Gospel Story Finder

I want to share with you some of the great blessings the Book of Mormon can bring to us. The Book of Mormon can and does change lives. After our son John received his mission call to Japan, he said to me, “Dad, before I enter the Missionary Training Center, I am going to read the Book of Mormon twice.” I said to John, “That is quite a demanding goal.” I felt his resolve and made the decision to follow his example. I began reading early each morning. A few days later when I came home from work, John said to me, “I caught up with you today.” I asked, “What do you mean?” His response: “I caught up to where you are in the Book of Mormon. You left it open on your desk.” The next morning after my reading, I felt inspired to turn about 150 pages past where I was. I left my Book of Mormon open where he could not miss it and went to work. After a meeting that morning, I checked my voice mail. The very first message said, “Yeah, sure, Dad!”

Why this story? As I watched my son read from the Book of Mormon, I began to see a special change in his life as he prepared to enter the Missionary Training Center. That experience has anchored my son to the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Finally! I’m at the end of this ordeal. I can get on with life! That’s exactly how I felt early the morning of my final day in the hospital. After four days of being tested, retested, poked, prodded, and squeezed, I was more than ready to “get outta here!”
I had been admitted to the hospital after suffering a collapsed lung. It happened while playing water football with a group of guys at the Austin Texas Fourth Ward picnic.
I’d have been just fine had I not tried to save the day for my team by attempting to tackle Kevin Horrocks. There I was, by far the skinniest guy in the ward, and big Kevin was on the fast track to score with only me left to stop him. The last thing I remember is being flattened and stuffed into the mud face first. Kevin was kind enough to assist me out of the ooze, but by then the damage had been done.
I had recuperated nicely and was to the point where the rest of my recovery could be handled at home. There was only one thing left to do—remove the chest tube which had been surgically implanted between two of my ribs.
It seemed a simple enough procedure. I was, however, a little curious as to why two doctors and three nurses had gathered in my room for the occasion.
“Are your ready?” the doctor asked.
“Doc,” I told him, “this thing has been in my chest for four days. I’m ready. Pull it!”
“Arrrggghhhrrrghhhggg!” It felt like my heart was being extracted instead of the tube. For a brief flash, I felt as if my body was being turned inside out. Though the experience was brief, I thought I was going to die.
The trauma having subsided somewhat, I asked, “Doc, why didn’t you tell me what that was going to feel like?”
He chuckled. “Because if I had, there is no way you would have let me take it out.” He was right.

McFarlane Phiri first learned about the Church in 1978 and spent the next 14 years studying the scriptures and other books that were sent to him by Church headquarters in Utah. During that time, Brother Phiri taught his friends about Christ, the restored gospel, and the Book of Mormon. By the time senior missionaries, Elder Brian and Sister Betty Peedle were assigned to serve in Malawi by Zimbabwe Harare Mission President Vern Marble in July 1992, 31 others were also ready for baptism. An additional 43 people were baptized a few months later.

At Church activities I would ask myself, “Why don’t I have friends?” I felt sad and alone and went to God in prayer. I asked my Heavenly Father to send me good friends. It hasn’t been easy, but over time I’ve made many great friends. I’m not afraid to talk anymore and to get involved with groups of girls. I realize that Heavenly Father answered my prayers and that I was never alone.
Daiana I., age 16, Corrientes, Argentina

Four years ago, my husband and I were called to be over our ward trek, held in Wyoming at Martin's Cove. We have a large number of youth in our ward; when we made the reservations, the missionaries in charge of scheduling actually thought we were a stake. Even though our youth in the ward were extraordinary, our bishop realized the value of experiencing hard things for understanding and learning the gospel principles. We really wanted the youth to understand, if only minimally, a portion of the hardship that the pioneers faced.?As we planned the activities, we tried to add challenges—not to discourage but to encourage our youth to increase their faith to know they could do hard things.
We departed early from our Harvest Hills ward house at around 4:30 in the morning. We traveled 12 hours east through Western Wyoming until we landed with three buses and 120 youth at Martin's Cove.
Though wearied from travel, a meal and square dance were on the schedule. Around 7:00 p.m., the youth gathered with their assigned families and were instructed to prepare to start the trek.
There was a lot of energy and high spirits as each family loaded up their handcarts and lined up for our trek in the wilderness. By design, the youth didn't know how far our camp was when we took to the trail. There was laughter and singing of pioneer songs, but after the first hour, things started to quiet down. I'm sure the youth were all wondering at this point, "Are we there yet?" We trekked on for yet another hour. The shadows had grown past being distinguished from the light and had melted into dusk when we pulled up to an overlook of the Sweetwater River. There, a short devotional was given from 1 Nephi 17:13: "And I will also be your light in the wilderness; and I will prepare the way before you, if it so be that ye shall keep my commandments; wherefore, inasmuch as ye shall keep my commandments ye shall be led towards the promised land; and ye shall know that it is by me that ye are led."
The light from the dusk was all but gone.
After the devotional, the exhausted youth were instructed that we had yet further to go. "But the path is so dark," a youth commented. "How are we going to see to find our way?"
Then, on signal, the leaders handed each youth an industrial-strength glow stick to act as their "light in the wilderness"[9] to navigate in the dark and to help see the path as they moved forward into the unknown.
We expected there would be some grumbling and complaining, but it never surfaced. The youth seemed to understand the difficulty and sacredness of sacrifice. It was an amazing sight to see a line of yellow lights silently making their way along in the still, cool Wyoming night. One of our leaders, James Helfrich, reported,
"I was pushing the cart at night with Ben Orchard. We didn't know where the road was going, how long we had been pulling, or even what time it was. We only knew that the trail was leading us forward. Why did we follow the trail rather than go our own way? We didn't know who made the road or even where it would take us! This road was a metaphor for our travels through mortality. Rarely does the Lord give us a roadmap. He gives us instead a glimpse of just a few feet ahead and faithful Saints to follow. If we trudge on with all our strength, if we follow our leaders and try to be an example to those behind us, we will reach the end."
The youth walked an additional two hours in the dark until they came to our campsite. One of the most difficult unsung tasks was completed by the four couples who had gone ahead and set up the tents—in the dark, in a windstorm, with 20-plus variations of tents, and they still prepared scones for when the youth arrived. Both the leaders and the youth did hard things. Although exhausted, the first leg of their journey in the wilderness was completed. It wasn't cut short for any reason, and it was endured well. The youth had accepted the challenge and accomplished this hard thing.

I was born Christian and did prayers and attended church every week. However, I could not imagine the love of God and Jesus’s great sacrifice until I came across one incident. This was on January 11, 2006, when I was 22 years old. All our families were gathering to commemorate the first death anniversary of my grandfather. So I was busy arranging things necessary for the families who would be attending the event. I had no sleep for almost three days. Still, I was assigned to bring the priest from another town to solemnize the event with a gospel message and prayer. Despite my tiredness, I had agreed to bring him.
In the snowy cold winter season, I got ready after showering early in the morning. I started driving but felt drowsy. I saw one town at a distance and thought that I could make it there and have tea. However, my eyes were so heavy that unconsciously I closed my eyes. Within a fraction of seconds, my high-speed car hit a tree beside the road. My snoozy eyes could see the car colliding with the tree. After a few minutes, I opened my eyes and found that I had had a major accident. I immediately stopped the running, smoky car engine. I found that the front glass was smashed and had fallen into pieces on me. But not even a single fragment of it pierced my body. I was thankful to God for that. Later, I discovered blood flowing from my mouth. I cupped my hands to get it and threw it out the window. But I realized it was not going to stop so I kept a big cloth in my mouth to overcome the blood loss. My legs were stuck underneath. While I was trying to get them free, my right leg got dislocated at femur (thigh bone) joint. So, I could not move. As it had happened early in the morning, and I could hardly find people to help. After a little while, I found someone and asked for help, but he was scared and ran away. Later, two people came and helped me get out of the car.
The car was totally crushed at the front side. It became completely useless. Eventually, people started surrounding me. Everyone was amazed at what had happened and wondering that I was still alive! I took someone’s mobile as mine was lost during mishap and phoned my father to explain the situation and urged him to take me to the hospital. My father was very much grieved when he saw me lying on the road. However, so great was God’s comfort upon me that I was able to recover very fast and started walking again in just one-and-a-half months.
That day, I was reminded of God’s gentle love when I heard the words from Psalms 119:50:
“This is my comfort in my affliction: for thy word hath quickened me.”
He truly protected me. Whenever I recall that situation, I would try to speculate how Heavenly Father must have been suffering while His beloved Son was crucified on the cross! How great was the pain Jesus bore for all of us to prepare a path so that we could all return back to our heavenly home! My heart is overwhelmed with gratitude for Him and Heavenly Father and Their unconditional love. My soul rejoices whenever I think of the truth that JESUS IS RISEN and that His divine role is successfully accomplished.

On the scheduled, frosty Saturday morning, 16 carloads of LDS youths from the Brigham Young University 36th Branch met at 8:00 A.M. dressed in uniforms of bib overalls and work gloves. Their project?—six homes of senior citizens in surrounding towns that had yard cleanup and painting jobs to be done.

“We are hoeing, daily hoeing” and “Put your shoulder to the wheel, push along,” rang through the air as the service project got underway.

Window frames took on a new coat of paint, garden plots were cleared for spring planting, and apples and walnuts were gathered from trees while the homeowners smiled and offered encouragement and thanks.

A quarter-acre field of tall weeds looked a little awesome to another group, but three hours later, when bare soil could be seen, one proud worker pointed to the pile of weeds and exclaimed, “Isn’t it lovely? Our own personal haystack.”

One widow invited her young workers in for hot chocolate, popcorn, and homemade rolls when they finished their job. “This is what I miss,” she said. “We had a family of seven children.”

“This type of activity really unites us in the true spirit of helping each other,” commented a worker. “Working side by side with people helps you to get to know them a lot better than you could through a social activity.”

When the jobs were completed, the dusty work crews went picnicking in the canyon.

“These priesthood activities act as lab periods to teach individuals what they ought to do on their own,” explained the head of the planning committee. “They are even more meaningful when the participants go home and, on their own, quietly help their neighbors.”

At a young age, I had many responsibilities on our farm. When I was nine years old, one of my summer jobs was to keep a herd of 12 cows and 12 calves in the pasture. Unfortunately, they loved to push over our fence and gorge on the sweet alfalfa in an adjoining field. On one of their escapes, they got into an empty canal some four to five meters deep. I knew the canal would soon fill with water, drowning the trapped cattle.

I couldn’t move 24 cattle up the canal’s steep banks, and I didn’t know how else to save them, so I knelt and prayed for help. I was impressed to drive the cattle down the canal to another man’s property. I questioned the wisdom of this, because I didn’t know the property or its owner and I didn’t want to get stuck between even steeper banks. I obeyed the Spirit, however, and soon found a section of the canal where the cattle could climb out easily. And our neighbor didn’t mind. When I told my mother, she said I had been inspired by Heavenly Father.

During my last year of college, I was definitely burned-out. School was fulfilling, but pushing myself took a toll. It was difficult to participate in meaningful activities outside of classes, and I felt empty and unmotivated to do anything that didn’t involve being graded.
It became hard to focus on the gospel. After studying all day, pulling my scriptures out felt like a chore. I found myself dragging my feet to church, and I could tell I was growing distant from Heavenly Father, though I didn’t want to.
Something had to change. But I felt like I couldn’t ask Heavenly Father for help, because I wasn’t doing enough to be worthy of it. However, I had a subtle prompting to focus on the temple, a confirmation of President Russell M. Nelson’s (1924–2025) promise that “regular worship in the house of the Lord increases our capacity for both virtue and charity.”
Virtue means power (see Mark 5:30; Luke 8:46). And I desperately needed God’s power in my life.
Walking the grounds, sitting in the foyer, and doing proxy work became essential to feeling close to Heavenly Father again. While there, I would envision my relationship with Heavenly Father as tangible and real. And this made a lasting difference.
To have a relationship with someone, you have to make time for them. Temples are the most sacred spaces on earth. Free from distractions and worldly stresses, I could focus entirely on Heavenly Father and His eternal plan for His children.
The Savior taught: “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid” (John 14:27).
Nowhere is that peace stronger than in the temple. The temple was my harbor during that stormy semester. The divine calm there made a monumental difference in my outlook, and my connection with God started growing again.
A relationship also involves communication. I hadn’t been speaking or listening to Heavenly Father as much as I used to, but the temple helped me start again.
President Henry B. Eyring, First Counselor in the First Presidency, taught that in the temple “revelation comes to us easily if our hearts are open to it and we are worthy of it.” Spending more time there helped me open my heart. I found forgiveness as I repented and mercy lighting my soul as I reached out to my Father in Heaven.
By rekindling the revelation process, I found answers to questions. Paths that seemed murky became lighter, and I knew that Heavenly Father would support me as I kept moving forward.
A covenant relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ is the most powerful bond we can experience. When I received my own endowment, I felt hope that it would bring essential blessings into my life. Participating in those ordinances for my ancestors brought that feeling back during the busy semester. I felt comforted knowing I had Heavenly Father’s power with me as I lived my covenants.
Young Women General President Emily Belle Freeman explained that it’s not the covenant path itself that brings these blessings but our companion along the path. “And this is the why of covenant relationship.” Our covenants connect us to Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father.
Though I felt undeserving of Heavenly Father’s love because of my struggles, He didn’t want me to feel that way. As I remembered my covenants, Heavenly Father was there for me. His divine intervention wasn’t just for after my burnout—He was there to help me through it.
No matter how small my efforts in worshipping in the temple were, Heavenly Father was infinitely gracious, giving me more than I could ever pay back. He gently encouraged me to live up to my covenantal promises, and I kept pushing forward to regain my motivation.
I still struggle to do these things perfectly, but I’m hopeful instead of despondent. I know that Heavenly Father can take my faltering efforts and make miracles. Because of Jesus Christ, I can always repent and ask for forgiveness. I can keep striving to strengthen my bond with Heavenly Father each day.
Worshipping in the temple, living worthy of a temple recommend, and keeping your covenants can strengthen and fortify your relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. These relationships will bring you peace and joy, no matter what your circumstances may be.

I’m eternally thankful for those who ministered and shared the restored gospel in a natural way to my wife when she was fourteen years of age. She accepted the invitation to follow Christ and was baptized in Málaga, Spain.
Having been ministered by her friends, who helped in her youth to draw closer to Christ, she learnt that ministering to others is part of our own process of repentance. It is how we turn our hearts to God and his Children. Some years after her baptism she travelled all alone to the Switzerland Temple to minister those on the other side of the veil. We then met each other in Zollikofen and this is also where we got sealed for time and eternity.

For primary school students at three schools in the Momi Bay area of Fiji, Thursday, May 1, is a day many will remember.
Despite being a school holiday that day, many students attended school to witness the handing over of education and recreation supplies and equipment that brought new life to their educational journeys.
The school equipment, supplies, stationery, and sports balls were gifts from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Children and teachers from Tau Primary School, Ratu Nemani Primary School, and Savusavu Primary School were delighted with the new equipment and supplies, which included desktop computers, laptops, smart TVs, stationery, classroom supplies, educational charts and aids, and sports equipment.
Elder and Sister Johnson, who are serving as self-reliance missionaries in the Lautoka Fiji Stake, said they hope to help the primary school students gain a new educational experience with the items that were presented as part of the Church’s humanitarian efforts in education.
“We know the children will enjoy the gifts because they will help them educationally, socially, physically, mentally, and spiritually,” they said.
The students’ obvious joy in receiving the gifts was evident as they performed and danced to two songs to show their gratitude to the Latter-day Saints who delivered the equipment and supplies.
Hemant Kumar, principal of Tau Primary School, which has 150 children, expressed a deep appreciation for the equipment and supplies.
Vika Ratu, a mother present at the handing over ceremony at Tau school, was emotional and thankful for the personal packages handed out to each student. She said, “Such a gesture is very big and hit my heart, especially where some do not have much. The gifts are a great blessing that I will always remember.”
One Latter-day Saint from Tahiti who helped with the delivery, Temoe Tuahu, said, “I truly felt the love to each other and with each other and with the primary children. It brought home the scripture [to] love your neighbours” (see Matthew 22:39).
“I was so proud to be a part of this and excited for the primary children who will use the items to help them educationally,” said Jasmin Wakolo, a recently returned missionary of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints , who grew up in Fiji, and one of the young adults who helped hand over the school equipment.
She said she hopes the primary children who received the stationery today will cherish them and feel the love of Heavenly Father and the Saviour, as she did.

Twenty young women stood next to me, staring at a wooden, 16-foot wall. Our challenge was to help every girl get over the top. For many of the girls, this was their first year at Young Women camp. The older girls and I were youth leaders, but we had never participated in an activity like this. We all listened to the rules with anticipation.

Each young woman had to make it over the wall. Once someone made it, she could stand on a platform and help pull others up. However, if she touched the ground, she was no longer allowed to help lift the remaining girls.

We struggled at first, but soon we managed to work together and start lifting girls over. Some were afraid to be lifted so high despite the safety protections. Others were nervous using their own strength to reach the top. It required us all to increase our trust and support for each other. In the end, we successfully finished the challenge.

As the final young women climbed down, we gathered to discuss the many lessons from the wall activity.
We all face things that seem impossible to overcome. However, we are not alone. People are all around us to help lift and provide support. Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ are there to give help and strength when we turn to Them.
Megan B., Ohio, USA

Considering the horrific event that took place in Littleton, Colorado, in April of this year, you may wonder why we are writing about a shooting that took place in an Oregon high school in May of 1998. We had just finished this story and scheduled it for publication when the tragedy took place at Columbine High School. We knew then that this story needs to be told more than ever. This story is not about violence; it’s about the comfort and perspective the gospel offers. Here are thoughts and experiences shared by those who know both the pain and the healing firsthand.The Editors
It’s been just over a year since a tragic shooting occurred at Thurston High School in Springfield, Oregon. Two students were killed and 23 others wounded when a fellow student opened fire in the crowded school cafeteria.
Some 60 seminary students were in school at Thurston on the day of the tragedy—one of whom helped to stop the shooter. Of course, the seminary students wish the tragedy had never happened. But they also say they’ve learned priceless lessons they’ll never forget.
Although they’ve been reluctant to talk with the media about the shooting, the students were eager to share their testimonies with the youth of the Church through the pages of the New Era.
More than anything, the students talk about how they’ve come to know just how much they love—and are loved by—their families. Just after the shooting, students were instructed to go to enclosed rooms of the school until the situation was secured. In that long period of waiting, teens with brothers or sisters at Thurston found themselves consumed with thoughts of their siblings.
“When I thought that the last thing I said to my little brother was, ‘Don’t be late to class today’ instead of ‘I love you’ … You never understand how important someone is to you until you think they are gone,” says Lacy Stockwell, 18. Lacy had spoken to her freshman brother, Taylor, in the cafeteria just seconds before the shooting erupted. As she ran from the cafeteria, she’d been unable to find him.
Like Lacy, Melissa Piepgrass was also terribly concerned for her brother. “We were taken into the gym, and all of a sudden I was really scared about my older brother, because I know he goes into the cafeteria a lot. I was crying and praying for him.”
After what seemed like an eternity, the students were released. All around the school, emotional reunions took place as students found their siblings and their parents who had gathered outside. Melissa found her brother in a park across the street. “I ran over and gave him a big hug.” Her voice trembles as she says, “That’s the first time I ever really felt how much my older brother loves me.”
Of her reaction at finding her brother safe, Lacy says, “It was incredible when I saw him. We yelled each other’s names and ran down the hall to each other and hugged. I can’t express the emotions I felt.”
Kawika Lawther, 17, describes the reunion that took place between worried parents and their children. “When they let us out into the parking lot, I looked around and saw people hugging their parents. When I saw my dad I ran to him and gave him a big hug. The men in my family don’t really show their emotions, but when he hugged me my dad started to cry. I really felt how much he loves me.”
Adam Buchanan, 15, remembers a similar experience. “I didn’t realize the extent of what had happened until I saw my mom and dad in the parking lot. They were praying for me.
“That really stands out in my mind because it’s one of the very few times I’ve seen my dad cry. It’s meant so much to me that he loved me so much and that they were so worried about me.”
Perhaps Lacy speaks for all the students when she says, “I’m so grateful for an eternal family, because now I realize they are so essential to my life!”
The seminary students say they’ve also felt the love of their Heavenly Father. After 15-year-old Chad Durfee ran from the cafeteria to his classroom, he became even more frightened when he learned that his father, who teaches at Thurston, was in the cafeteria. “I realized then that I wanted to talk to my Heavenly Father. I dropped to my knees in front of everybody and prayed. I was so comforted and I felt the Spirit so much even after what had just happened.
“I probably prayed about 500 times that day. It totally strengthened my testimony of prayer,” says Chad. “Every time I’ve had a problem from that time on, the first thing that comes to my mind is talking to my Heavenly Father. It makes me feel so good to know He lives and loves us and wants us to be happy.”
Like Chad, many students talk about the comforting influence of the Spirit in their lives. Fourteen-year-old Kirk Blair was at his junior high school when he heard about the shooting at Thurston, where his sister, Katie, is a student. “We were worried for her, but I knew through the Spirit that she was okay.”
The Holy Ghost helped Tiffany Austin, 16, regain her sense of security. Several days after the shooting, “I was sitting in the pew at youth conference and felt the Spirit come over me. Then I knew that Heavenly Father wasn’t going to leave me alone no matter what happened. I finally got my security back.”
The example of the Savior and the power of His Atonement have helped students forgive and become whole again after such a trying experience.
“I was so mad that someone could do something like this, and I couldn’t make it go away,” says Alisha Stott, 16. “Forgiving is really hard, but I’m working on it. Being around others going through the same process and watching them forgive makes me feel that I can also. And remembering that Jesus Christ forgives our sins. He forgave people who wronged him, so I should be able to forgive also.”
“No matter what we go through, Jesus Christ knows how to heal us,” says Corwin Lewis, 17. “He can do that because of the Atonement.”
Many students gained stronger testimonies of the power of the priesthood. “The day they let us go back to school, I was afraid to go, so my uncle gave me a blessing,” says Jena Johnson, 16. “It gave me a sense of peace that I knew we were going to get through this. Then I had the confidence to face my fear.”
Adam tells how he felt as he watched his father administer a priesthood blessing. “My dad and I are the Rogerses’ home teachers, so Brother Rogers asked my dad to help him give his daughters a blessing.
“The Spirit was so strong. It was a really humbling experience. I was thinking, I’m going to be 19 in a few years. Will I be ready for the Melchizedek Priesthood? It’s such an awesome responsibility, but I think having it would be the best thing in the world.”
The seminary students also talk about their deepened appreciation for each other, for their ward families, for the scriptures, and for the gospel.
Fortunately, most of us will never experience the kind of tragedy the youth in Springfield have. But from their experience we can learn what matters most in life, and know that a loving Father in Heaven can bless us no matter what the trial.
“I had always taken things for granted before,” says Chad. “I went to church but didn’t really think about it. But now I’ve started to get very spiritual. I love the Church, every aspect about it. Sometimes at night I look up at the stars and think how wonderful it is to know our Father in Heaven lives.”
Melissa remembers, “On the night of the tragedy, I saw the most beautiful sunset I had ever seen. I just knew that Heavenly Father was showing his love for us, telling us that everything would be okay.”
After the tragedy in Littleton, Colorado, the Springfield seminary students wanted to do something to help. They wrote letters to the seminary students in Littleton, sharing their testimonies and messages of hope and encouragement.
The Springfield youth weren’t the only seminary students to give their support to Littleton. Letters, e-mail messages, and posters have poured in to the Columbine High School seminary from seminaries and Church members all over the world.
“It’s helped the kids to see that there are people all over the world who care about them,” says Rob Hildebrandt, seminary teacher at Columbine. “It has really hit them that in this Church we are truly a worldwide family.
“With every new poster, the first thing the kids want to know is where it’s from. When I tell them, they say ‘Wow! They know about us there?’ They’re overwhelmed at the people who love them whom they don’t even know.”
Brother Hildebrandt says the students have also felt the many prayers of support that have been offered for them.

When I was young, my mother taught me how to pray, and I would attend church with her every Sunday. My sister and brother were members of the choir at the local parish church in Hertfordshire, England, and it seemed natural to follow their example and attend.
Because I was only eight years old, I wasn’t required to attend communion service early on Sunday mornings. I would sleep in but eventually would get up and cycle to the main morning service.
In the middle of the winter of 1952, with a foot of fresh snow on the ground outside and frost on the inside of my bedroom windows, I snuggled down in bed, determined not to go to church that Sunday.
My mother called for me to get up, but I pretended to be asleep. Then I could hear her footsteps as she started to climb the stairs. I called out, “It’s all right. I’m getting up.”
But then I said under my breath, “What’s the point? There is no such person named Jesus Christ anyway.” Immediately a voice came into my head and said to me, “There is, and you will serve me one day.” The voice seemed so natural, as if a friend were talking to me. The years went by, however, and I forgot about the experience.
I grew up, joined the Royal Navy, and after nine years began working for a fire-protection company. One evening after work, I heard a knock at the door. When I opened it, two sister missionaries introduced themselves. I was tired, dirty, and hungry, so I suggested that they come back later in the evening or some other time.
To my surprise they returned an hour later. I invited them in. As soon as they started talking, I knew there was something special about their message. My home felt different, and I knew it emanated from these two sisters.
They gave me the first discussion that night and the second discussion the following night. Two elders then came every night until I had received all the discussions. I began reading the Book of Mormon and praying. Getting down on my knees to pray for the first time in 20 years was the most spiritual experience I had had in my life.
I made the commitment to be baptized a week after finishing the discussions. After my baptism, Elder Ross and Elder Fullerger laid their hands on my head to give me the gift of the Holy Ghost. As soon as their hands touched my head, my experience with the Spirit 20 years before came back to me. Something precious that had been preserved within me—but had been suppressed by all the mistakes I had made in life—was spiritually reunited with my memory. I was overwhelmed to think that I meant so much to the Savior that He had not forgotten me.
I’m grateful to the missionaries who taught me the gospel and to the members of my first ward who nourished me. Most of all, I’m grateful to my Savior, whose existence I had once doubted but whom I now gratefully serve.

Black Otter beached his canoe and stepped ashore. He pulled the boat under some low branches of willow trees that lined the riverbank and tied it fast. The fragile craft would not be easily noticed and the spot was protected from pounding waves. This was desolate country. He would not like to be stranded here.
Perspiration streamed from the youth’s bare chest as he moved away from the river with its cooling wind. The hot air was stifling to breathe and a shimmering curtain of heat moved ahead of him, distorting the shapes of giant boulders. Black Otter walked slowly, conserving his strength as he searched for what he now considered a treasure cave. He had not seen it for two years. Can I find it again? he wondered.
The youth veered to avoid a large rattlesnake dozing in the sun. His tribe did not take life unless it were unavoidable. Except for a lizard that darted into a crevice and a soaring giant bird of prey, the reptile was the only live thing he had seen. He felt very uneasy here.
Black Otter’s heart leaped with hope when he saw the cave entrance. He had feared that he could not find it again, because he had been with his uncles and cousins when they stumbled across the cave and took refuge there from a raging blizzard two winters ago. Without its protection they might have died in the storm.
During the days they had been stranded, Black Otter became bored with waiting and decided to go exploring. He had taken a torch and crawled into a narrow tunnel at the back of the cave. At the other end he discovered an even larger cavern. He gasped at the eerie beauty of it. Imbedded in the walls and ceiling were pockets of glistening crystals that reflected thousands of torches. Everything shimmered with dancing light. The floor was littered with chunks of stone that had fallen and shattered. Black Otter placed three of them in his pouch.
Until the white man came and explained that he was a collector of fossils, agates, and semiprecious stones for an eastern museum, Black Otter had not realized that these colorful rocks might have value. The man laid out many rock specimens to show the various stones he was seeking. “I have not come to cheat you,” he said. “These samples are not as valuable as diamonds and rubies, but I have brought brass and iron pots, good hunting knives, and metal fishhooks to trade.”
The man looked disappointed when nothing was offered. The tribe was very poor. The people wore many necklaces but they were fashioned of drilled bone, claws, or hard seeds, not colorful stones. The specimen hunter saw how the Indians admired the trade goods when he began to pack up. Their fishhooks were thick bone ones that allowed many fish to escape. Now he selected a large and small metal fishhook for each brave and presented them as gifts.
Black Otter had stayed back in the crowd, timid about approaching the white man. But he had watched his mother’s eyes that kept returning to the largest cooking pot. It was made of black iron with legs and a hook for hanging over a fire. Hesitantly, he stepped forward and laid the smallest of his three rocks near a similar specimen. Black Otter’s rock was clearer and gave off more colors in the sunlight.
The man examined the stone, then he smiled and offered a skinning knife and a small mound of fishhooks in trade. His smile faded and he sighed regretfully when Black Otter pointed to the iron pot. “I’m sorry, but your crystal is not worth that much,” he said. The youth felt that the man was being honest. He obviously wanted the rock.
The white man caught his breath when the Indian boy pulled out the two larger stones. When the deal was finished, Black Otter owned the pot, a razor-sharp hatchet, two fine knives, one for hunting and the other with many blades that folded into the handle, and a mound of fishhooks. Such sudden wealth stunned his parents. They’d never expected to own such things.
Black Otter was disturbed by the envious looks on the faces of his tribesmen. The youth did not want envy to set his family apart from the rest of the tribe. The price of jealousy could mean the loss of their friendship. “If I bring many stones, will you return with tools and utensils for all my people?” Black Otter quietly asked. The man agreed to return with a larger supply of trade goods, and so the youth had set out to search for the beautiful cavern.
But now that he had found the cave, Black Otter felt dismay. He had grown taller and wider in the past two years and the tunnel seemed much smaller! No one knew where he had gone, for he had waited until everyone was asleep and then slipped away. If he became wedged in the narrow opening, he might never be found!
Black Otter squirmed along like a worm, trying to make his shoulders narrow. Several times he became wedged and almost panicked. He trembled with relief when he finally reached the inner cavern and could stand upright again. He shuddered and tried to forget that he must return through the tunnel. He lit his torch and watched the rainbows of color streak across the rough walls and the roof of the secret place. Have any other eyes seen it? he wondered.
This time Black Otter had brought a knife to pry out larger crystals. And he would try to select as many different colored stones as possible. Since he would probably not be able to enter the cavern again, he must take many rocks this time. The youth wedged his torch between stones and set to work.
When he had lit the last of his three torches, Black Otter prepared to leave the inner cavern. He was grateful that the tunnel sloped downward. This allowed him to roll the large stones down to the outer cave. He hoped they would not shatter. It was the only way to remove the large pile he had collected, since he could not carry so many. He had choice stones of many colors. The white man would get full value for his trade goods.
The torch began to sputter, and Black Otter scooped up a handful of small deep red stones and placed them in his pouch. He sensed these were more valuable because he had found so few of them.
Black Otter’s body stung from many small cuts and scratches when he emerged from the tunnel. He discovered that he had rolled down many more crystals than he could take back without sinking the canoe. But perhaps I can return for them someday, he told himself. After selecting what he felt would be a safe load, he hid piles of the shimmering stones behind boulders in the back of the cave. Then he packed the others in leather carrying bags he had brought along. It took two trips to carry the heavy stones to the river.
The sun was low and it was cooler when the youth began to paddle upstream with strong, silent strokes. There would be a full moon to light his nightlong journey; and he could stay near the shore, where the sluggish current would not endanger his hard-won cargo.
Black Otter smiled with pride. Now every family will have fine cooking pots, axes, and hunting knives, he thought. The rock trader had promised to bring needles, nails, and even the biting barbed wire that would keep their sheep and horses from straying. His hard work would make life better for all his people.

On a Sunday in July last year, the Hmong ward in Sacramento, California, gathered for a special celebration. Five boys from the Nong Shala Ward (Hmong), Troop 338, and one from Oroville met with friends and family to celebrate their new wings. All six earned their Eagle awards over the summer.
These Scouts’ Eagle projects were varied and reached into their community. At a local school, volunteers painted volleyball courts, basketball courts, and murals; others cleaned and refurbished the school’s garden areas. At another school, they painted bathrooms and offices. Several of the boys had projects that took on tasks suggested by the city to build benches for the old cemetery. Another project included installing directional signs, clearing trails, and general clean up for the Church’s girls’ camp facility.
These 6 young men are the latest in a series of 21 to receive the award since Troop 338 was chartered in 1993. Since then, 11 of the Eagle Scouts have gone on to serve full-time missions.

Hi! I’m Jackson, from Germany, and this is my brother, Josiah, and my sister, Cora Jade.
Lots of people come to Germany when they’re not safe in their countries anymore. They’re called refugees. The kids don’t have any toys, so I gave them some of mine. Then I had a great idea. I asked my mom if we could make dolls for them.
I love to sew with my mom. I pushed the pedal on the sewing machine and put the stuffing in the dolls.
My family collected some clothes and toys to give to refugees here. We drew pictures for them of things that make us happy.
We took the dolls to the refugee camps and gave them to kids there. I like making new friends!
They sang songs for us, and we played our instruments for them. Some people who were sad smiled when we played “I Am a Child of God.” It felt really, really, really good.
The kids we met are like us in lots of ways. All of us like to sing and get toys and play outside. I know Jesus loves them, and He loves me.

Service can come in many forms: baking cookies, raking leaves, babysitting. But for a group of young men in Mesa, Arizona, service has come in a different form: pushing wheelchairs.
Every Sunday, the priests quorum in the Glenview Ward, Mesa Arizona Kimball Stake, give elderly sisters the chance to partake of the sacrament by pushing their wheelchairs from an assisted living home to their ward meetinghouse. Here’s what the young men have to say about the service:
“The best part about taking the sisters to church every week is seeing the looks of gratitude in their eyes. They’re so happy. You can tell that they really enjoy coming to church and partaking of the sacrament.”
—Brad Bishop
“There are some who can’t even talk, yet their gratitude is clearly expressed through their beaming faces. One great thing about the sisters is that they have a great sense of humor. They always have good jokes.”
—Tyson Anderson
“When I can help the sisters go to church by pushing their wheelchairs, I feel really good. When we arrive at the meetinghouse, ward members always talk with the sisters. We take them to church, but the members go the extra mile to visit with them.”
—Nathan Carroll
“When our quorum first got the assignment to push wheelchairs, I wasn’t sure what to expect. But now I love to serve the sisters. I have fun talking to them about life.”
—Leighton Carroll
“When I serve the sisters, I feel amazed by their dedication. It takes a lot of effort for them to get up early and get ready, but they always come. They always have smiles on their faces.”
—Austin McNeil

When I was a member of our district presidency, I helped coordinate an activity in which the members of our district donated toys to poor children living in the city of Soacha, Colombia. We had a wonderful response from all the members. Not all the gifts were new, but most were in good condition.
As we finished loading the gifts on the buses that would take us to the city, a young girl came up to me with a plastic ball that had been heavily used and was scratched. I held the ball in my hand, wondering who would have donated such a beat-up ball. With some disdain I tossed it under the seat.
When we arrived, our youth began singing Christmas hymns. Their music, along with their Christmas hats, attracted a large group of children. When we started handing out the gifts, those children called other children. Soon we had given out all our gifts.
When we were about to leave, I saw a boy about eight years old running toward us, holding his little brother by the hand. When they arrived, the older boy said, “We came for our gifts.” His innocence left me without words and touched my heart.
I explained to him that the gifts were gone. He responded, “It doesn’t matter if my gift isn’t here, but my little brother’s must be here.”
Then I thought of the ball I had tossed under my seat. I told the boys I did have one more gift but that it was a humble one.
“It doesn’t matter what it is,” he said. “That is the one.”
I got on the bus and found the ball. When I gave it to the little boy, his joy overflowed. Jumping with gratitude, he said, “A ball! That is the present I asked the Christ child to bring me.” He continued to dance around happily as he and his older brother went away with their treasured gift.
I quietly stood there and wept as a warm feeling of peace and gratitude enveloped me. The concern and selfless care the older brother gave to his younger brother touched me, and I silently hoped that I would be as eager to bless others as the older boy was to bless his brother.
As the boys happily walked away, I was reminded of the Savior’s love for us. He did not even forget a little boy on a mountainside who had asked for a simple ball for Christmas.

The last year of World War II was the very worst for Holland. The Nazis took absolutely everything. Grace couldn’t go to school. There was no coal to heat their house. Grace and her family had to eat tulip bulbs to keep from starving. They tasted horrible! Worst of all, Dad was still a prisoner of war.
But hope was in the air. People said the Nazis were losing the war. And in May of 1945, the Nazis surrendered. Holland was finally free again! People celebrated in the streets. Now Grace could go back to school. There were no soldiers to be afraid of.
Best of all, one day when Grace and her brothers were walking back from school, they saw that the flag of Holland was flying in front of their home. They knew that could mean only one thing.
“Dad’s home!” shouted Heber.
Grace and her brothers ran inside. Grace threw her arms around Dad and gave him a big hug. He hugged her back tightly. It was so wonderful to have Dad home.
Soon after that, packages of food, clothes, and medicine began arriving in Holland. The Church leaders in Salt Lake City sent a lot of supplies to help people after the war. Grace even got a new dress! She had worn the same dress for five years, so she was very happy to have a new one.
For the first time in years, Grace had enough to eat. The mission presidency and the government in Holland decided to start a potato project to grow more food. Church members planted lots of potatoes in nearby fields. By fall they would have thousands of potatoes to eat.
“Look!” Grace told Dad, pointing to a sprouting potato plant. “We’ll never go hungry again!”
Dad nodded but didn’t smile. He said, “I was talking to President Zappey. He told me that the Latter-day Saints in Germany are still starving, just like we were. They are not getting help from the government like us.” Dad put his arm around Grace’s shoulders. “President Zappey has asked if we would give our potatoes to the German Saints.”
“Give up our potatoes!” Grace cried. But the Nazis were from Germany! “They might be Latter-day Saints, Dad, but they’re still Germans.”
“I know it’s not easy,” Dad said. “But they are also children of God. He loves them too. I forgave them for making me a prisoner. The Lord can help us all forgive.”
Grace looked up at Dad. He was the bravest person she knew, but she didn’t know if she had the courage to forgive like him. Then she remembered one of her teachers in school during the war. Her teacher had said that not all Germans were Nazis, and not all Nazi soldiers were bad. And now the girls and boys in Germany were starving, just like Grace had been.
Grace took a deep breath. “I understand,” she said. “Let’s give them our potatoes.”
Dad hugged her and smiled. “You are such a brave girl. This is a hard thing to do. But we are disciples of Jesus Christ, and so are our German brothers and sisters.”
Grace smiled. The angry feelings in her heart melted, and she felt calm and warm. She could forgive the Germans. And Jesus could help her love them too.
Latter-day Saints in Holland gave 140,000 pounds (70 tons) of potatoes and 180,000 pounds (90 tons) of herring to the German Latter-day Saints. Later, in 1953, the German Saints sent supplies to Church members in Holland after a huge flood.