening paper. The family was very upset with him.
“I can’t read a story to you today,” his grandmother said, waggling her sore toe in a basin of warm water. “My toe hurts too much.”
“There will be no dessert for dinner tonight,” his mother announced at dinner. “Sam ate it all up.”
After dinner, when his father sat down to read the evening paper and found only holes, he said, “Sam, go to your room and try very hard to find a way to keep from upsetting people.”
Sam climbed the stairs, saying to himself, “Grandmother doesn’t like me, Mother doesn’t like me, and Father doesn’t like me either, because I upset them. I have to make them like me again.”
Sam straddled a chair in his room and said to his electric train, “I could buy Grandmother a pair of wooden shoes, and then if I accidentally hopped on her toes, she wouldn’t be upset.”
He jumped up and down on his bed and said to his football, “I could buy Mother a bakery shop, and then she wouldn’t be upset if I accidentally ate some cookies.”
He stood on his head and said to the ceiling, “I could buy Father a newsstand. Then if I accidentally cut out pictures in a newspaper, he wouldn’t be upset.”
But when he shook his bank, which was shaped like a fat toad, and only seven pennies fell out, he knew he didn’t have quite enough money. So he said to himself, “I guess I’ll just have to sit in a chair and be still so I don’t upset anyone. Then they’ll like me.”
Sam went back downstairs. He didn’t slide down the banister. He sat quietly in the soft chair and folded his hands.
His grandmother looked at him over her sore toe. “You’re very quiet, Sam. Does your toe hurt too?”
“No, thank you,” Sam said.
His mother came in from the kitchen and looked at him. “Do you have a stomachache from eating too many cookies?” she asked.
“No, thank you,” Sam said.
His father looked through a hole in his newspaper. “Would you like to walk to the drugstore for an ice cream cone?”
“No, thank you,” Sam said.
For the next hour Sam sat in the chair while the family kept watching him. After a while Grandmother said, “My toe feels better now. Sam, would you like me to read a story?”
“No, thank you,” Sam answered.
His mother felt his forehead. “Are you sick, Sam?”
“No, thank you,” Sam said.
“Would you like to watch television?” his father asked.
“No, thank you,” Sam replied.
Sam hoped the family would see how good he was and begin to like him again, because he didn’t know how much longer he could keep his feet from running.
Grandmother walked around the room exercising her toe and looking at him. His mother watched him over the blue sock she was mending, and his father kept staring at him through the holes in the newspaper.
Finally his mother jumped up from her chair.
“I’m so upset,” she said, “I’m going to call the doctor. I just know that Sam is sick.”
“I’m not sick!” Sam protested.
“But you aren’t running and playing and getting into mischief,” she said in a worried voice.
Sam’s eyes widened. “Do you like me if I get into mischief and upset all of you?”
“Oh, yes,” they all said. “We love you no matter what you do.”
“Yippee!” Sam shouted, as he jumped down from the chair. He raced around the room. His father and mother smiled happily because they were so glad that he wasn’t sick. And Grandmother kept smiling even when he accidentally hopped on her toe.

Years ago, while serving my mission, my companion and I had just finished a teaching visit. As we walked away, trying to get to our next appointment, he turned to me and asked a profound question. He was reflecting on Nephi’s encounter with the Spirit of the Lord in 1 Nephi 14:10, where Nephi learns about the two churches: the church of the Lamb of God and the church of the devil. My companion asked, “Why is the other church referred to as the church of the devil?”
His question really made me think. After several attempts to answer his question, he responded to his question by saying: “Because they do not perform saving ordinances.”
His response stirred something within me, prompting me to deeply ponder the importance of the true Church being restored in these latter days. I reflected on the significance of the Restoration of the gospel and the Church of Jesus Christ through the Prophet Joseph Smith. This Restoration brought back not just the fullness of the gospel but also the authority to perform saving ordinances.
I testify of the Lord’s own words, recorded in section 1 of the Doctrine and Covenants, that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is “the only true and living church upon the face of the whole earth” (verse 30). I know it is the Church of the Lamb of God. I know the Book of Mormon is the word of God, and it has drawn me closer to my Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ. I feel Their love in my life, and I know that They desire for me, and for all of us, to return to live with Them after this life.
I am deeply grateful for the knowledge that we belong to the Church of the Lamb of God, and I bear testimony that this is the Lord’s true Church on the earth today.

Recently a missionary was injured during a preparation-day sports activity and was sent home to recover. He had high goals for getting the physical help he needed and then returning to his mission. However, too much unstructured time alone soon led to a relapse of old habits.

He indulged in sin that he thought he had repented of and left behind him before his mission. He was discouraged and upset about his lack of self-control. The more depressed he became, the more he sought escape in those bad habits. It was a downward cycle that was getting him nowhere fast.

“I feel like I’ve let Heavenly Father down,” the young man told his priesthood leader. “I repented of this before, and God forgave me. I promised never to do it again, and yet here I am as if I had never repented in the first place. I don’t deserve God’s forgiveness or help. Not now. Not ever.”

His priesthood leader said, “Then aren’t you glad to know grace is a gift? You don’t have to earn or deserve it. You simply need to choose to receive it by being willing to keep trying and not give up.”8 The leader then shared these words of Elder Neil L. Andersen of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles: “We may slip back at times, but let us quickly and humbly return to our knees and move again in the right direction.”9

Once more, the young man turned toward heaven, and the Savior was there to help. Not only did the young man’s injury heal, but so did his heart. One small goal at a time, and with the grace made possible by Jesus Christ, he began to improve. Soon he returned to his mission full of gratitude, self-worth, a sense of meaning, satisfaction with life, and optimism. That is the difference Christ’s grace can make.

On my first visit to the fabled village of Sauniatu in Samoa, so loved by President McKay, my wife and I met with a large gathering of small children. At the end of our messages to these shy, beautiful youngsters, I suggested to the native Samoan teacher that we go ahead with the closing exercises. As he announced the final hymn, I suddenly felt compelled to greet personally each of the 247 children. But the time was too short for such a privilege, so I ignored the impression. Before the benediction, however, I again felt this strong impression to shake the hand of each child. I told the teacher that I wanted to shake the hand of each child. He displayed a broad Samoan smile before relaying my intentions in Samoan to the children. They all beamed when they heard his translation.
The teacher then told me the special reason for their joy. He said, “When we learned that President McKay had assigned a member of the Quorum of the Twelve to visit us in faraway Samoa, I told the children that if each one would earnestly and sincerely pray and exert faith like in the Bible accounts of old, the Apostle would visit our tiny village at Sauniatu, and through their faith, he would be impressed to greet each child with a personal handclasp.” Tears flowed as each of those precious boys and girls walked by and whispered softly to us a sweet talofa lava (hello). The gift of faith had been evidenced.

As my 12th birthday approached, I attended a Priesthood Preview for the boys in the ward preparing to receive the Aaronic Priesthood. The only things I remember about the experience are getting a brand new white shirt and a talk about hands, given by my dad. He spoke of the importance of the priesthood holder’s hands and how you must keep your hands clean and use them appropriately to be worthy to use the priesthood of God.
That talk left an impression on me. I don’t think I realized this until some years later, but from that point on, I was very aware of my dad’s hands.
My dad’s hands always seemed to be involved in doing much good.
I noticed his hands as we did different landscaping projects, built a shed, helped move furniture, and did other projects together. His hands were tough farmer hands. Bulky, calloused, worn from farm days of his youth and years of service and work, his hands were well used and yet able to endure any labor they were called to perform.
For my own hands, this was not the case. I viewed the strength and toughness of his hands with awe and thought: “Wow. I wish I had hands like those.” I hoped that one day, maybe, I would.
When I was about to receive my mission call, I had an experience with my dad that really impressed upon my heart and mind the importance of worthy hands.
I had the opportunity to accompany my dad to the house of a man we home-taught. This good brother had asked for a blessing. I was not yet a Melchizedek Priesthood holder, so I watched and listened as my dad placed his hands upon the brother’s head and spoke the words that the Spirit put into his mouth. I felt the Spirit strongly during the blessing.
Afterwards my thoughts lingered on my dad’s hands. Those rough, tough farmer hands had been kept clean by their owner. Because of that, they were able to be an instrument in the Lord’s hands to bestow the blessings and power of heaven upon one of many whom my dad cared for. I viewed the sacred power of those hands with awe and thought: “Wow. I want to have hands like those.” I knew that soon I could, but I would need to keep them clean throughout my life to do any good.
My dad has always used his hands for good. He has kept them ever worthy to hold the priesthood of God.
We need to consider how we are using our hands. Are we keeping them clean? Are we remaining worthy of the blessings that come from honoring the holy priesthood?
If we strive to have a pure heart and clean hands, we will have great joy in life through the priesthood, and we will be ready and happy at the judgment bar of Christ (see Alma 5:19; D&C 88:86).
I’m grateful for my dad for setting an example and showing me the right way.

Ketchikan, Alaska, is one of the larger towns in Alaska, but it would be a rather small town in most other states. The houses seem to hug the ocean shoreline along the bottom of the mountains. Virtually every street is uphill or downhill. Even though it is in Alaska, Ketchikan doesn’t get much snow in the winter, but it rains—a lot. If you live where you can see the water, then you can relax while you watch whales passing by. And, in the mornings, you have to be a little bit careful when you step outdoors. You might happen across an unhappy moose or a bear rummaging through your trash.
Ketchikan has one ward. The Church members meet in their unique all-wood building on Sundays, and, because the chapel is just a block or so from the high school, it is also one of the favorite spots for Latter-day Saint teens. It’s where they head every morning for seminary, once a week for Mutual and sports, maybe on Saturdays for service projects, and helping out with other ward activities.
And it is where they have learned the meaning of fasting.
Last year, just before school started, the priests of the Ketchikan Ward were having a lesson on fasting. They started discussing how much easier it was for them to fast with a purpose instead of feeling like they were just starving. Russell Youngberg said, “We realized that school was about to start and a fast Sunday was coming up, so we sort of put the two together. The entire ward youth would fast for each other to be able to resist temptations and have a good school year.”
Forrest Allred remembers how they came up with the idea. “We were talking about how to make the youth stronger and more righteous. We were confident that fasting would work.”
The bishop also thought it was a great idea. He invited the Young Women to join in. Amanda Youngberg said, “The bishopric came into the Young Women classes and asked if we wanted to participate in the fast. We all did it together.”
They planned for the first weekend of September. They started their fast individually on Saturday afternoon. For some, having a distinct reason helped. Kaitlyn Skinner said, “Our parents could join us in our fast, but since the youth were fasting together, it was easier for me.”
For others, fasting was not easy because of where they were. Russell Johnston was playing a football game in Anchorage. “For me it was kind of awkward. We got done with our game, and I started fasting. Since we were out of town, I had to go to restaurants with my buddies and watch them eat …”
He pauses and takes a breath, “… and listen to them hassle me about fasting. On the plane home, I was still fasting. They kept asking me, ‘Why do you have all those rules?’ ‘You can do what you want.’ ‘Why are you doing this?’ Sometimes it’s hard to explain why, but most of the time I knew what to say to them. In the end, my friends were saying to those who were harassing me, ‘Be quiet, at least he follows his religion.’ They stood up for me in the end.”
The next day, fast Sunday, all the youth met after fast and testimony meeting in the seminary room. Adam Fitzgerald, one of the priests who talked about the original idea, described what happened. “I remember feeling the Spirit really strong. We all knelt, which was hard to do because the room was very full. The bishop gave the prayer for us. I remember him talking about us having a good year and that we would become bonded to one another and resist temptations throughout the year and continue our growth and development. Personally, as he was saying those things, I knew that it was going to be that way.”
Learning the purpose of fasting starts with understanding its power. Perla Busch started fasting when she was about 10. She said, “My friends were asking me why I was doing this. I told them I feel like I needed to. I’m always having to explain why I choose to do something different.”
A relatively new member of the ward, Malia Dyakanoff, says, “Fasting is still hard for me, but when I have a reason to fast, then it’s easier.”
Sarah Fitzgerald, who has just entered Beehives, said, “The first time I ever tried fasting was a couple of days after my baptism. It’s not easy, but it’s worth it.”
Sarah’s brother Adam explains what he has learned about the reasons to fast. “I think it helps you to focus more. It helps you become humble, and it’s a symbol of how devoted you are to what you’re doing. You know that Heavenly Father recognizes you and blesses you in your pursuits.”
Ryan Gray was on the student council at Ketchikan High School and noticed that the LDS students were more connected after their fast. “In this school, we’re small in number. We all have our own friends, but we’re all friends at the ward. We’ve got strength. Fasting for each other was a good way to start the year.”
Being in a small town, there aren’t a lot of things for young people to do. The LDS teens are blessed because they have Mutual, firesides, family home evenings, temple trips, and in the summer there are youth conferences and camps.
Perla says, “Teens who aren’t members get into smoking, drugs, and alcohol. They don’t have much else to do. But we find things to do.”
Even traveling to stake events is something to look forward to. Jenny Youngberg asks, “Do you know what we have to do to get to stake events like youth conference and girls’ camp?”
Since the only way in or out of Ketchikan is by plane or boat, Cortney Kiffer is quick to explain, “We have to take the ferry to Juneau. We get to spend all day and night with our friends and ward leaders on the ferry. It’s the best. When we travel for sports in high school, then we see kids we met at youth conference. It’s really fun to see them.”
Jenny adds, “Having to travel is not a bad thing. It’s awesome. We know the kids in the stake as well as we know kids in our own ward.”
This unity, these friendships, these positive choices are the very things the teens were fasting for.
Russell says, “I think our fast made a difference, at least it has to me. It seems whenever any member sees another member at school, we stop and talk on the way to class. It feels like there is a stronger bond in the youth group. As for the fast, my stomach did the same stuff as always when I fast, but we all had a purpose for fasting, and that made it a lot different.”
Fasting and prayer can help develop within us courage and confidence. It can strengthen our character and build self-restraint and discipline. Often when we fast, our righteous prayers and petitions have greater power. … Each time we fast, we gain a little more control over our worldly appetites and passions.”Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, Ensign, May 2001, 73.

I vividly remember my last night in the missionary training center. Six of us were leaving the next morning for Guatemala and El Salvador. Even though my experience at the MTC had gone well, that night I let fear get hold of me. “What if I don’t understand what the people are saying?” I thought. “What if I can’t say the words I need to say when the time comes to share what I feel?”
Looking up at the ceiling from my bunk bed, I received the impression that I needed to read from the Book of Mormon, specifically from Moroni 8. A little more than 14 months earlier I had joined the Church. As I had studied with the missionaries, one of the teachings that made a significant impression on me was that little children are innocent and not born in sin. I turned to Moroni 8:11, where Mormon clearly states this principle.
Reading the words that had helped me realize the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon before my baptism calmed me once again. Then I read on, and something truly inspiring happened. Mormon’s words in Moroni 8:16–17 spoke directly to me:
“Behold, I speak with boldness, having authority from God; and I fear not what man can do; for perfect love casteth out all fear. And I am filled with charity, which is everlasting love.”
The answer to my fears was simple: Love the people and your fear will go away! With that realization, my confidence was rekindled. I boarded the plane the next morning with anticipation. And when I arrived, I found that Mormon’s words had taught me a true gospel principle that night. As I began to meet people for the first time, I would say in my heart, “I love you and I care about you.” As I felt compassion for them, any feelings of fear would vanish and be replaced by charity and kindness.
That doesn’t mean that there weren’t times when I didn’t understand the language. (Once I accidentally referred to someone we were teaching as a lizard!) But people would simply laugh and help me to know what to say the next time. They also showed charity and kindness, and that made it easier for me to find the right way to share the feelings of my heart about the Savior, about the Restoration, and about the Church.
How grateful I am for the message I received by reading in the Book of Mormon that night. I found that, indeed, perfect love does cast out fear. (See also 1 John 4:18.)

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.