Gospel Story Finder

Most of the people who live in Iceland belong to the state church, and Binni, Unnur, and Matthías are the only Latter-day Saints in their school. When the time came for his baptism, Binni decided to do some missionary work. He told his parents he would like to invite one special person—his schoolteacher! Binni’s mother and father encouraged him to ask her, but cautioned him that she might choose not to come. But on the day of his baptism, she was there at the church! “She even stayed afterwards, had some refreshments with us, and asked some things about the Church,” said Binni. He was excited that she had accepted his invitation and that his first efforts as a missionary had been successful.

One of my fondest memories as a small boy was the annual visit to our home on Butler Avenue in Salt Lake City of my Grandfather and Grandmother Ballard on Christmas morning. Melvin J. Ballard died when I was ten years old. I knew that my Grandfather Ballard was a very important man in the Church, but I did not understand what it meant to be an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ. To me he was Grandpa Ballard, and that was enough to make me always very eager for his visit to our home, and especially on Christmas morning.
I particularly remember one Christmas morning, just a year or two before Grandfather Ballard died. My father and mother gave to Grandfather and Grandmother a new set of luggage. This Christmas gift seemed so appropriate to me then, because it seemed like Grandfather was always traveling and was never home.
Reflecting back on those special Christmas mornings with Grandfather and Grandmother Ballard brings special fond memories since today I find myself as a member of the Council of the Twelve and I have a new and deeper appreciation for those special Christmas mornings with my grandparents. I hope now as my grandchildren come to visit me and I go to visit them, I can create memories for them that will live on long after I am gone.

To the west of our home was our garden plot, and I rode the horse, while Father plowed the ground. Part of the garden was in potatoes and the new rich soil brought forth bounteously. One day, Pa said to Alice and me, “There are many more potatoes than we can use. If you would like to sell some, you may do so.” Accordingly, I dug the potatoes with our digging fork and Alice cleaned the dirt from them. We put them in a box in my little red wagon and hauled them down to the Brinkerhoff Hotel.
Sister Brinkerhoff was a very pleasant person, but we were still a bit frightened at first trying to sell our potatoes. She readily purchased our whole box. I believe we received two dollars for the entire lot.
As we showed the money to Pa, he asked, “What are you going to do with it?” We indicated we would divide it before buying some ice cream, popcorn, and candy. Then he questioned, “What about your tithing?” We had earned so little money that we had quite forgotten our lesson with eggs, but he outlined it for us again. Afterward, we went through the orchard and climbed through a hole in our wire fence to take our ten cents each to the bishop, and he gave us a receipt for our tithing.

I sat through the lifeguard training class in despair. Staring out over the pool, I listened as the instructor droned on endlessly, describing one lawsuit after another. “These cases,” she concluded, “have been warning flags for the Red Cross. There is a need to upgrade standards and for guards to meet new criteria in rescue skills. This, of course, includes the timed swimming tests you will all be taking.”
Ugh. I felt my heart sink. Two hundred yards in three and a half minutes—anything but that.
I worked at the pool as a swimming teacher and lifeguard. I’d been hired because I taught well. I’d never competed in high school or even been a fast swimmer, but it hadn’t been a problem, until now.
“Places,” she bellowed, blowing her whistle. We all lined up at the deep end of the pool, ready for a practice 50-yard sprint. The whistle sounded a second time and I dove in, hauling my arms out of the water. I plowed down to the other end of the pool, turned, and surfaced, gagging on what seemed like a gallon of water. I couldn’t breathe, my throat and lungs lost in a fit of self-protective spasms. Choking, I crawled back up the lane and a 60-year-old veteran pulled me in.
“Seventy-five seconds,” announced the instructor loud enough for the entire class to hear, not even a hint of sympathy in her voice.
I drove home in tears. I loved my job. I needed my job. College and a good job weren’t easy to combine. Kneeling by my bed in frustration, I gave way to the anger and tears. “I can’t do this,” I heard myself saying to God over and over again. I don’t know how long this desperate monologue continued, but at some point, into my mind came the words, “With God nothing shall be impossible” (Luke 1:37). It was the scripture my best friend quoted whenever things got tough. She had it plastered all over her bedroom walls.
But I couldn’t accept anything as simple as this. Besides, the scripture had come special delivery to Mary, and Mary didn’t have to swim 200 yards in three and a half minutes. It had nothing to do with me. On I raged, furious, and again the scripture came into my mind. What kind of answer was this?
“No,” I cried, “I can’t do this. Don’t you understand?”
I was tired of humiliation and afraid that no amount of swimming time I put in would help me pass off the tests. But, despite the doubts, the words “With God nothing shall be impossible” returned and sparked a little hope into my heart. I asked Heavenly Father for help in getting my times down enough to make passing a possibility.
Heavenly Father’s help came from the least expected source. At the next class the same seemingly unsympathetic instructor took me aside and told me she wanted to help. “I can take all your times down if you’ll swim with me and follow the workout schedule I give you to the letter.”
Reality dawned. So this was Heavenly Father’s way of helping me pass. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, was the hope that he would just turn me into Janet Evans for a few minutes. I stammered out my thanks and my doubts. “I’m not so sure …” I began.
“It’s not impossible,” she said.
I stared at her in amazement—those very words. “Meet me here at six, starting tonight.”
The next four weeks I forgot about changing places with Janet Evans while I swam, dragged, and pushed my way through the pool. And slowly, every few days, the instructor would scream in genuine delight. “You’ve lost two seconds; you’re cruising. Now, get the lead out! Don’t stop.”
The instructors had postponed the final times test for me as long as they could. The day of judgment arrived, and I sat on the edge of the pool, terrified. A friend who’d passed his tests off a month earlier sat next to me trying to be encouraging. “I’ll follow you,” he said, “and whenever you start to slow down, I’ll tap on your feet.”
“Oh, Randy,” I groaned, “you’re sweet, but tapping isn’t going to do it; you’ll have to push. I’ve worked so hard, but I’m still off on that stupid 200 by three seconds. I just don’t know.”
“You can do it. Come on, she’s ready for you.”
I jumped in the water while the instructor set her stopwatch. Randy did a couple of flip turns and splashed over to my side. “I’m just going along for the ride,” he told her.
“Well, don’t get in the way.” She raised the stopwatch and gave me her ultimatum, “You can and you will do this.” Yeah, I thought, and next week we’re heading for the Olympics. Someone better warn Janet Evans.
I held on to the edge of the gutter, my feet up, ready for the push off. I straightened my goggles, and before I could utter a prayer, the words “With God nothing shall be impossible” found their way into my frenzied heart.
“Ready,” the trainer hollered. “Go!”
Off I went, swimming my heart out, Randy hitting my feet whenever I slowed the pace. The first 50 passed and then the next. The third 50 always hit me hard. With God nothing is impossible, I thought over and over, willing it to be so. I hauled through the last 50 and caught the edge, exhausted.
She screamed, “3:28!” I’d passed.
It’s hard to believe that swimming could become a spiritual experience, but through the power of a simple scripture it did. I found help from Heavenly Father at a time when I really needed it. I felt his love and concern and know that, with him, all things I want to accomplish that are righteous are possible.

Elder Helio da Rocha Camargo, a former member of the Seventy, once told of a ward clerk who sincerely prayed that he would be able to learn what he needed to know to fulfill his calling. At the time, all statistical and financial records were kept manually, without the help of a computer. That month, it seemed every possible problem occurred for this ward clerk: bank statements did not reconcile, records contained incorrect dates, and so on. These problems brought extra and overwhelming work. That clerk went to Heavenly Father in prayer and said, “Father, I asked Thee to help me learn to be a clerk, and then all sorts of problems happened with the records.” The response came quickly to his mind: “And didn’t I help you?”

It’s the same every Mother’s Day. I ask my mom what I can give her, she stops what she’s doing, takes my face in her hands, smiles her what-a-wonderful-boy-you-are-smile, and says, “A poem and a kiss. That’s all I need.”
Well, that always sounds pretty wimpy to me. I mean, a guy in sixth grade just doesn’t go for that mushy stuff. I usually end up giving her one of my drawings. But this particular Mother’s Day had to be different. Mom needed something bigger than a poem, something better than a kiss, and something bolder than a drawing.
Dad lost his job a couple months ago. He’s been looking hard for a new one and doing freelance work whenever he can get it, but Mom always looks worried. She’s been substituting at the elementary school for a teacher who just had a baby. The fifth grade class is noisy and rowdy, and she comes home real tired. Then she has to cook dinner and do laundry and make phone calls for her Church calling. This was no ordinary Mother’s Day. I had to think up an awesome present.
I was watching an old movie on TV, when I got an idea. A great idea! I checked out my wardrobe and decided I had what I needed. I did a little practicing in front of the mirror and figured I could pull it off. I was all set. Not only would my present help Mom out, but it would make her laugh, too.
It was the Saturday morning before Mother’s Day. I had already told my friends that I wouldn’t be joining them for our usual bike ride. I got up pretty early for a change, and instead of putting on a T-shirt and jeans, I put on a white dress shirt, my dark Sunday suit, and my Sunday shoes. I wet my hair and slicked it back. I stood up straight, threw back my shoulders, stuck out my chin, and walked up to Mom, who was putting a load of dirty clothes in the washing machine. I never thought it would be so hard to keep a smile off my face. But I had to.
“Madam,” I said in a formal voice, my eyebrows raised. “I am Andrews, your Butler-for-the-Day.”
Mom looked up from her work with a start. “Andy! You’re all dressed up! Where in the world are you going? Is there a funeral? What was that you said?”
“What I said, Madam,” I replied in my most stately manner, “is that I am your Mother’s Day Butler.” I bowed slightly, just like the guy in the movie. No smiling allowed, I told myself.
Mom was speechless, so I continued, “You may call me Andrews. This entire day I will be at your complete disposal. You have merely to ask, and I will immediately carry out your orders. Your wish is my command.” Now I was sounding more like a movie genie, but Mom didn’t seem to notice. She hadn’t laughed like that in weeks, which made it even harder not to smile.
“Are you serious?” Mom asked when she regained control of herself.
“Sure I am—I mean—most assuredly, Madam. What will you have me do first?”
“This is such a treat!” Mom exclaimed. “How about, … well, … would you mind setting the table for breakfast?”
“Certainly, Madam,” I said. Giving her another bow, I went to work.
“What’s Andy doing, Mom?” I heard my twin sisters ask. They were being total pests, as usual. “Why is he wearing his Sunday clothes?”
“Yeah, what’s up, Andy?” said Dad, coming in from the garage.
“Andrews is my Butler-for-the-Day,” Mom proclaimed like the queen of the world.
My sisters stared holes in me while I poured the orange juice. I guess they weren’t used to seeing me help in the kitchen. My next job was to pull weeds in the front yard. Not a very distinguished, butler-type job, but I did it anyway, even though my Sunday shoes got caked with mud. Mom was really taking this thing seriously!
I had promised myself that no matter what Mom asked me to do, I would do it in true butler style, without a wince. It wasn’t hard, really. She wanted the furniture rearranged and the carpet vacuumed. As long as I had the vacuum out, she said I could clean under the sofa cushions. I crawled on the floor and polished the table and chair legs. I climbed the ladder and dusted the ceiling fan. I hefted overloaded laundry baskets and put clothes away. If the doorbell rang, I hurried to answer it in my formal manner and announced visitors. I picked up the phone before it had a chance to ring twice, and I made some of Mom’s calls for her. Mom smiled and giggled over everything I did. I merely bowed and said, “What further service would Madam wish?” Then she’d smile again.
She kept me busy just about all day. I didn’t slow down until she did, which was after dinner. I put a white dish towel over my arm and served ice water on the porch to her and Dad while they watched the sunset.
“That will be all, Andrews,” said Mom, faking an English accent. Then she laughed and acted like her regular self. “Andy, this was the best Mother’s Day present I’ve ever had. I feel like I’ve had a vacation! I didn’t even have to answer the phone all day!” She let out a big sigh. “I can’t tell you how good it feels to be caught up with my housework—and to have such a willing worker!”
“Very good, Madam,” I said. “Will that be all?” I didn’t want to break character while I was still in costume. Mom chuckled and then regally waved me away. “I sure love you!” she called after me, as I hurried to get my Sunday clothes clean for the next day.
The “real” Mother’s Day, Sunday, was a pretty good one. Mom was relaxed and happy. In sacrament meeting, she kept smiling at me with a double-mushy, wonderful-boy look. At home, every two minutes she raved about her Butler-for-the-Day. She kept saying how she could feel the spirit of the Sabbath day so much better in an orderly house.
The twins, however, stared at me with something less than stars in their eyes. They had gone the poem-and-a-kiss route.
“I wish I’d thought of that butler thing,” one of them said.
“Well, I know what I’m going to do,” the other one said. “I’m going to ask Mom if I can be her lady’s maid all day next Saturday.”
“I have dibs on the next Saturday! Let’s dress up and call her mum, and curtsy!”
They ran up to the attic to look for a costume. Once my sisters get an idea, there’s no stopping them, even if it’s somebody else’s. But if they want to steal my idea and be lady’s maids, that’s fine with me. Being Butler-for-the-Day was pretty strenuous. Once a year is about all Andrews can handle. But I guess Andy could help out a little more regularly. Only I’m not wearing a suit to do it—no way!

An experience Elder Thomas S. Monson had in the German Democratic Republic in 1968 illustrates. It was his first visit, and no diplomatic relations had been established. No one in the government yet understood the Church’s mission or trusted its integrity.
Elder Monson traveled to Görlitz to meet with the Saints there. He came with a heavy heart, knowing the members did not have the blessings that come with being part of a stake—no patriarch, no wards offering the full program of the Church, and no access to a temple. Yet they filled the hall with their faith in the Lord. As Elder Monson stood to address the congregation, the Spirit prompted him to make them a promise: “If you will remain true and faithful to the commandments of God, every blessing any member of the Church enjoys in any other country will be yours.”
That evening in his hotel room, the full impact of his words hit him. He knelt and pleaded with the Lord to honor the promise he had been moved to give. As he prayed, there came to his mind the words of the psalm, “Be still, and know that I am God” (Ps. 46:10).7
Today, just 20 years later, Germany is united under a democratic government, the nation has two temples, and the Saints are organized into 14 stakes.

When I joined the Church, I attended a small branch in the Philippines where the members were very close and worked in unity.
Gradually, the branch grew and prospered. New chairs came, then a new sacrament table. Then we moved to a spacious apartment and even had a new organ. Three years later, some land was purchased for our future meetinghouse.
During this period of growth, the unity of our branch was occasionally tested. After some particularly hurtful gossip reached me, I decided to leave the Church. For the next six Sundays I did not attend any meetings, although I wished I were there. I especially wanted to partake of the sacrament and renew my covenants.
One day I knelt in prayer and asked for strength, courage, and enlightenment. Still on my knees, I caught sight of a book on the floor. I picked up a dusty and neglected volume of scripture and began paging through it, hoping to find some lines that would ease my pain. I stopped at D&C 136:29–30: “If thou art sorrowful, call on the Lord thy God with supplication, that your souls may be joyful. Fear not thine enemies.”
After reading the verses, I felt lighter in spirit, and my courage returned. I would go back to church.
But the next Sunday, as I neared the meetinghouse, I felt apprehensive. Would they welcome me again? Would I hear whispering behind my back? Or would they ignore me altogether? My feet dragged the closer I got to the door.
Then I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder, and before I could turn around, an arm encircled me in a tender embrace. Then another hand reached out to clasp mine. Other friends burst from the door with warm smiles, each one expressing joy for my return.
As we sang the opening hymn, “Though Deepening Trials” (Hymns, number 122), a feeling of peace filled me, and the feelings of hurt and resentment melted away. Warm tears blurred my vision, and I could no longer see the words in the hymnbook. I closed my eyes tightly and gratefully whispered, “Father, thanks for leading me back to the fold.”

“I Want to Come Back”
Not long ago I was in South Africa visiting a home with Thabiso, the first assistant in the priests quorum in the Kagiso Ward. Thabiso and his bishop, who presides and holds the keys for the quorum, had been praying for quorum members who were less active, seeking inspiration about whom to visit and how to help them. They felt prompted to visit the home of Tebello, and they invited me to go with them.
Once we made it past the ferocious guard dog, we found ourselves in the living room with Tebello, a calm-spirited young man who had stopped attending church because he had become busy doing other things on Sundays. …
… The words of Thabiso … made the difference in the visit. … “I enjoyed so much talking to you all the time at church,” he said. “You always have kind words for me. And you know, our soccer team has basically disappeared now that we don’t have you. You are so good at it.”
“I am sorry,” Tebello answered. “I will come back with you guys.”
“That will be awesome,” said Thabiso. “And do you remember how we used to prepare to serve as missionaries? Can we start doing that again?”
“Yes,” repeated Tebello, “I want to come back.”
Adrián Ochoa, second counselor in the Young Men general presidency

Not long ago, I listened to a man and woman who spoke in my home ward. This man had served in many capacities in the Church, including that of bishop. Their most recent assignment was to fellowship a single mother and her children. He stated that it was the most joyful of all his Church experiences.
This young woman was full of questions. She was filled with fear and anxiety. She did not wish to make a mistake, to say anything that was out of line that might embarrass her or cause others to laugh. Patiently this man and his wife brought the family to church, sat with them, put a shield around them, as it were, against anything that might happen to embarrass them. They spent one evening a week with them at their home, teaching them further concerning the gospel and answering their many questions.
They led that little family along as a shepherd leads his sheep. Eventually, circumstances dictated that they move to another city. “But,” he stated, “we still correspond with that woman. We feel a great appreciation for her. She is now firmly grounded in the Church, and we have no fear concerning her. What a joy it has been to work with her.”

Illustration by Mark Robison
Allie could see the word clearly in her mind—portion. Easy. Just a few more words to go, and she’d be the school spelling-bee champion for sure.
P-O-R …
Allie and her parents had come from another country and had to learn a new language. Her parents encouraged her to do her best in school. Allie didn’t want to disappoint them.
But she knew she’d do well. She loved words. That’s how she had learned English so quickly. She even translated for her parents a lot. Winning the spelling bee was another way to show them she was doing her best.
Broccoli, exaggerate, mischievous, separate.
She spelled all those words correctly. Now it was just Allie and two other students on stage.
“P-O-R-I-T-I-O-N, portion,” Allie finished. She opened her eyes and smiled at the judge.
The judge frowned. “I’m so sorry, Allie. The correct spelling is P-O-R-T-I-O-N.”
Allie gasped. What had she done? She’d added an extra i! Her face flushed and her heart pounded. How could she have missed such an easy word? She couldn’t believe this was happening after all her hard work.
Coming down from the stage, Allie could barely see the stairs as tears welled up in her eyes. She just wanted to be invisible. How would she face everyone?
“May I go home?” she asked her teacher. “I’m not feeling very well.”
“Of course, Allie,“ Mrs. Bauer said.
Allie grabbed her books and ran straight home.
Soon Mom tapped on her bedroom door. “Are you OK, Alexandra? How was the spelling bee?”
Allie sniffled. “I missed a word, Mom, a dumb, easy word,” she answered, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“OK,” she heard her mother say, but Allie imagined how disappointed Mom probably felt.
Lying on her bed, Allie thought about how bad she felt. It wasn’t so much about misspelling an easy word, although that was really hard. But she felt she had failed her parents and herself.
The next day was Saturday. Mom made Allie her favorite breakfast to cheer her up. But Allie stayed in her room most of the day. Her best friend, Lindsay, called to see if she wanted to play, but all Allie could do was lie on her bed and think over and over about that awful moment at the spelling bee.
Finally Sunday came, and Allie wondered if she should even go to church. When Allie had first moved in, Lindsay had invited her to come to church with her family. Allie’s parents weren’t members of the Church, but they agreed to let her go. When Allie turned eight, her parents had even let her be baptized!
Allie was still sad today, but she still wanted to go to church. When Lindsay came to the door, Allie kissed her parents goodbye and headed outside.
Allie’s heart began to feel lighter as she walked into the chapel. What was that feeling?
When it was time for Primary, Allie and Lindsay were talking happily as they sat down. Then Allie heard a familiar song. She’d sung the words many times before, but she’d never really thought about what they were saying until now.
I am a child of God, and He has sent me here,
Has given me an earthly home with parents kind and dear.
Suddenly it seemed like these words were just for her. They were a gift from Heavenly Father. They reminded her that her parents wanted her to do her best because they loved her. Her Heavenly Parents loved her too. And she felt the Spirit telling her that as long as she was trying to do her best, that was good enough.
These are the best words ever! Allie thought.

In a stake conference a number of speakers mentioned a certain man. After the session the General Authority met the man. He learned from others that more than fifty people had joined the Church because of him. The way he kept his yard, his home, his happiness, his good deeds to his neighbors all brought him opportunities to tell others how the gospel had blessed his life.
These two men had just committed themselves to do what everyone can do.
I know, after many interviews, that many long to become part of the assembly of the blessed. Many times they cry out in the night for help, not knowing where to turn, how to begin. Their eternal spirits seek help. As social beings we need each other. The commitment to reach out to them is a binding invitation from the Savior. When this is done in love, we may help redeem them. It is infinitely more than just confessing Jesus Christ—it is doing what needs to be done.
Church leaders and home teachers have special opportunities to help. The object of all their work, meetings, faith, and prayers will be to help each individual and family.
A sister in France who joined the Church was approached by her former minister who asked her how she could possibly have done such a thing. Her response was beautiful and reassuring. It shows us how important our collective commitment is to serve others. She said that at least once every month leaders or members of the Church would visit her. They looked after her spiritual and temporal needs. She told her former minister that since she had been baptized as a baby, the only time she had been visited by anyone from her former church was this day, and that visit was only to inquire about her membership.
A total commitment to anxiously serve the Lord and others is the surest way to overcome the many temptations of the adversary.
Everyone who truly commits himself to the gospel finds his life expanding and his appreciation growing for all good things. His acknowledgment of God and his wondrous creations intensifies. The Lord described how this process works in a revelation given to the Prophet Joseph Smith in May 1831:
“That which is of God is light; and he that receiveth light, and continueth in God, receiveth more light; and that light groweth brighter and brighter until the perfect day” (D&C 50:24).
Brothers and sisters, a committed person makes goodness look attractive. He builds an inner confidence as he learns light and truth and then practices it. He becomes more like our prophet today, Spencer W. Kimball, who over a lifetime has translated desire into firm commitment to do everything he can do to demonstrate his love for the Lord and all of His children.
We, too, can resolve this day to declare ourselves, give ourselves, devote ourselves; to commit ourselves to do what everyone can do. In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, amen.

One day at school my friends dared me to shout a bad word in an empty classroom. When I said no, they teased me and made fun of me. Then I said yes, and I said the word softly and quickly. Then I was very sorry for what I had done. That night I prayed with all of my heart and repented of saying the bad word. I know I can always turn to Heavenly Father to know what is right, and if something is wrong, I will say no, even if my friends tell me to do it. I am grateful for repentance!

In the distance we can hear voices descending through the mountain trees. Looking up the rocky slope, we see three Italian girls, arm in arm, singing and walking toward us. Gradually we recognize the song—a favorite among LDS young women—“I Walk by Faith.” As Iris Cartia, Annalisa Brandonisio, and Stefania Ferrazzano come closer, they all begin talking at once—part in English, part in Italian, and part in French, with a lot of hand gestures. Then Stefania starts to sing a popular Italian song for us, accompanied with dancing and good-natured laughter. Soon, the girls get serious again and sing several LDS hymns. These girls, who range in age from fifteen to seventeen, come from widely different areas and backgrounds in Italy, but it is obvious that they enjoy each other.
It was the summer of 1990, and the occasion was Torchlight 90, a multi-stake LDS Young Women camp in Italy. More than 130 girls attended this week-long camp in the rugged mountains near L’Aquilla, about fifty miles from Rome.
Quite by accident, we just happened to be in Trieste, Italy, the day before the Young Women of the ward there were to leave for the camp. Rita Schina, the Young Women leader in the Trieste Ward, invited us to accompany the group. We had other plans, but a whisper in our hearts told us to go to the camp instead, so we heeded the prompting. We have been thankful ever since that we did.
There was something about the girls we met at the camp that touched us spiritually. Perhaps it was their vibrant glow and the excitement they expressed about their ideals. Or maybe it was their respect for their leaders. Certainly, much of it was their love for each other, which grew deeper every day they were together.
As the years have passed, we have corresponded with some of the girls that were part of Torchlight 90 to see if the extraordinary spirit we witnessed had continued in their lives. We have been pleased to find that it has.
The camp was divided into seven individual campsites, each representing one of the seven Young Women values. At every campsite, the girls were mixed from several stakes or districts so they could develop friends from other areas of Italy. The campsite was located on Rocco di Mezzo plateau, surrounded by rugged mountains and dotted with scattered tents full of talking, laughing girls.
Three short whistle blasts—the call to supper. The three girls hesitate for a moment, but supper can wait while they finish sharing expressions of testimony and friendship. After a few more songs from these unpretentious girls, we all reluctantly and slowly return to camp.
Every morning, all the girls gather for a flag-raising ceremony, then engage in games. This morning, there are clouds overhead and the mountain winds blow cold. The girls make a semicircle in front of the flags. As the sun gradually blossoms over the mountain peaks, everyone stands quietly for the opening prayer. The sounds of birds and crickets lightly pepper the soft whisper of the wind. This is a special morning, because Brother Christian Euvrard, a regional leader in the area, is speaking to the girls. He talks about the Young Women program as a guide for planning the future. When he finishes, he picks up a stick and breaks it as a symbol that the ceremony is over. Now it is time for games. And that’s when something unusual begins to happen.
As the girls join together in various groups, one of the groups appears isolated from the others. It is a small group of American girls whose parents work or are stationed temporarily in Italy. They don’t speak Italian, and they are not familiar with some of the everyday customs that come naturally to the Italian girls. They feel awkward. The Italian girls huddle together, then walk over to the Americans and tell them about an experience they had at a Church-sponsored event in Florence last year. “One of the members of our group did not speak Italian, so we decided to go through a whole day without speaking, using only hand signs. When the day ended, we all felt much closer to each other.” Soon both Americans and Italians are talking and singing together. It is a beginning.
The American girls’ Young Women leader, Linda Black, still lives in Verona, Italy. She wrote to us that several of the American girls became close friends with some of the Italian girls and have continued to write to them.
Annalisa Brandonisio, from Venice, wrote us, “Even though our language and customs were different, I felt united to the American group because of the strong influence of the Spirit of the Lord that was with us.”
Telling us about the camp, she said, “It was often hard for me to sleep at night, because my heart was so filled with emotion and feelings for that special week in the mountains. Torchlight 90 helped me to realize that I can get closer to God by having the right kind of friends.”
Annalisa is nineteen now. She is a stake missionary and a visiting teacher in the Modena Ward, in the Venice Italy Stake. She plans to serve a “mini-mission” this summer and a full-time mission when she is old enough.
Sonia Plescovich, from the Genoa Third Branch, Torino Italy District, wrote: “Torchlight 90 will remain in my heart for the rest of my life. Though we were many girls from many places, we all had the same ideals, the same thoughts and beliefs. Even though we had never seen each other before, it was as if we were friends from birth. I learned to love those girls as much as my own family. Because of the example of some of them, I learned to read the Book of Mormon every night. Being there and feeling the love of everyone in the camp, I felt closer to God than I have ever felt before. It seemed that the veil that divides us from God didn’t exist for a time.”
Sonia, now twenty, is the first counselor in the branch Relief Society presidency, a visiting teacher, and the branch choir director and organist. She is planning to begin a full-time mission sometime this year. In her most recent letter, she commented: “I saw some of the girls I met at Torchlight 90 at one of our latest Young Adult conferences, and we talked of the wonderful memories we have of the camp. I still have special feelings for the girls I met at Torchlight 90.”
Iris Cartia from the Vimercate Branch, Milan Italy Stake, wrote about her feelings toward the girls she met at the camp: “The Church is not spread widely in Italy yet, and even the members within a branch or ward often live far from each other. So I cherished the opportunities to get together with girls who share my beliefs and feelings. Those were special moments in my life. And from them I drew the strength to go on and be different from the world, to be a light for those around me. I know that neither time nor distance can prevent those who love the gospel from meeting together with joy, no matter where they come from.”
Shortly after the camp, Iris had written to us, “This experience helped me concentrate on the important things, like planning my life so I can go on a mission and get married in the temple someday.”
Three years later, those goals are still important to Iris. She is now nineteen and serves as the branch organist, director of the Relief Society choir, and a visiting teacher. She served a “mini-mission” in Torino, Italy, and corresponds with a 73-year-old woman she contacted as a missionary there. She plans to go on a full-time mission.
Iris continues to feel the influence of the camp in her life: “Torchlight 90 gave me an ideal and example that still lives in my heart. The example set by the leaders at the camp guides my leadership style considerably.”
Stefania Ferrazzano from the Foggia Branch, Puglia Italy District, wrote about the camp: “Being in the mountains without modern conveniences made me realize how much I took for granted and how much the Lord has blessed my life. It helped me to know that my life depends on God and that the gospel is my anchor and my guide. At the camp I learned that we have to work for the things we want to achieve, but if we do our part, the Lord will do the rest.”
Stefania is twenty now and is ready to go on a full-time mission when she turns twenty-one. Her sister is currently serving a mission in Milan. Stefania is the first counselor in the branch Relief Society presidency, branch librarian, and assistant clerk. She has also served as a Sunday School teacher for young people from twelve to eighteen. She tells us, “Even after three years, Torchlight 90’s influence on my testimony is still present.”
The Young Women gather in a “campfire circle” that has no fire—it is not lawful to have a large open campfire in these mountains. The excited conversations race back and forth, and there is vivid hand-waving as one girl or another tries to emphasize a point. All this is mixed with smiles and laughter and an occasional tear of understanding.
The girls continue to laugh and talk noisily until Sister Adele Peloni, a Young Women leader from the Venice Italy Stake and one of the camp leaders, stands, ushering in a stillness that amplifies the soft sounds of the mountain breezes. “Remember the standards of Young Women. … Be true to yourself,” she tells them.
The camp theme, “From the top, upward,” and the camp theme song, “I Walk by Faith,” reflect the ideals of the Young Women program all over the world. The girls have heard these concepts before, but somehow, in this setting, with the mountains so near and new friends by their sides, the girls feel exhilarating energy in the words that instill deeper feelings of love for one another and a greater desire to be close to the Spirit.
As the sun sets behind the towering mountains, leaving a gray cold, the girls huddle in their tents and talk about their experiences at the camp—putting up tents in the wind, making tables from wooden poles and ropes, and cooking without modern conveniences. They laugh about the games and the tricks they played on each other. Then, as the night closes in, they get more personal, and the girls share their feelings and hopes. Often these thoughts turn toward the gospel and what it means in their lives.
We had to leave the camp before the final night, so Tiziana Rossato, one of the leaders from the Venice Italy Stake, wrote to share with us that night’s experience: “In the final testimony meeting, the girls and leaders formed a big circle, hand in hand, and sang a goodbye song. They started with strong voices, but ended in tears and sobs, then total silence for a long time after the closing prayer.”
We attended the camp to see if such an experience could change the lives of young LDS girls. Now we realize that the experience changed our lives as well. The joy the girls felt in living simple gospel standards, and the unpretentious love and respect they showed to us and to each other, have been lasting influences in our lives.
We still receive letters from the girls, and they often recall for us their special feelings for the camp and for the people they met there and how their lives have been changed because of Torchlight 90. One of the girls summed up the feelings of all who attended the camp: “The Spirit of the Lord works like magic in our Young Women camps; it can touch your heart for a split second, but change your life forever.”

[One young man] and another Aaronic Priesthood holder were assigned to administer the sacrament to a man who was homebound and very sick. They arrived at his home not realizing that recent medical treatments prevented him from eating any food—even a piece of the sacrament bread. After blessing the bread, the young man presented the sacrament to the frail man. He took a piece of the blessed bread, waited a moment, and then held it against his lips. The young man said when he saw this faithful brother express his reverence for the sacrament, he felt as though he were watching him kiss the feet of the Savior. He could tell that he loved Him.
The significance of the sacrament was impressed upon that young man in an unforgettable way that day. You will have sacred experiences, just as this young man did.

As our sons were growing up, our family did what you have done and what you now do. We had regular family prayer, scripture study, and family home evening. Now, I am sure what I am about to describe has never occurred in your home, but it did in ours.

Sometimes Sister Bednar and I wondered if our efforts to do these spiritually essential things were worthwhile. Now and then verses of scripture were read amid outbursts such as “He’s touching me!” “Make him stop looking at me!” “Mom, he’s breathing my air!” Sincere prayers occasionally were interrupted with giggling and poking. And with active, rambunctious boys, family home evening lessons did not always produce high levels of edification. At times Sister Bednar and I were exasperated because the righteous habits we worked so hard to foster did not seem to yield immediately the spiritual results we wanted and expected.

Today if you could ask our adult sons what they remember about family prayer, scripture study, and family home evening, I believe I know how they would answer. They likely would not identify a particular prayer or a specific instance of scripture study or an especially meaningful family home evening lesson as the defining moment in their spiritual development. What they would say they remember is that as a family we were consistent.

Sister Bednar and I thought helping our sons understand the content of a particular lesson or a specific scripture was the ultimate outcome. But such a result does not occur each time we study or pray or learn together. The consistency of our intent and work was perhaps the greatest lesson—a lesson we did not fully appreciate at the time.

Serving in India
“Last June, when a new branch was created in Bangalore, India, the only young man in priesthood meeting was a recently ordained deacon named Gladwin.
“Gladwin, along with the Young Men president and branch president, began calling the less-active young men and visiting them in their homes. Soon a second young man, Samuel, started coming to church again.
“Each week Gladwin and Samuel called those who had not attended quorum meeting and shared what they had learned. They also called or visited them on their birthdays. One by one, the less-active young men became their friends and began to accept invitations to come to quorum activities, to attend quorum meetings, and eventually to do their own ministering. Today, all of the young men in the branch are active in the Church.”
David L. Beck, Young Men general president

As a child, I was influenced by a lot of people, especially by my parents and my uncles and aunts, friends, teachers, stake president, and the prophet. But if I were to pick just one person who influenced me, it would be President Spencer W. Kimball. Living in El Paso, Texas, we belonged to the Mt. Graham Stake, which was centered in Arizona. President Kimball was our stake president at that time. His wife, Camilla, was first cousin to my father, so we were related.
Whenever President Kimball came to El Paso on stake business, he stayed at our house. At that time my father was on the high council. One of the things I remember about President Kimball was how businesslike he was and how fast he worked. He typically, like my dad and many of that generation, had bread and milk for supper.
He was a marvelous man. He took a special interest in me—at least that’s the feeling I had. Later I learned that everybody felt like that. He was the first Church leader to invite me to go on a mission. He wrote to me, telling me about his mission, and that influenced me.
When I received my mission call, I traveled to Salt Lake City to enter the mission home. At that time, missionaries were set apart by General Authorities. I was set apart by Elder Spencer W. Kimball, who was then an Apostle.
He also performed the marriage and sealing of my wife and me. On several occasions when we lived in Salt Lake City and there was illness in our family, he responded to a call for a special blessing. And when we lived in the state of Washington, he took time out to visit with us there.
I remember visiting with him after he had been called as President of the Church. What a humble man he was. Here he had been called to be the prophet, yet he and his wife took the time to have a family home evening with our family and all the children.

You could say 17-year-old Chris S. of Florida danced his way into the Church, but that’s not totally correct. Actually, it was the people he danced with who introduced him to the gospel. Chris is part of a troupe that performs Panamanian folk dances, and two of his best friends, Rebecca and Joshua R., who are also in the group, invited him to come to church.
“One time we started talking about the Church, and I just told him more about it, and he seemed really interested,” Rebecca says. “I told my parents about it, and they said we should invite him to church.” So one day they invited Chris to come, and he accepted.
“I asked my parents, and they said I could go,” Chris remembers. He also remembers how well received he was. “I was kind of nervous. But once I came, everyone was so warm and welcoming. It was nice to be there, and I felt comfortable.”
Soon Chris began meeting with the missionaries. “When they came over, they taught me a lesson and gave me a Book of Mormon,” he says. “They told me to read and pray, and I did. I didn’t feel anything at first, but then later on as I prayed, I felt great because it was like something inside of me was really warm. I know that was the Spirit, and it was a great feeling.”
Chris continued learning and decided to be baptized. “After being baptized, I received the Holy Ghost, received the Aaronic Priesthood, and was ordained a priest,” he says. “I felt special knowing that I am in God’s Church and that He loves me.”

About a year ago, Whitney Walton, 16, her four sisters, six aunts, and all her girl cousins were gathered together to learn a family secret.
The secret had been a treasure in the family for more than 50 years. It was something that everyone enjoyed, and they all wanted this secret to be passed down in the family. They didn’t want it lost. A single person had the key to unlocking this secret—Whitney’s grandmother Ilean Corbridge.
On this one day, because of Whitney’s Personal Progress project, Grandma Ilean had agreed to reveal her secret to all her daughters and granddaughters. Grandsons could have come, but they preferred to wait with their dads for the results. The group was gathered to learn how to make Grandma’s rolls—those light, buttery, baked-to-perfection rolls that for years and years had become an essential part of every family dinner and were everyone’s favorite for slathering with homemade jam.
How did they convince Grandma to reveal her secret? The new Personal Progress program in Young Women encourages families to become involved in the projects and goals set by the girls. The Walton family of Vernal, Utah, took this suggestion to heart. Whitney and her mother, Kathy, thought it would be great to learn the homemaking skills perfected by Whitney’s grandmother. They asked her, and she agreed to share what she knows.
“My cousins and aunts and I love getting together and just having fun,” said Whitney. “We thought we would get everyone together to learn how to make rolls. My grandmother is really good at making pies, too. And she quilts a lot.” Grandma helped them do all of these things.
In preparation for the day they were to get together with their grandmother, Whitney made invitations and got the ingredients together for the rolls and pies as well as the materials for the quilt. She then typed a cookbook—a copy for each person—with recipes from her grandmother and from her aunts. For the event, she picked the home of one of her aunts that was the most centrally located. But some still had to drive several hours to meet on that day. They were happy to make the trip.
It was a fun day. Everyone got to see up close just how Grandma could sense when the roll dough had the right amount of flour so it wasn’t too stiff. They learned to cool the milk so it wouldn’t kill the yeast. And the girls learned how to roll out the dough to just the right thickness and how to cut and fold over the circles of dough for uniform, beautiful rolls. Plus they got to try making her pie crust. “My favorite pie is banana cream,” said Whitney, “but we each had a turn in helping make everything.”