Gospel Story Finder

Tino and Quim both found treasures of spiritual strength in the mission field. Quim recalls trying to teach one widow whose husband had spent much of his life as a missionary for another church. The woman had agreed to listen to the missionary discussions because her daughter was a Latter-day Saint. As one of the discussions progressed, however, she found it too difficult to accept the idea that the teachings of her church were not correct. “Elder Moreira,” she said, “I don’t want to hear any more of this doctrine. I am going to labor to finish the missionary work my husband started!”
Quickly, Quim offered a silent prayer, asking what to say. He was inspired to assure the woman that her husband had already accepted the gospel in the spirit world.
Later, the woman’s daughter told Quim that after saying her own personal prayers that evening, she lay meditating on how she could help her mother accept the gospel. Suddenly, “I saw my father in my room. He said, ‘That missionary spoke the truth, and I want your mother to be baptized.’”
Because of her daughter’s experience, the mother agreed to listen to the missionaries again. This time, there was a different spirit about her; she was baptized a week later.

I would like to focus on the promise to always remember Him. Many years ago, Nuria and I were taught the restored gospel by two young full-time missionaries who brought the presence of the Holy Ghost into our home. Those are indeed days never to be forgotten. As we entered the waters of baptism, received the gift of the Holy Ghost, and were confirmed as members of His true Church, we started on the Lord’s covenant path. Walking along this path has become the most important thing in our lives, as we focus on becoming an eternal family.

The last thing I remember before the four-wheeler flipped was being so scared that I couldn’t even scream. I closed my eyes and felt my body being dragged across the ground. When the four-wheeler landed on top of me, it knocked me out. Somehow my friend Kurt, who was also injured, lifted it off me.
When I woke, I tasted blood and dirt in my mouth. I was dizzy and lying on the side of a ditch. At first I didn’t feel any pain, but soon I began to hurt every time I breathed. After Kurt helped me take off my helmet, my left arm, which was bent out of shape, started to hurt too. I had a big lump on my head, and when I looked at my left leg, I saw a huge cut. My leg was bleeding, and it soon swelled to twice its normal size.
Then I got scared—not of dying but of thinking I might never be able to play soccer again.
Both of my parents are from Argentina. Everyone in my family knows soccer. I grew up playing it and watching it, especially with my dad. When Argentina won the World Cup in 2022, it was the best day ever!
Playing soccer has taught me that if I do my best, I can do things I didn’t think I could do. That applies to school too, like with tests. Tests can be tough, but if I study and work hard, I know I’ll do OK.
I’ve also learned that I’m more frustrated if I play badly than if my team loses. Even if we lose, I’m still happy if I played well.
Right after the accident, my sister Nicole showed up with her friend on another four-wheeler, and two boys who saw us crash quickly drove up on their four-wheelers.
“My dad’s a nurse!” one boy said. While he called his dad for help, Nicole and her friend hurried back to our camp to get my dad.
That morning, nurse Mike Staheli had planned to head home from a weekend campout with some friends. But they felt prompted to stay one more day. I’m thankful they did.
While Mike gave me first aid and checked my vital signs, someone called for an ambulance. Mike feared that I had broken my arm and femur, cracked several ribs, and that I was bleeding internally.
Mike said the ambulance from a nearby town would likely arrive first, but my condition was serious enough that I should be airlifted to Primary Children’s Hospital in Salt Lake City, Utah. A medevac helicopter was also called for.
When my dad and his friend Hector saw me, they knew I needed a priesthood blessing. My dad asked me, “Do you have faith in the power of the priesthood? Do you have faith that the Lord can help you and heal you?”
“I do have faith, Papá,” I told him. But at the same time, I wondered, “What if I don’t have enough faith?”
My dad anointed me, and Hector blessed me. As soon as the blessing began, my breathing slowed, I calmed down, and I felt warmth even though it was cold outside. I knew then that I did have enough faith and that I was going to be fine either way.
When the ambulance arrived, paramedics cut off my favorite soccer shirt and checked my vital signs. They had stabilized. The helicopter arrived a few minutes later.
When the helicopter landed at the hospital, I was rushed inside. Nurses and doctors began examining me and doing lots of tests, including an MRI. My dad and I expected the worst, and so did they.
But they found nothing! No broken bones, no internal bleeding, no sign of concussion. My leg still hurt a lot, though.
“This is a miracle!” a nurse told me. Later, one doctor said, “OK, Alan, looks like you can go home tonight.”
I was like, “Really?”
Because I still had a hard time walking, I stayed in the hospital overnight. I left the next morning with only a brace on my left wrist. A few weeks later, I was training again for soccer.

Two summers ago I heard someone talk about missionary work for those who aren’t serving a full-time mission. The speaker told us how important members of the Church are for the Churchwide missionary effort. He asked us to make a focused effort to help the missionaries in our wards by bringing a friend to Church activities and Sunday meetings. I decided that I would pray for missionary opportunities and make an effort to act on the promptings I would be given.
I started my first week of school and met a new guy named Chris, who had moved from across town. Chris was really cool and we soon became friends. One day I invited him to a combined youth activity at a corn maze. On the drive to the corn maze, Chris started asking questions about the Church. As I answered his questions, he asked me how I knew so much. I told him that we learn about the gospel in Church meetings and in seminary. To my surprise, Chris asked when seminary was. I told him it was every morning at six. I thought for sure that he would not be interested in waking up that early, but he surprised me again by asking me to pick him up on my way there.
Chris began attending seminary and church. He also started to meet with the missionaries. And a year later he was baptized. I had the opportunity to baptize Chris, and it was an amazing experience that I will never forget. I believe this would not have happened if I had not prayed for missionary opportunities. Heavenly Father knows each of us, and He helps us if we ask for it.

When Hurricane Irma hit the Caribbean in September 2017, it caused widespread destruction to several islands. A Church member from the United States who wanted to help reached out to my husband, who was then serving as a stake president in Puerto Rico.
“I have a large boat that I’m going to bring to Puerto Rico so I can take food and supplies to the island of Tortuga,” he said. “I need your help gathering supplies.”
In response, we began gathering donations of food, clothing, and other items from Church members and others in Puerto Rico. We sent two boatloads to Tortuga and were preparing to send a third boatload of supplies, which we had gathered at the stake center for distribution. That’s when we learned that another storm, Hurricane Maria, was headed straight for Puerto Rico.
When Hurricane Maria made landfall, it devastated our island, killing thousands of people. For several days afterward, we couldn’t leave our neighborhood because of fallen trees, debris, and other destruction. At the stake center, however, we had a supply of food, water, clothes, and personal items—everything we needed for a natural disaster. We had gathered those things to help others, but they ended up blessing us instead.
The hurricane caused blackouts and knocked out the internet and cell phone service. While Puerto Rican authorities worked to respond, we had supplies that provided immediate help to many people.
When my husband could finally leave our home, he felt impressed to visit certain members of our stake. He found two sisters whose homes had been destroyed and who had lost everything.
“We can help you,” he said. “We have what you need. The stake center is full of supplies.”
As Church members and members of other faiths contacted my husband for help, we began receiving monetary gift cards from Church members in the United States that we distributed to the needy. The Church also mobilized humanitarian resources such as food, water, and other supplies to our island. For months, these donations enabled us to help countless Puerto Ricans.
As we worked to help our neighbors after Hurricane Irma, the Lord prepared a way for us to help ourselves after Hurricane Maria. As the Savior taught, “Give, and it shall be given unto you” (Luke 6:38).

I used to be the same way. I reserved my best behavior for people I didn’t live with and let my family have what was left over. My mom and I fought constantly for years. I exploded over stupid things, and I was grouchy all the time. I’m a little older now and married. I don’t even know where most of my friends are, let alone what they’re doing. The people I thought were most important to me are gone. Now I realize that my best friends are at home.

There is an antidote for times [of testing and trial]: learn to laugh. …
… I remember when one of our daughters went on a blind date. She was all dressed up and waiting for her date to arrive when the doorbell rang. In walked a man who seemed a little old, but she tried to be polite. She introduced him to me and my wife and the other children; then she put on her coat and went out the door. We watched as she got into the car, but the car didn’t move. Eventually our daughter got out of the car and, red faced, ran back into the house. The man that she thought was her blind date had actually come to pick up another of our daughters who had agreed to be a babysitter for him and his wife.
We all had a good laugh over that. In fact, we couldn’t stop laughing. Later, when our daughter’s real blind date showed up, I couldn’t come out to meet him because I was still in the kitchen laughing. Now, I realize that our daughter could have felt humiliated and embarrassed. But she laughed with us, and as a result, we still laugh about it today.
The next time you’re tempted to groan, you might try to laugh instead. It will extend your life and make the lives of all those around you more enjoyable.

It was a sunny Sunday morning, May 18, 1980, when Mt. St. Helens blew her top with a blast 500 times as powerful as the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima. The top 1,400 feet of the mountain were blown off, killing at least 22 people, wiping out homes, displacing families, creating steaming mudslides and floods that demolished bridges and logging camps, and blanketing much of the northwestern United States and parts eastward with a fine gritty, gray volcanic ash. Over a billion dollars in crops, timber, and property were lost; cities and schools closed down; food and water supplies were sometimes cut off; and people stayed in their homes.
The chalky ash covered trees, houses, fields, streets, everything, like tons of powdered sugar, but it was far from sweet. It clogged car engines, swirled up in white clouds like dense fog whenever cars drove through it (making driving extremely dangerous), choked out new crops, weighed heavily on rooftops and awnings and people’s minds. You could shovel it from your walk to the street, but it often blew back, and how did you get it out of the street, anyway. For most people it was a gritty nightmare that eventually city bulldozers and trucks would help handle.
For the young Latter-day Saints living in volcano territory, the disaster became a time of faith, service, and closeness to our Heavenly Father.
“I was in sacrament meeting when it happened,” said Joyce Allsop, 19, of the Yakima Fifth Ward, Yakima Washington Stake, about a hundred miles from Mt. St. Helens. “I looked out the window and everything was getting darker and darker. There were flashes of eerie, orange-red lightning through the ash particles, like nothing I’ve ever seen before, but no rain. The thunder came so close that we all ducked, and the building shook. We thought it would fall down on us. Then everything turned pitch black, at 10:00 in the morning, and stayed that way for 24 hours.
“Outside, ashes were falling like snow, only you could feel it, like sand pelting you. Then it started coming down like a heavy, gritty rain.”
The members of Joyce’s ward were told that the volcano had erupted and that the roads were extremely hazardous, with visibility down to zero. She and a friend decided to drive the 20 miles home, because they wanted to be with their families.
“As soon as we got into the car, we said a prayer to help us get home. We started out and could barely see anything, it was so dark. Cars where pulled off in ditches to the side of the road because people couldn’t see where the road was. Most people had no idea where they were. The only way we ever made it home was with the Lord’s help.
“When we got home, we got calls from all sorts of concerned people, some we hardly even knew, checking that we’d made it home safely,” she added.
The abrupt change from a peaceful, secure life to not knowing what would happen gave Joyce a lot to think about.
“I realized how blessed we were to get home safely. And I thought, if this is anything like the Second Coming, we have to be more prepared. I think I could also relate a little to how the Nephites must have felt when Christ was crucified, when it turned pitch black. Those words from the Book of Mormon suddenly took on new meaning.
“I also understood how powerful the forces of nature are and how quickly the world could be destroyed. And I realized, more fully why we need to have food storage and clothing, supplies, and water on hand. As soon as the general public in Yakima heard that the roads were closed because of the eruption, they all rushed to stock up on supplies. Now a lot of the single people from home are starting their own food storage programs,” said Joyce.
Sheryl Hague of Yakima was also at church when the volcano erupted. “I thought it was a blessing that we were all in church when it happened, in a safe place,” she said, “I go to a singles’ branch, but I knew my family was in church at their ward, and my dad, who’s a stake president, was in church somewhere. My bishop was making sure we had wet paper towels over our mouths so we didn’t breathe the dust in, and people were making sure that everyone who wanted a ride home had it and that we were all okay. Right away we organized a calling committee to make sure that everyone had food and any help they needed.”
Many of the Young Adults at Sheryl’s ward opted to stay at the institute building where church was being held, until things quieted down. Food was brought in to the group by the Relief Society and elders quorum presidents.
“The prophet tells us constantly to be prepared, but often we don’t really listen until something like this happens, which is too bad,” added Sheryl. “During the first day especially I thought a lot about the Second Coming and how if you’re not prepared you’re going to panic, like a lot of unprepared people here did. I found out how important food storage is, too. Some people here didn’t have enough food to last them for even a couple of days. On the radio people were advised to store water, which our family had already done long before. We stored quite a bit more, though, including a bathtub full.”
Immediately after the shock of the eruption, even with the uncertainty of not knowing what was going to happen, the young people of wards across Washington jumped wholeheartedly into helping other people. Calling committees checked to see that ward members were safe; teachers and priests quorums and the young women organized to help clean chapels and homes. Volcanic ash started flying as young volunteers got out their shovels and brooms and started the cleanup.
“The youth in my ward were helping even as families started leaving the chapel the morning of the eruption,” said Bishop Terry Brandon of the Yakima Fourth Ward, Yakima Washington Stake. “The teenagers comforted the children, talked with them, and in many cases scooped the young ones into their arms and delivered them safely to waiting cars and their parents. Breathing was uncomfortable, and the falling ash was irritating their eyes, but these youth didn’t care about that.
“Then early the next morning I began receiving phone calls from teens wanting to help anyone who needed it, so we organized a cleanup force. They spent eight, nine hours at a time in the grittiest, dirtiest mess you’ve ever seen helping other people, in addition to the efforts spent in cleaning up their own homes. They took a lot of initiative themselves. All of them helped clean up the stake center.
“It was such a spiritual uplift to work alongside such cheerful youth during a depressing, messy week of cleanup. We have a fine generation of young people here with goals and ideals that just won’t let them be defeated. When we didn’t know if we’d be able to hold church the next Sunday, I was determined we should, just so I could let them know how I felt towards them. I’ve never seen a finer group of young people,” said Bishop Brandon.
Hundreds of young Latter-day Saints across the disaster area swept ash, piled it high into giant gray hills, washed down roofs and streets, wiped it from their ears and hair and faces. And despite the seeming drudgery, some of them even had fun while they did it.
In the Moses Lake Washington Stake, over 150 miles east of the volcano, 33 youth helped clean the stake center, working until 1:00 in the morning so they could return the hoses they’d borrowed from the fire department in time. Scouts in Moses Lake helped clean the homes of ward members. The four teenagers of the Allen Brown family helped a blind ward member clean off his house and yard. The teens in the Don Larson family surprised a ward member who was out of town when the eruption occurred by having his house cleaned up when he got back to town. He then helped clean the chapel grounds and homes of other people. Craig Duvall, a recently returned missionary, cleaned county roads and driveways for a week. Carolyn Whiteman, a 14-year-old Lamanite, went day after day to haul ashes out of the yard of an elderly couple down her street.
“We got a wonderful response from all our people with the cleanup,” said President Lew Judd Allsop of the Yakima Washington Stake. “We had all sorts of help from the youth in our stake when we needed to clean the ash off the roof of the stake center. It was tedious work, sifting the ash out of the gravel on the roof so the roof wouldn’t cave in with the first rain. It was a dirty, gritty job, and I didn’t hear anyone complain about the dust in their eyes or it being terrible, dirty work. Working conditions couldn’t have been worse. Faces were black; there was grit in your ears, your hair, all over. And yet they got the job done, and in good spirits.”

One day when I was home alone with my youngest son, I slipped on a step and fell. Resulting abdominal pain persisted for several days, so I went to see a doctor.

I was pregnant at the time, and tests indicated that my placenta had become detached. This condition required complete rest, or I could lose the baby.

I was worried because we had three little children and could not afford to pay for help. The sisters in my branch, however, found out about my condition and, without being asked, came to my aid. They organized themselves into three groups that helped me in the morning, afternoon, and evening.

They came to wash, iron, cook, clean, and help my children with their homework. A sister named Rute, who was baptized into the Church while I was confined to bed, became well-known in our home. Rute, a nurse, helped at night and administered necessary injections.

I didn’t need to ask for anything; these sisters anticipated my needs and took care of everything. When they had more help than they needed, one sister would sit and visit with me. They did this for three months.

These sisters gave me strength, love, and dedication. They gave of their time and talents. They made sacrifices to be there. They never asked for anything in return. They loved and they served, following the example of the Lord, who taught us, “Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matthew 25:40).

Enilze do Rocio Ferreira da Silva, Paraná, Brazil

“I remember that story of Nephi,” Brother Grossenheider said in his raspy old voice. “I was a deacon once, you know. But I was 16 or 17 years old. I didn’t know they sent young bucks like yourselves to do this kind of work.” He squinted at the sky. “I haven’t been to church in 60 years. But I remember doing fast offerings a few times when I was a deacon.”
He paused. “I’d forgotten all about that.” He turned the envelope over and over in his hands and examined it. “That used to be an important job, fast offerings. The bishop took us around in a wagon, and we loaded that wagon with eggs and tomatoes and carrots and meat, sometimes a chicken or two. And we drove right over to the people who needed it and gave it to them. They surely were glad to get it. Nineteen thirty-six, it was. Lots of people out of work. The Depression, you know.”
He looked keenly at us over his glasses. “No, I guess you don’t. But it was an important job back then. I suspect there’s still people in need, eh.” He looked at us sharply. “You boys look mighty young to be doing important business like this.”
We didn’t answer.
He shook the envelope at us again. “Can’t fit a chicken in here. How does this work?”
Reggie and I exchanged glances. “You just put some money in it,” I said and shrugged again. “Whatever you can afford.”
“Yep,” Reggie said and put his hands in his pockets. “And then the bishop takes care of it from there.”
The old man nodded and thought for a moment. “So I’m Laban, eh?” he said and squinted his eyes at us.
We looked at the ground, embarrassed, and adjusted our feet.
He took a dollar bill from his pocket. “I don’t have much,” he said and slid the dollar into the envelope. Then he stood and slowly walked to us with the envelope, his cane supporting his left side.
“You’ll be back next month?” Brother Grossenheider asked, handing me the envelope.
“Yes, sir, we will,” I said.
He worked his way up the porch steps with his cane, groaning as his legs lifted his body to each level. At the top he turned around and paused as his hard breathing settled to a quieter mode. “You boys close that gate when you leave, will you?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, and we did.
When we got to the street, Reggie said, “You know, I was thinking how the quorum needs a service project. Maybe next month we could ask Brother Grossenheider about helping with his yard. What do you think?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s go tell Brother Baron.” I turned and ran. “Last one there is a rotten egg!”

When I arrived on Sunday morning, I was well received by the members. I was impressed with the organization of the Church. I felt peace and joy in my heart during the meetings, and I asked the missionaries to come to my house to teach me. I returned home and told my mother that I had found the right religion.
The missionaries taught me about the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I already knew the story of Joseph Smith, so when they invited me to pray to learn the truth, I told them I had already received an answer and told them about my experience. They were impressed with my testimony and suggested a date, May 15, 2004, for my baptism. In the meantime, my friend Julyette was also baptized. My baptism was the greatest joy of my life, and my friend and I are very happy we found the true Church of Jesus Christ.

From ancient times comes an example which emphasizes this truth. Darius, through the proper rites, had been recognized as legitimate king of Egypt. His rival, Alexander, had been declared legitimate son of Ammon; he, too, was Pharaoh. Alexander found the defeated Darius on the point of death and laid his hands upon his head to heal him, commanding him to arise and resume his kingly power, concluding, “I swear unto thee, Darius, by all the gods, that I do these things truly and without fakery,” to which Darius replied with a gentle rebuke, “Alexander, my boy … do you think you can touch heaven with those hands of yours?”

Brethren, are we prepared to touch heaven as we fill our priesthood callings?

Nathalie also served a mission. She was originally called to serve in Nigeria. A delay in receiving a visa for Nigeria stretched throughout her mission so she was reassigned to her home country. This would prove providential, for it was while serving in a Kinshasa ward that she came to know Thierry’s parents. During Nathalie mission, Thierry’s mother told her returned missionary son about Sister Nathalie Sinda. “There is a sister missionary in our ward, and she is just amazing, if one day you could get married to that sister missionary, you would be the happiest man.”

One day, months after that conversation with his mother, a friend of Terry’s took him to visit some mutual friends. Nathalie Sinda was at that home. She came out to see the visitors. She had been home from her mission for one day. Terry was surprised to meet the woman his mother had raved about. Remembering his mother’s suggestion, he asked her out on a date. One year later, they were married. Thierry’s mother was right, Nathalie is amazing.

DRC is the second poorest country in the world. In 2002, the average income per person for a year was less than $100 (US Dollars). On November 29, 2002, they were married in a civil ceremony. Their love was abundant, money was not. After being married, the newlyweds went to their ward building where a member had made donuts and juice and invited friends to fete the young couple. Nearly two years later, on November 19, 2004, they were sealed for time and all eternity in the Johannesburg South Africa Temple.

Case 7. Two missionaries struggled through barbed wire fences, sprinklers, mudholes, and ferocious dogs, but in the end they found a golden family—of members.
After the opening prayer, the projectionist hit the switch, and the evening was awash in cheers, laughter, and even a few friendly groans. Poor Cindy Ella, outcast because of her curly hair, did get to the governor’s ball (thanks to her fairy godperson) and fell in love with the governor’s curly headed son. A new banana eating record was set. The three junk food junkies did lose weight. The missionaries did keep tracting. Fun triumphed again. All seven wards had come up with their own idea of what the silver screen is all about, and all were pretty proud of what they had done.

As I walked along the trail, prairie grass rippled in the breeze like gentle ocean waves. My cow turned aside to eat some grass that was dry and brown from the heat. “Get back here!” I called. “We can find you better grass than that.”
Although the wind was cool and pleasant, I was hot from carrying my four-year-old brother, James. He had the measles, and Mother, who was not feeling well, had tied him onto my back with her shawl. I could feel hard knots of muscle forming in the sore spots on my back, but I had no choice but to keep moving. The wagon train would pass us by if we stopped.
Our family cow started to wander off again, and I ran after her. Making sure she got enough to eat was an endless process. But we needed the milk, and I was determined to make it to Zion safe and sound even if I had to herd a cow and carry my little brother the whole way.
That night in camp I milked the cow and laid James down to sleep. I doubted that he would, but I was determined to get as much rest as I could before his sickly cries woke me. Unfortunately, I was nudged before I even had a chance to drift off to sleep. Father, still wearing his dusty trail clothes, was standing there with a concerned look on his face.
“Margaret, did you tie the cow to the wagon?” he asked.
Our cow was nowhere to be seen, and I soon found myself back on the prairie. We started out looking near camp, but there was no trace of her. I left the search group and walked over a small hill near the river. The air was full of the chirping of crickets and the rustle of wind in the grass. I was barefooted, but the evening was warm and the prairie dirt was hard and dry, so I didn’t mind.
Suddenly the ground turned soft beneath my feet—and moved! I froze, working up the courage to look down. When I did, I wished I hadn’t. I was standing in a bed of snakes! They slithered all about my feet, their scales glinting in the rising moon. I grew weak at the knees and almost fainted into the writhing mass, but I forced myself to stiffen. What should I do?
I decided to say a prayer. It was short, but definitely sincere. Immediately after saying “amen,” I jumped sideways. Heavenly Father must have blessed my leap, because I landed just clear of the snakes. I ran off a ways and collapsed.
I had barely caught my breath when I heard my father. “Margaret!” he called. I ran to the sound of his voice and threw my arms around him. “Are you all right?” he asked.
I smiled up at him, but I didn’t let go. “I’m fine now,” I said. I told him my story as he took me back to the wagons. I was so grateful to be safe that when I saw our cow I gave her a kiss on her disobedient nose.
We arrived safely in Utah on October 4, 1859, thanks to Heavenly Father’s watchful care. And, as always, the cow was by my side.

Steve, with his mission experience, began to teach Mr. and Mrs. Gibson the gospel.
At 10:00 Mrs. Gibson invited them into the kitchen for a piece of cake she’d baked especially for Steve and Cathy. While they were eating, the electric power went out. They lit a candle and finished.
“Martin, it’s going to get cold tonight without our electric heater.”
“We can all stay by the fire and keep warm,” he said.
Huddled around the fire, with the wind howling outside, they continued to talk. At 2:00 A.M., Mrs. Gibson turned to her husband and asked, “Martin, what do you think?”
“It’s the first thing I’ve heard that makes any sense. We better learn more about it, though, before we join.”
Cathy burst out excitedly, “You and your wife and your son can be sealed together as a family forever! Steve and I want to go with you through the temple when you go!”
Mr. Gibson cleared his throat nervously and reached a little awkwardly for his wife’s hand. “Ella and me have been through a lot together. It’d be nice to be together forever.”
Finally they agreed that it was time for sleep. While Mr. and Mrs. Gibson went to get some blankets, Steve reached over and kissed Cathy. “You are a terrific missionary.”
“Wasn’t it special?” she asked happily. “I wouldn’t have traded it for anything.”
They sat and watched the fire. The embers that had been in the fire the longest glowed the deepest red.
“Cathy, are you still afraid of the future? We can’t guarantee that we won’t have the same unhappiness in our lives that they’ve had.”
“I know,” she said quietly.
“If you knew now that I’d die in a few years, or that a baby would suffer sickness, would you walk away from our marriage?”
“I used to think that Heavenly Father would spare me that kind of trial,” she said.
“And now what do you think?”
“I think that a testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ can help us live through whatever comes.”
“You’re not scared anymore?”
She shook her head thoughtfully. “Not anymore.”
Mr. and Mrs. Gibson returned to the fire, carrying some blankets. They pulled the couch and two chairs close to the fireplace. Mr. Gibson piled two large logs on the fire. Then he placed a small gift in Cathy’s hand. It was wrapped in tissue paper.
All he said was, “Don’t open it until you’re on your way tomorrow.”
A few minutes later Cathy whispered something to Steve. He nodded his head and then spoke to Mr. Gibson. “I promised my wife something about tonight. Would it be all right if we had family prayer?”
By the next morning the storm had let up, and by 11:00 they had managed to pull the car back on the highway. Shortly after that, Steve and Cathy were on their way.
Not until they were unloading their suitcases from the car into the cabin did Cathy remember the small package on the back seat. Unwrapping it, she found the old necklace with the words inscribed on the back—“Love is forever.”

My great-grandparents are two of my heroes. They settled in Kaysville, Utah, where they built a home for their growing family. They had just finished their home, when John Taylor, the President of the Church then, needed a place to stay. My great-grandparents offered their new seven-room, two-story home to the prophet.
President Taylor and his office staff moved in, and my great-grandparents and their children moved to an old log cabin behind the home. While President Taylor lived in the house, my great-grandmother cooked and washed for him and his office staff, along with the cooking and washing she did for her own family. She and her husband worked very hard to serve the prophet of the Lord. When I read about what they did, I am impressed with the examples they set. I want to live the same kind of life they did.

Real missionary work is, of course, based on real love, and an experience of these fine young Latter-day Saints proves it. They worked for a long time to reactivate a member of the priests quorum, but it soon became clear that he wasn’t interested. They made it equally clear to him that they still wanted to be his friends, and recognizing their sincerity he was happy to have it that way. When he was in the hospital some time later, they visited him often, not to activate him, but just because they loved him. He got the message without their having to give it to him and took the first steps toward becoming active again.

Shauna Squires, formerly of the Crescent First Ward, Sandy Utah Crescent South Stake, and her horse Poplar’s Lightning had been together through many rodeos and competitions, and winning was familiar to both of them. Still, being crowned Miss Appaloosa America for 1978 was an unexpected honor for Shauna. And of course, Poplar’s Lightning, who had been judged the champion performance horse in both the Utah and Arizona state competitions, was with her. Shauna was a freshman at BYU when she received the honor over 27 other girls in national competition in Billings, Montana. Last September, however, she relinquished her title for another one when she became Mrs. Mike Smith in the Salt Lake Temple.

When I opened my mission call, I was surprised to see that I had been assigned to the Mexico Veracruz Mission. My family had lived in Veracruz when I was born, and most of my extended family lives there. We are the only members of the Church in our family, so I was excited at the thought of having the opportunity to share the gospel with my relatives.
However, once there, I never served in an area near my relatives. I gave their addresses to my companions so they could visit them.
Fifteen months into my mission, I began having knee problems. My knee hurt a lot and at times the pain was unbearable. When I went to the doctor, his diagnosis was that surgery was the only solution. That meant that I would be returning home early. I couldn’t believe that this was happening; I had only three months left on my mission.
I decided to turn to the Lord to ask for comfort and, if possible, a miracle. In answer to my prayer, I felt deep relief in my heart. My mission president’s wife encouraged me with sincere motherly love to return home to recover, and I wrote my family to notify them that I would be coming home in two weeks.
After that, I had an interview with my mission president. He told me that my mother had contacted him and given him an option: She could come to Veracruz to care for me in the home of an aunt and uncle of mine during my recovery, since I would have to cease missionary activities for a while. My president told me that it might be a feasible option but that he would have to ask for permission.
When I found out later that permission had been granted, I felt my heart leap with excitement—I could stay and finish my mission! I said a prayer of thanksgiving.
On the day of the surgery, my mission president told me, “Sister Gómez, you need to find out why the Lord allowed you to stay in Veracruz.” From that moment on, I was set on finding out the reason.
That same day, my mother, who had arrived in Veracruz, told me, “Your Mamá Lita (my paternal grandmother) is coming to the hospital to see you. This would be a good opportunity to ask her about your ancestors.”
“What a great idea!” I thought. I couldn’t wait to ask my relatives about my ancestors. Mamá Lita asked me about what it meant to be a missionary. I taught her about the Restoration and then talked to her about the plan of salvation, since my grandfather—her husband—had died a few years back. Then came a question I’d been hoping she would ask: “Will I be able to see my sweetheart again?”
Her question filled me with joy, and I answered, “Of course you will!” Her eyes glistened. It was wonderful to share that eternal truth with her. More questions came, all of them focused on the plan of salvation. In turn, I asked her the questions I had about my family so I could fill out my family tree. I felt how the Spirit enabled her to gain an understanding of the plan of salvation.
Later, as I visited the rest of my relatives, I talked with my maternal grandmother, who helped me find more family names. I was also able to share the gospel with all those we visited.
I realized why God had allowed me to first go to Veracruz on my mission and then to stay there after my surgery. I returned to my mission with a deep love for family history. Thanks to my mother’s tender care, I was able to finish my mission.