Gospel Story Finder

I had never thought much about my testimony. I liked to go to church, and the gospel wasn’t hard to live, so I basically took it for granted the Church was true.
When I was almost 21, I decided to go on a mission. But in my interview with the stake president the conversation took an unanticipated turn.
“Lara, do you support the leaders of the Church?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Do you know that Ezra Taft Benson is a true prophet of God?”
“I think so.”
“Do you know he is a prophet of God?” he asked again.
“I believe he is,” I responded, a little confused at the repetition of the question.
Then he said, “Belief is a beginning. But do you know that Ezra Taft Benson is a true prophet of God called to lead us in this day?”
This time I caught the wording. I could feel my face get hot. I felt helpless. Did this mean I couldn’t go on a mission? No. But he told me to be most effective on a mission, I needed a testimony of “I knows.”
I left the stake president’s office that day a little embarrassed, but determined to know that President Ezra Taft Benson is a true prophet of God, to know that the Book of Mormon is truly another testament of Jesus Christ, to know that Christ died for me. I would have to do the intense studying and praying that my stake president had done. And for the next three months I did.
By the time I entered the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah, I felt good saying “I know.” But it was in the MTC that I got my strongest witness that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God and that he did restore Christ’s church to the earth. That’s when I truly “knew,” and I was thrilled to be an “I know” missionary.

I’m an average 16-year-old high school junior. I’m on the pom squad, I work in the mall, and I am on the Bishopric Youth Committee. I keep the Word of Wisdom, attend church regularly, and have a strong testimony. But there are some things I’ve never put a whole lot of emphasis on—like not swearing. I was always careful never to use the Lord’s name in vain, and I didn’t by any means swear as a regular course of conversation. But if I occasionally said a “bad” word, I never really stressed over it.
That was until this past summer when I became close friends with someone who was very careful never to swear. By just spending so much time with her I got in the habit of not swearing, which presented an interesting problem when school started again. My drama teacher gave a friend and me dialogue to learn for a forensics competition, dialogue that contained some profanity. So whenever my friend and I ran through it together, I modified my lines to avoid having to swear.
A few weeks later, we had to perform this dialogue in a school assembly. When we did, I modified my lines as I always had, and my friend delivered hers as they were printed. I didn’t think twice about it until I was talking to another nonmember friend later that day who told me something very interesting. After about the third word I had obviously changed, this person commented about how my church must mean a lot to me if I was going to go out of my way not to use profanity.
When she told me that, I was taken by surprise. I know everyone knows I’m LDS, and I know they watch to see how I live my life. But I didn’t think something like altering a few lines to eliminate bad language could have so much importance. My friend said what I had done really made an impression.
It also taught me that everything counts. Each commandment has a purpose and is important. I’d hate to think that someone’s connection or indirect introduction to the gospel of Jesus Christ was a negative one because of something I did. I now know more than ever that leading by example is a great way to share the precious truths I’ve been given.

“We tried to find the Church in Chernigov,” Lena says. “But we couldn’t.” In the city of 350,000, there were no missionaries, no branches, no known members. The closest branch was 150 kilometers away in the capital city of Kiev. “So we decided to follow all the commandments we knew of—to obey the Word of Wisdom and pray,” she says. “Our family grew closer. We started to spend more time together.”
But they yearned to have a greater understanding of the gospel, to make covenants with the Lord, and to have fellowship with Church members. On Sunday, 24 November 1996, Nikolay, Lena, and their daughters, Anya, age 10, and Yulia, age 7, made the 150-kilometer journey to Kiev.
“When we arrived at the branch, we met the missionaries for the first time,” says Lena. “They thought we were already members!” The Shavekos were amazed by the love and welcome they received. “It’s in our blood not to smile a lot,” she says, “so we were surprised to see all the people smiling. We loved the spirit we felt.”
That was the first of many trips the Shaveko family made from Chernigov to Kiev for Sunday meetings. For months they never missed a Sunday, even though the 300-kilometer round-trip journey took 24 hours each weekend, the temperatures dipped to -30 degrees Celsius, and the trains were poorly heated. The train always made several stops along the way, including a seven-hour layover in a crowded station in the middle of the night. The Shavekos would leave home at 8:30 P.M. Saturday and return home at 8:30 P.M. Sunday—or they would leave at midnight and return home the following midnight. In Kiev they would take buses and subways to the rented building where the branch met, arriving just in time for the 10:00 A.M. meeting. Afterward they would mingle with members, eat lunch, listen to a missionary discussion or two, and then head home.
Traveling by bus would have been faster—only three hours each way because of a more efficient schedule. But bus tickets were too expensive. As it was, train tickets for four Sundays each month cost nearly half of Nikolay’s monthly income.
But the journey didn’t seem burdensome, remembers Lena. “We were happy. Even the girls didn’t complain, although sometimes they fell asleep on the way. When we received the Liahona at church, we would read the whole magazine on the way home using the dim overhead lights on the train. The inconvenience of the trip didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t important.”
Two missionaries, Elders Kent Averett and Derek Rowe, obtained permission from the mission president, Wilfried M. Voge, to travel to Chernigov a couple of times to teach discussions to the Shavekos in their own home. Since the home’s heating wasn’t adequate, the family and missionaries had to dress warmly. “But the presence of the Spirit in our gospel conversations warmed us,” says Elder Rowe.
On 5 January 1997, six weeks after their first visit to the branch, the whole family—Nikolay, Lena, Anya, and Yulia (who had turned eight)—were baptized.
After Lena became pregnant a few months later, she was unable to make the long journey to Kiev every Sunday. So the mission president authorized a variation in the schedule. Two Sundays per month, Nikolay and his daughters continued to travel to Kiev for meetings. On the other Sundays, missionaries held Church meetings in the Shaveko home. Talks and lessons were taken from the scriptures, Church manuals, and the Liahona.
But along with joy came persecution. “Some neighbors said, ‘Oh, the Orthodox Church isn’t enough for you?’ And they started giving us problems,” says Lena. “Some of them are not as close to us anymore.”
On the day of their baptisms, the Shavekos received wonderful news. A member in Kiev told them that while serving as a missionary three years earlier in St. Petersburg, Russia, she had taught the gospel to a Ukrainian family—a single mother named Alla Kurnosova and her young son, Vitaliy. They had joined the Church and returned to live in Chernigov, where Alla works as a tailor.
During the three years since Alla Kurnosova’s baptism, she had corresponded with missionaries she had known in St. Petersburg. “Through letters, they gave me hope and strength,” Alla says. She and 13-year-old Vitaliy had continued studying the scriptures. “It seems Vitaliy knows even more than I do,” says Alla. “He teaches me all the time.” Both prayed that the Church would come to Chernigov.
Their prayers and patience were finally rewarded. Alla and Vitaliy became close friends with the Shavekos. The two families took turns hosting the twice-a-month Sunday meetings with the missionaries. Nikolay and Vitaliy were assigned as home teaching companions and visited both families together.
The meeting in Nikolay and Lena’s home on Sunday, 1 June 1997, is typical of the meetings during those days. Twelve people are in attendance: Nikolay, Lena, Anya, and Yulia; Alla, Vitaliy, and Alla’s nonmember mother, Vera; Katya Malihina, a 19-year-old Church member from Kiev attending law school in Chernigov; and four missionaries who have been teaching the group—Elder William and Sister Manette Murri, Elder David Sills, and Elder Chris Colton.
Elder Sills conducts the meeting. Sister Murri plays the piano. (She has been encouraging Anya and Yulia to learn to play several hymns. Before and after the meeting, the girls demonstrate how well they are progressing.)
The opening hymn is “I Need Thee Every Hour,” and Vitaliy offers the prayer. The sacrament hymn is “Jesus Once of Humble Birth.” Nikolay and Elder Colton prepare the sacrament on a small table covered with a simple white cloth and offer the sacrament prayers. Vitaliy passes the bread and water. Then, as sunlight streams through the living room windows, the members and missionaries express love for the Savior and gratitude for the gospel.
Lena weeps as she expresses how wonderful it is to hold Church meetings in her home. “There are very few people here; everybody fits into one apartment,” she says. “In other places, there are more members of the Church, and everybody does not have the opportunity to bear his or her testimony every time.”
She tells about a visit she had with a woman during the week: “I had a feeling in my heart that I should share the gospel with her.” In return, the woman, a member of a Protestant church, shared with Lena the steps necessary to officially register the LDS Church in the city—making a complicated process seem manageable. “The woman and I were happy to have the opportunity to talk with each other about religion. We became good friends, sisters in faith, even though we have different religions. We are all children of God. I know God will always help us and that the Church will grow here in Chernigov.”
Nikolay expresses appreciation for “being able to bear my testimony freely and to show my feelings to other people. How wonderful it is to come to know the truth and to have faith in God and in Jesus Christ, our Savior.” Then he bears witness of the Word of Wisdom. “By following it, we can have a clean heart and a clean body,” he says. “Before, I was often a drunk man, but today I am bearing my testimony! When I began to live the Word of Wisdom, there was a big change inside of me. I look at life a lot differently than before. I don’t want to go back to the darkness we had around us. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has the truth and the commandments we should obey. We are coming closer to becoming like our Heavenly Father.”
Katya Malihina, the 19-year-old law student, says: “Yesterday I spoke with my friend about what Jesus Christ did for us. She asked me many questions.”
Young Anya Shaveko testifies: “I know Jesus Christ lives. The Church of Jesus Christ is true. It was restored through the Prophet Joseph Smith. I hope we can get a branch here as soon as possible so people can come more quickly to the gospel.”
Alla Kurnosova says: “I love the Savior with all my heart, and I try to live His commandments. After our meeting last Sunday, I spoke to my cousin about the Church. She was very interested and wants to come to our next meeting.”
Then Alla’s nonmember mother, Vera, speaks: “This is my first time to come to church here in Chernigov, but I attended several times in St. Petersburg. I have noticed here today the same feeling I had when I went to that branch—peacefulness in my heart. My soul is softened today. I think I will keep coming.”
“Love at Home” is the closing hymn. Eight-year-old Yulia offers the prayer.
Since that Sabbath day in 1997, much has changed for the Church in Chernigov. Nikolay and Lena have had their baby—a daughter named Lara. Alla’s mother, Vera, has been baptized. Vitaliy, now age 14, is preparing to serve a mission. The Church has been officially registered in the city, and a branch has been organized—with Nikolay serving as branch president. Full-time missionaries now live and work in Chernigov. Several more people have been baptized. And the growing branch has rented a small building in which to meet.
But other things have not changed. The branch members still care about and watch over one another. They still share the gospel with people they meet. And the Spirit of the Lord continues to burn brightly in their hearts and in their homes.
Best of all, on 8 August 1998 the First Presidency announced that a temple will be built in Kiev, Ukraine. Soon, when the members from Chernigov make the trip to Kiev, it will be to attend the house of the Lord.

One day, Mom and I were looking for shoes that I could wear to church. We had looked in several stores, but I hadn’t found any that I really wanted. As we turned to leave a store, I noticed an elderly woman with a cane. Pain showed on her face when she bent over to try to get a pair of shoes from the bottom shelf.
I rushed over to her and smiled at her and asked if I could help. She stood up gratefully and smiled back at me. I got several pairs of shoes for her and waited patiently while she looked over each pair. When she was finished, she thanked me sincerely for helping her.
I hadn’t seen Mom come over to us, but the lady did. She asked Mom, “Is this your daughter?” She told Mom what I had done and expressed her gratitude. I felt warm and happy inside. Later, Mom told me that she could picture Jesus’ eyes filling with compassion when He saw the elderly woman. She said that I was trying to be like Jesus.
Even though neither the elderly woman nor I found shoes in that store, I found out that caring for one another is much more important.

I have seen it in my travels across the world. In a city of more than 10 million people, I spoke to the Latter-day Saints gathered by the thousands in conference. It was held in a large sports arena.
Before the meeting began, I noticed a handsome young man sitting on the front row. He was surrounded by others who, like him, were better dressed than most of those around them. I asked the General Authority of the Church near me who the men were. He whispered that it was the mayor of the city and his staff.
As I walked to my car after the meeting, I was surprised to see the mayor waiting to greet me, flanked by his staff. He stepped forward, extended his hand to me, and said, “I thank you for coming to our city and to our country. We are grateful for what you do to build up your people. With such people and such families, we could create the harmony and the prosperity we want for our people.”
I saw in that moment that he was one of the honest in heart placed by God in power among His children. We are a tiny minority among the citizens of that great city and nation. The mayor knew little of our doctrine and few of our people. Yet God had sent him the message that Latter-day Saints, under covenant to trust God and His authorized servants, would become a light to his people.

There was only one thing that could really make me feel Christmas cheer that year, and there it was, sitting in the mailbox. A note from the mailman, stating that there were packages from the United States waiting for me in the post office.
Now expensive presents don’t mean that much to me. But that year, even a paper clip from home made me want to dance around and sing Christmas carols at the top of my lungs. Because of a mail strike, I hadn’t heard a thing from my family in the two months since I’d arrived in the mission field, and I was dying to hear how they were doing.
As for me, I wasn’t doing so well. The mission field hadn’t quite turned out to be what I’d expected. I’d studied Spanish in college and had even taken classes in Mexico, so I pictured myself reeling off the most spiritual discussions with perfect grammar and accent. Instead, my first assignment was in an area where they speak a unique dialect called “Valenciano.” Even my native Spanish companion couldn’t understand it.
The cold didn’t help either. When I received my mission call to southern Spain, I pictured sundrenched beaches and orange blossoms, not the waist-high snow drifts that confronted us daily.
All that wouldn’t have made much difference if the work had been going well, but the fact was that there hadn’t been a baptism in that particular town for more than a year, and as hard as we tried, we weren’t getting in many doors.
What I needed more than anything was to know that someone back home still loved me, and I was ecstatic to find that there, in the post office just a few blocks away from my apartment, lay tangible proof that they did. Since the post office was already closed for the day, we decided we’d go out early the next morning, make the visits we’d planned, then return a bit earlier than usual to pick up the packages. We had to do it before noon, since the post office closed at noon on December 24th and would remain closed until the 26th.
It wasn’t even difficult the next morning to crawl from under my six blankets and emerge into the subfreezing temperatures of our basement apartment. I sang as I fixed breakfast, then proceeded to dress myself in everything I’d packed in my suitcase. It took a lot to battle the wind and the sleet. Although I’d lost about five pounds, I looked like I’d gained thirty thanks to my mega-layers of clothing. And instead of feeling frustrated when I looked in the mirror, I started giggling.
My companion and I set out, and the warmth that radiated from the thought of those packages sitting in the post office seemed to keep me toasty despite the chilly weather. As we knocked on the doors, I flashed a genuine smile that I saw reflected time and time again in the faces of those we visited. People were actually inviting us in! They were sharing their bars of turron, an incredible Spanish almond holiday treat, with us, and better still, they were listening to the message of the Savior that we wanted so much to give them that day.
We were down to the last house on our list—it belonged to a couple who seldom attended church but were very nice about referring us to their friends and often invited us in to warm up and dry off. Sister Boluda always had a smile and words of encouragement for us, and that was why we were stunned to see her answer the door on one of the happiest days of the year with red-swollen eyes and tears running down her cheeks.
“Oh sisters!” she cried. “How wonderful for you to come to visit me today. I’m always so lonely at Christmas. Won’t you come in and cheer me up?”
We entered her apartment and held her hands as she tearfully poured out the reason for her loneliness. She had a loving husband, but they’d never been able to have children of their own, and Christmastime seemed to emphasize the absence of little ones. Could we please stay and share a bite to eat with her? She would feel so much better if we could.
We agreed without hesitation, and a little while later, after we’d eaten, read the Christmas story in the Book of Mormon, and sang a number of Christmas carols, we left her house. Sister Boluda was smiling again, and she seemed to glow with the warmth of the season.
It wasn’t until we looked at our watches on the way home that we realized the post office was probably closed. It was past noon, but we ran back to the post office anyway, thinking that perhaps it would be so busy that they would have to stay open a few extra hours.
No such luck. Alcoy was a small town, and it would have been hard to muster up enough business to keep the place open for an extra 15 minutes, let alone a full two hours. Whatever my family had to say to me, whatever they had to send to me, would have to wait until the day after Christmas.
The sky seemed to grow even darker as we trudged through the snow. I bowed my head to shield my face from the wind and tried to brush back the hair that had fallen in my eyes. That was a mistake. My blond curls had frozen into spikey icicles, and they broke off in jagged hunks when I touched them.
Back in our dreary little apartment there would be no Christmas cheer to greet us. Everything that usually put me in the Christmas mood—lights, trees, brightly wrapped presents, stockings, small children—would be only vague memories within the cold, dark walls of our flat.
But you know what? I wasn’t upset. I wasn’t even a little annoyed. By not getting my family’s gifts on time, I received something far greater—it would change me for the rest of my mission and for the rest of my life.
I realized that happiness comes from the warmth within your heart and has nothing to do with the temperature outside. I also learned that when you carry that warmth within, it radiates outward to all those you meet and gives them something to glow on.
That Christmas Eve I realized that my first mission assignment was not to a mean, freezing little city, but a beautiful, expectant little town, just waiting for the warmth the light of the gospel can bring. It was my attitude, not the temperature, that needed to be raised.
Still, I was grateful for the packages with gloves, hat, and thermal underwear I opened the day after Christmas.

They chat on the school bus, during breaks and lunch hour, between classes, and walking home. Sharline Niblett first heard the gospel this way. “I was invited to another Grice sister’s (Wendy’s) 21st birthday at their home, stayed the weekend, went to church meetings Sunday, and have been attending nearly every Sunday since,” she laughs.
So she kept in touch with the Grice girls. “I attended church with them on and off for three years,” she admits. Then came Sharline’s baptism. “I had such a good feeling inside,” she recalls. “During the testimony time, I sat next to Rachael and could clearly hear the Spirit whispering to me, ‘Go on up there.’ I tried to explain to Rachael, asking her to come with me. Rachael hesitated, so I told Sarah I had to go up. She was really surprised. Eventually we walked up to the stand together, and I was just able to say, ‘I know this church is true,’ before bursting into tears.”

I would like to express my deep gratitude for the New Era. Though I am 35 years old, it is my favorite reading each month and is a great asset to my teaching at Solano College. Last Christmas our family gave nine gift subscriptions to young nonmember friends and students. Now six of them have joined the Church. Brother Leavitt’s articles on the very special people and land of Chile have opened doors for missionary work with friends we have in Chile as well as with former Chileans living in California. What a joy to know the gospel of Jesus Christ is true and that the New Era has a part in publishing the good news.
Stephen DavidsonVacaville, California

Like Solomon, many others rallied around Joseph and joyfully accepted the truth. They joined the Church in New York, but left their homes to follow him when the Lord directed him to go to Ohio. (See D&C 37:1.) Among those who were prepared to receive the gospel in Ohio were Newel and Elizabeth Whitney. One evening at about midnight, the Whitneys were praying, asking God how they could obtain the gift of the Holy Ghost. Elizabeth recorded their experience:
“The spirit rested upon us and a cloud overshadowed the house. It was as though we were out of doors. The house passed away from our vision. … A solemn awe pervaded us. We saw the cloud and we felt the spirit of the Lord.
“Then we heard a voice out of the cloud saying:
“‘Prepare to receive the word of the Lord, for it is coming!’
“At this we marveled greatly; but from that moment we knew that the word of the Lord was coming to Kirtland.”11

I used to feel terrible for not fulfilling my assignments at school, at work, and in the Church. One day I was thinking about how much and why I procrastinated, and I recognized that I was putting unimportant things ahead of the things that I should have been doing. I felt guilty all the time for not doing my best, and that was why I had feelings of unhappiness and depression.

As I meditated on my feelings of inadequacy, I tried to imagine myself as the daughter of God that I had been created to become. I pictured all the things I could do, and a feeling of love and peace came over my heart. I realized the importance of being a daughter of God and discovered that I was lacking confidence in myself and the determination to accomplish my goals. I knew that Heavenly Father loved me very much and wanted me to do better. I began to change, and now I know that nothing is impossible for me to do, if I will work at it.

We need to have confidence in ourselves, our potential, and our talents—and to value ourselves that way the Lord values each of us. If each one of us can catch the vision of our eternal potential, we will be motivated by that vision to do great things with our lives.

Rita David, 19Aguanambi Ward, Fortaleza StakeFortaleza, Brazil

Tim leaned on the dented fender of his old Honda and scowled at his barren surroundings.
Lanely, the sign had said. What a dump, he thought.
Another hot wind carried a dust cloud across the road. The town’s only gas station sat a hundred yards off the interstate. During the tourist season, you could sit outside the garage and watch car after car fly by on the freeway, but hardly any of them stopped in Lanely.
Tim had stopped there but not to take pictures or admire the three-block skyline. Behind him, the station’s owner, a man old enough to be Tim’s grandfather, examined the engine in the hot shade of the hood.
Tim’s tan face looked angry and exhausted. Red, matted hair, drenched in sweat, added to his tired appearance. He scowled at his watch. Great, he thought, I’ll be late for the game. He had never missed a football game. Now here he was, stuck in some dump, for no good reason. Why did Mom make him go to his uncle’s funeral anyway? It wasn’t like he’d seen him in the last 10 years. And he had wasted his morning with a bunch of other people he hadn’t seen in 10 years. He didn’t want to do that again.
“Well,” said the owner, emerging from under the hood, “it looks like you might be here for a while. Your water pump’s bad. That’s why your engine keeps overheating.”
Tim rolled his eyes and threw up his hands at the news. He fumed for a moment then kicked the car’s front tire angrily.
“Great,” he grunted. “How long is that going to take?”
“Oh, a couple hours, I reckon.” The owner wiped his greasy hands on a rag that looked even greasier. “I think I have the part here. But my other mechanic is home sick today. If you want to lend me a hand, it would move things along a little.”
He pulled a red handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead. The boy’s face was very familiar; the strong nose and the firm, square jaw awakened a shadow in Jack’s memory. “Where are you headed, anyway?”
Tim let a second drift by before answering. “Over to the coast. A town called Cranston.”
Jack hadn’t thought about Cranston for a long time. It reminded him of …
He took a closer look at the young man. A surprising resemblance, he told himself. Maybe it was just his imagination. “C’mon,” he said, gesturing toward the car. “Let’s get this thing in the garage.”
Tim stood still for a second, then moved to help push the car. The sooner it was fixed, the sooner he could get out of here.
Jack was under the hood again. Tim leaned on the fender and peered down at the engine, but it was just one greasy, tangled mass to his eyes, and he slipped into daydreaming. He had lost track of time, but it seemed like they’d been in there a while. Occasionally Jack would ask for a certain tool, and Tim found most of those indistinguishable too.
Inside the garage, they were out of the sun, but the heat still bore down on Tim, squeezing more sweat from his body. Soiled auto manuals filled a rickety bookcase on one wall. The odors of gasoline, motor oil, and something mildewy blended to give him a headache. It was the silence that Jack found intolerable. He wiped his shiny forehead with his sleeve.
“So you’re from Cranston,” he said, not looking up from the engine. “Does the name Nate Vaughan mean anything to you?”
Tim answered without moving. “He was my grandad. Never met him. I think he died when my mom was really young. How did you know him?”
“Why, he used to live here in town,” Jack said. He glanced at Tim. “There’s a strong family resemblance, I might add.”
Tim let out a flat grunt. “I think I remember my mom saying something about that once, but she hardly talks about him.” He went back to staring at the engine.
Jack resumed working but tried to continue the conversation. “Yup, he and I were friends for years before your mother was born. We worked as ranch hands together, and he was best man at my wedding.”
Tim glanced at his watch. He didn’t care for reminiscing, but he was going to be here for a while. When the old man paused, Tim said, “I heard he went crazy.”
To Tim’s surprise, Jack didn’t even look up but kept loosening a certain nut. For a moment Tim thought he hadn’t been heard, but then Jack replied calmly, “Did your mother tell you that?”
Tim thought he felt tension hovering in the air. “Yeah, a long time ago. She said that’s why my grandma left him and moved to Cranston.”
The owner handed Tim his wrench. “Give me that one second from the end,” he said, wiping his forehead on his sleeve again. He didn’t speak again until he had resumed work on the engine. “Well, son, you’re not getting the whole story there. I knew your grandma, and she was a fine woman. I knew your mother, too, when she was really young. Your Grandpa Nate loved them both very much; he was a wonderful husband and father.”
“Then why did he leave them?”
“Now, see, that’s what I want to set straight.” He extracted himself from the engine and leaned against a nearby workbench, wiping his hands on a rag. “You see, all three of them used to live here in town. One day your grandpa met two traveling preachers, and they showed him this.”
He stepped over to the bookcase and pulled a volume off the shelf with a worn hand. He handed it to Tim, who examined the book briefly. It was old but not dusty, bound in worn, brown leather. The yellowed title page read, “The Book of Mormon.” The name sounded familiar. Tim shrugged his shoulders. “Okay. So what? People don’t up and leave their families over a book.”
Jack slowly turned the wrench over his hands. His eyes stared off into space. “The first time Nate met the missionaries and saw the Book of Mormon, he knew it was true. He asked the missionaries to baptize him that same week. I still remember how excited he was when he first told me about it.” He gripped the wrench firmly in his hands and looked thoughtfully at Tim. “Your grandma, on the other hand, didn’t like the whole deal at all. Among other things, she said she didn’t believe someone should change religions. Nate was sad that it upset her, but he couldn’t just stop believing what he believed to be true. Eventually your grandmother took your mother and moved in with relatives in Cranston. I don’t think Nate saw them much after that, and I didn’t either. Nate passed away not long after.”
Tim shrugged again. “I don’t get it. What made him do that?”
The owner tilted his head a little to the left and pondered for a moment. Then he drew in a deep breath and said, “Tim, it’s not easy to explain in a few words, and I don’t know exactly how Nate felt or what he experienced. I’m not him.”
They were quiet for a moment. Tim wanted to say something, but waited. Jack continued.
“That was a very busy time for both of us, but I remember how one day we were out fishing not far from here. I knew that Nate and his wife were having some troubles then, though I didn’t understand all the circumstances and everything. Eventually we started talking about it. I told him that I thought he was risking a lot for this religion, with his marriage and all. He nodded, said he knew that. So then I asked him straight out why he was doing it. He was really quiet for a minute, and then he said, ‘Jack, do you remember those nights out on the trail when we slept under the stars?’
“We used to stay awake for hours talking about God and life and what we were supposed to be doing with our time. We put a lot of thought into it, but never got very far. Anyway, Nate told me, ‘I finally found answers for those questions we always wondered about.’ Sometimes Nate had told me that he was afraid of being alone. He was afraid that one day his friends and family would all be gone, and he’d be alone. But now he said that he knew that God knew and loved him. He said that God would help him in his hard times, that he was helping him right then.
“I remember being amazed at the excitement and passion he spoke with. He was a changed man, and there was something in his voice that gave me hope.”
Jack paused. A placid thoughtfulness had settled over his face. “Now, I didn’t understand everything he told me right then, and it was actually a long time before I did, but by the time he finished speaking I had this beautiful, peaceful feeling that made me want to believe everything he’d said. I never doubted Nate after that.” Jack looked at the engine, then handed Tim the wrench. “I think we’re done.”
Tim took the wrench and stepped back from the car. He stood silently, staring at the tool. Alone. Or not? The idea hadn’t occurred to Tim before, but now it made him think. Jack’s words carried a power. They stirred up questions too. Did his grandad have any more relatives here? Where was he from? How did he meet grandmom?
Tim’s trance was snapped by the slamming of the hood of his car. “You’re ready to go,” the old man told Tim. “That’ll get you to Cranston, no problem. Just a little late.”
Late. The game. Tim had forgotten it. “Ummm, great. Sounds good,” he finally mumbled.
Tim wrote a check while Jack cleaned up. Neither said much until Tim was about to climb into his car. He offered the owner his hand and thanked him.
The owner shook his hand and nodded. Then he handed him a scrap of paper with a number scrawled on it. “My pleasure. Listen, I’ve got a lot of pictures and stuff from when I used to work with your grandpa. Why don’t you come back up and take a look at them sometime? Or you’re always welcome just to come and talk.”
Tim nodded and got into his car. As he started the engine, he leaned out the window and said, “Thanks. I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

When I was younger, my family was not active in the Church. I remember very few instances when I went to Primary. I attended church on special occasions such as Christmas, Easter, baptisms, or blessings. Then, when I was about 13, my family moved from one end of town to the other. I attended the same school and had the same friends. The only difference now was our new ward. Because of this move, everything changed.
One girl in my new ward called me faithfully every week to invite me to church and Mutual. The meetinghouse was just through my backyard. Although I could have walked, she would offer me a ride. She fulfilled her calling as Beehive class president, and I started coming to church. At first, I came because I felt bad saying no. But it wasn’t long before I was coming on my own. I loved being in church, I loved the scriptures, and I loved the girls in our ward.
My freshman year in high school, however, I chose not to take seminary. I thought I didn’t have room in my schedule. I didn’t understand how important seminary was. My friends could say nothing but good about seminary, so I decided to adjust my schedule so that I could take it.
Seminary gave me a fresh outlook on the gospel. Through seminary my testimony of the scriptures developed. I read the entire New Testament and learned about the Atonement of Jesus Christ. My testimony grew at an overwhelming speed. Once again I felt the peace and love the gospel provided me, and I wanted my family to feel it as well.
I began to urge my family to come with me to sacrament meeting. I told them I wanted us to be an eternal family. To encourage them, I would wash everyone’s church clothes on Saturday night so that the excuse “I don’t have anything to wear” was no longer an option. I told them that I had a testimony of the gospel and that I wanted to share it with them. Most important, I prayed. I prayed that my family could know the Spirit the way I did. I wanted them to go to church so that we could someday be sealed in the temple.
It started slowly and took some time, but one warm August morning, my prayers were answered as we were sealed in the Portland Oregon Temple. I felt the Spirit stronger at that moment than ever before. I knew my family could be together forever. To this day I cannot thank my Heavenly Father enough for this wonderful blessing.
Now I am trying my best to be a good example and friend to everyone around me so that perhaps I can do for them what was done for me.

I’ll never forget the day I met Diego. I was serving my mission in Chile when he approached my companion and me. He was so excited to see us because he wanted to learn about the gospel and knew he needed to be baptized. Diego amazed me because he was so pure—he didn’t want to do one worldly thing. He introduced us to his mother, and we set up an appointment to teach them at his grandmother’s house.
No sooner had we arrived to teach them than Diego’s grandmother came into the room in a panic. “The goats are missing!” she cried.
“Can you help me search for them?” Diego asked my companion and me, so we did.
The area was covered in rolling hills, which were rockier than I had thought. Diego explained that he was worried because the goats could hurt themselves on the treacherous terrain or be stolen by thieves. We had searched for a while when Diego finally yelled, “I see them!”
I turned my head and could not see anything. I asked, “Diego, where are they?”
He replied, “They are on top of that hill.”
As I tried to focus my eyes, I could see dots moving around on the hilltop. I couldn’t believe Diego had spotted the flock of goats from that far away. He told us to wait at the bottom while he went up to get them.
I then witnessed something I had never seen before. As Diego climbed the steep hill, he began a distinct combination of clapping and yelling. The goats, recognizing the signal, perked up. Within five minutes, they grouped together and came galloping down the hill.
“This is too easy!” I thought.
I was right. As we turned to herd the flock back home, I heard the distant cry of another goat. We looked back and saw one little goat bleating on top of the hill. Realizing it was alone, it started trotting toward us. I was feeling relieved to see that this goat was coming toward us when Diego began to race up the hill.
“What are you doing?” I called.
“It’s a baby goat,” he replied. “It could easily fall and get injured.”
My companion and I quickly followed him.
As Diego bent to pick up the baby goat, it dodged and ran away. For a long time the three of us tried to catch the goat, but it refused to come. I was getting frustrated. Couldn’t the goat see that we were trying to help?
At last Diego’s herding dog, Bo Bo, came out of nowhere and pinned the goat to the ground. Diego picked up the goat, unharmed, and handed it to me. He asked me to carry it home while he attended to the rest of the flock.
As I lifted the little goat onto my shoulders, I felt its heart racing. I realized how frightened it must have been. Exhausted, the goat now laid limp, its head dangling over my shoulder and resting on my arm. It was as if the goat knew we were taking it home, because it did not fight anymore.
When I placed the baby goat back in the pen, safe with its family, it seemed happy and relieved. My heart filled with gladness. I was so grateful I’d played a part in rescuing it.
In that moment, a scripture came to life in my mind: “What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it?
“And when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing. …
“… Likewise joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that repenteth” (Luke 15:4–5, 7).
Diego taught me something about the Savior that day. Diego loved each member of his flock individually. He could see the dangers they faced and wanted to save each one. How much more the Savior loves each of us.
The little goat taught me a lot too. How often had I run away from the Savior’s help? How many lost souls were shutting Him out of their lives because they were afraid?
As a missionary, I was privileged to serve others the way the Savior would if He were here. At first I had agreed to help Diego because I cared about him, but as I carried that goat, I came to feel I cared for it too. How much more I loved the Savior and wanted to seek for His children. As I did, love grew in my heart for the Chilean people. I could not always carry them safely on my shoulders, but I could teach them and the Holy Ghost could guide them to the One who can. I know I’ll feel joy seeing them safely at home with their eternal families someday.

Last year a new boy came to my class. Some of the kids were mean to him. They said things like, “Don’t sit by him.” They wouldn’t play with him at recess. I felt bad. One day I sat by him even though my friends said not to, and I played with him at recess. I felt good. I knew I was doing what Jesus would want me to do. That made me happy. I was glad I could be a friend to someone who was new because I have been new before.

If you want your influence to extend beyond the circle of your friends, you may want to prepare a Book of Mormon and then give it to the missionaries to be used wherever it can do the most good. If you wish, you can include a photo of your entire family and make it a family project. The John R. Poulton family of Salt Lake City, Utah, treasures several letters from people who have received the Book of Mormon from them in this way through the missionaries.
Lawrence C. Alamargo of the Philippines wrote to the family: “We received the Book of Mormon you sent, and we have read it already. It inspired the whole family. The Book of Mormon was handed to us by the elders who taught us the gospel of God. We were baptized December 25th, and the gift of the Holy Ghost was the most precious gift we ever received in our lives.”

Among the many phonograph records we have at our home, none is as much enjoyed by our grandchildren as a record given to me in Korea that features singing by a chorus of little Korean orphan girls. The music is beautiful!
Soldiers serving in Korea often have spare time. Many of them waste this time, but a young man from Blanding, Utah, named Stan Bronson was not one of them. He decided instead to do some good with his extra hours, so he visited an orphanage where little orphan girls lived. Stan played his guitar and sang to them, and they were delighted with his music. Since the Koreans have beautiful voices, these girls soon joined Stan in singing. In no time he was the leader of a wonderful chorus of children.
These little girls sang to us at a Sunday meeting held in the chapel of the army base on the outskirts of Seoul, Korea. As they sang, I could scarcely hold back the tears. I watched Stan lead these beautiful girls, and I thought of Jesus’ statement, “Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God” (Mark 10:14).
Among the songs they sang, I enjoyed most a song I learned as a little boy in Primary, “Give, Said the Little Stream.” They sang the first verse in English, the second verse in Korean, and then the third verse again in English. I would like to give you the words of that third verse:
Give, then for Jesus give;
Give, oh! give, give, oh! give.
Give, then for Jesus give;
There is something all can give.
Do as the streams and blossoms do,
For God and others live.
I have often thought of these words and of this young soldier who gave to help others and of the marvelous way in which the lives of these little children were brightened by his talent. Under his leadership, the girls gave of their talents to brighten the lives of others.
Truly, as the song says, “There is something all can give. Do as the streams and blossoms do, For God and others live.”

Driving to the Los Angeles Airport with a busy radio executive, I learned that he and his wife, though born in the Church, had never participated. Their social life of parties and weekends for fun and escape dominated their lives.
After eight years of marriage and three children, they were becoming concerned about their lives but did nothing about it.
Different sets of home teachers came and went. A new home teacher—a true shepherd—came into their lives, and after a time this new home teacher committed this man to go to Church once. Brother Adamson said he would not give up smoking and drinking. He had made a firm resolve not to live the Word of Wisdom, and if he was not welcome in Church because of it, that was fine. The home teacher said, “You are welcome, and I will pick you up.”
The first Sunday Brother Adamson attended Church he waited for someone to move away from him because of the strong tobacco odor, but that didn’t happen. “They will ask me to pray or work in the Church,” he thought. That didn’t happen either.
The home teacher did not phone on Sunday mornings to give him a chance to make an excuse and back out but drove to his home and would say, “Are you ready?” This home teacher picked him up every Sunday for over a year.
The Adamsons began reading A Marvelous Work and a Wonder and found that the Church consisted of much more than just the Word of Wisdom, which he had heard so much about all his life (and because he didn’t live the Word of Wisdom, felt the Church had nothing to offer him).
This couple soon learned it is a Church of love, not a Church of fear. They learned of the mission of the Savior and of our Heavenly Father and of repentance. They became so proud of the Church they had been born into that the Word of Wisdom no longer was an important issue. He didn’t go through the pangs of quitting. It just happened. There were so many other principles of the gospel that now were so important in their lives.
He said, “I found myself working on our new chapel and then one day quietly telling the bishop, ‘I’m ready, now. You can call on me to pray.’”

Lorenzo Snow was still at work in his office in the Salt Lake Temple. It was dark outside, and the stars had come out. He was the fifth President of the Church, but he was also serving as the first president of the Salt Lake Temple at the time. He often stayed late into the evening to finish his work.

President Snow’s granddaughter Allie Young loved to visit him at his office. In those days, family members of the temple president were allowed to visit him there. They were not allowed to go through the entire temple, however, until they were old enough and had been found worthy and ready to make the sacred temple covenants.

This special evening Allie was with her grandfather in his office. The doorkeepers had gone home and the night watchmen had not yet come in, so they were alone. When Allie was ready to leave, President Snow went to a dresser and took a large bunch of keys from the drawer so that he could let her out the main entrance. Together they walked down a large corridor near the celestial room.

President Snow suddenly stopped and said, “Wait a moment, Allie. I want to tell you something.” Allie listened intently as her grandfather told her of an unforgettable experience he had once had at that place in the temple: “It was right here that the Lord Jesus Christ appeared to me at the time of the death of President Woodruff. He instructed me to go right ahead and reorganize the First Presidency of the Church at once and not wait as had been done after the death of the previous presidents, and that I was to succeed President Woodruff [as President of the Church].”
President Snow held out his left hand and said, “He stood right here, about three feet above the floor. It looked as though he stood on a plate of solid gold.”
Still speaking in hushed, reverent tones, President Snow told Allie that the Savior’s appearance was so glorious and bright that he could hardly look at Him.
President Snow put his right hand on Allie’s head and said, “Now granddaughter, I want you to remember that this is the testimony of your grandfather, that he told you with his own lips that he actually saw the Savior, here in the temple, and talked with him face to face.”
Allie listened to every word of this sacred experience and never forgot that precious moment but shared it many times later in her life with her family and friends.

I worked for a manager who I felt was rude and who hated me also. I, too, wanted to be Christian and have love for everyone, but there are some people that no matter what you do, they will still try to knock you down. In my case, I tried and tried to be as nice as possible. I did everything my manager asked and more, but she never was any nicer to me. Finally, I realized that it was impossible to make her happy, so I quit. Now that I am away from her, I am able to forgive her and genuinely feel sorry for her.
James Yoder, 20Belleville, Illinois

The most outstanding example of individual effort that I know of is embodied in the college career of Jim Thorpe. Of Lamanite ancestry, he attended Carlisle Indian School. There he compiled a record that has never been approached. He was a halfback on the football team and was such a hard runner that for fun he would tell the other team which way he was coming. When his team had to punt, he could boot the ball 70 yards.
One year little Carlisle upset mighty Harvard, with Thorpe kicking four field goals and scoring a touchdown. Another time against Army, he scored two touchdowns, kicked three field goals and three extra points, and passed for another touchdown. He returned one Army kick 90 yards for a touchdown, but it was called back on a penalty. So Thorpe returned the next kickoff 95 yards!
In track and field, Carlisle faced a tough dual meet with unbeaten powerhouse Lafayette. Jim Thorpe showed up for the meet accompanied by one other man. Since Lafayette had a squad of 48 athletes, an official said, “You mean the two of you are the whole Carlisle team?”
“Nope,” said Thorpe. “Just me. The other fellow’s the student manager.”
Against Lafayette that day, Thorpe won the high jump, broad jump, shotput, discus, 120-yard hurdles, 220-yard hurdles, and finished third in the 100-yard dash. Carlisle won the meet 71–41.