Gospel Story Finder

Jaanus Silla* was in his last year of high school in Harjumaa, Estonia, when he started thinking seriously about religion. Although he lived in a country that frowned upon worship, Jaanus still knew a few things. His mother had taught him to believe in God. Sometimes, when he was younger, they had attended a Christian church at Christmas, after trimming their tree with candles and waiting for Jõuluvana, the Estonian Santa Claus.
Recently, while trying to decide about his future, Jaanus had even prayed for the first time. He remembered the prayer, short but sincere: “Father in Heaven, if you exist, then help me.”
He finished high school and went to work in a photo studio, developing film and studying photography while he continued searching for spiritual truth. Meanwhile, the tremor of political change had begun to softly shake Estonian life. People began to question the government openly for the first time.
One evening Jaanus and some friends carried the Estonian flag, fluttering over their shoulders, on the way to a patriotic song party. Enraged police saw the flag and chased them down. When they caught them, the police grabbed the flag and ripped it, but Jaanus and his friends were only reprimanded. This treatment by the police was a big change for the better.
“There is a special feeling in Estonia,” Jaanus later explained in an excited voice to his mother. “People are patriotic. We all feel this new warmth and happiness.”
Then, a few weeks before Christmas 1989, Jaanus met 30-year-old Enn Lembit, who told Jaanus, “I have a new testimony about Christ and what prophets say nowadays. Come to my house to hear about this wonderful news.”
“Imagine that,” Jaanus thought, “a prophet speaking to people on earth today!” His spine tingled as he and his friends went to Enn Lembit’s apartment for a meeting.
At that first meeting, Enn Lembit explained, “My father-in-law, Valtteri Rötsä, was converted to the Mormon church in Finland. He returned to Estonia to his family with his pockets full of literature about the Mormon faith.” Enn’s eyes shone with enthusiasm as he explained the gospel message to Jaanus and others in that small room.
About an hour after the meeting had started, Brother Uusituba, a businessman from Finland, suggested they pray and ask God if this church were true.
Jaanus thought, “I feel really good in this home, and I like what he is saying.” When they prayed, he felt a warm glow and believed that the gospel was true. Jaanus took the news home to his mother, and together they attended the first sacrament meeting held in Estonia.
On 16 December 1989, Enn Lembit was the first convert baptized on Estonian soil. Jaanus and his mother were baptized on 6 January 1990.
Excited by their newfound religion, Jaanus and his friend Urmas Raavk decided they must spread the gospel. They spoke with at least 50 people on the streets and knocked on 20 doors. They tried to talk like missionaries, explaining the story of Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon. The missionaries later asked Jaanus, “Why did you do that? Who gave you the authority to act as a missionary?”
“We know from reading in the Bible that everybody must be a missionary,” Jaanus answered. “I already have a strong desire to serve. It is hard to wait until I get a mission call.”
The elders smiled. “In opening this new mission, we need to be very careful and work only through referrals to members’ friends,” they explained. President Steven R. Mecham of the Finland Helsinki East Mission said that this proved to be important in getting the Church accepted by the government. Proselyting needed to be handled carefully, so as not to offend. From then on, Jaanus and Urmas worked with the missionaries.
Estonia was dedicated for the preaching of the gospel by Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve in the spring of 1990. On June 29, the Estonian government officially recognized the Church.
The laws of the land required that an Estonian Church member who did not hold a position in the Estonian branch presidency sign the petition for the Church to become recognized. President Mecham asked Jaanus if he would consent to be the Church spokesman to testify before the Minister of Religion and sign the petition.
Jaanus was puzzled. “There are many people who could do that.”
“We would like you, Jaanus, to be the authorized person to sign the document because you have demonstrated such leadership,” answered President Mecham.
Jaanus testified before the Minister of Religion that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was a legitimate church working in the country to help people and that the programs were not contrary to any laws of the government.
Then Jaanus picked up the pen, remembering that he had been at the first meeting of the Church in Estonia, had attended the first official sacrament meeting, and was one of the first youth to be baptized. Twenty others signed their names below his signature.

Don Dewey was a nonmember and one of Ken’s friends stationed aboard a sister minesweeper. He wanted to discover the loopholes in Church doctrine so he could point out to Ken the error of his decision to be baptized. So when the three men returned from sea, Don decided to join Willis and Ken at sacrament meeting in Charleston.

But Don never did find the loopholes. Instead, after months of intensive study, he also chose to become a member of the Church.

My mum’s relationship with me skyrocketed when I said, “I want to spend more time with you, but I don’t know what to do or when to do it.” Playing board games happens to be our favorite pastime. So we set aside a time together to play, laugh, and make memories. When you are open with your parents, eventually they become your best companions. You will be able to talk to them about anything, and you will be sure of an honest answer. That is the sign of a mature relationship.
Ephraim S., age 15, New South Wales, Australia

“How are we going to make it to church today?” Ellie’s little sister, Peppa, asked. “There’s so much rain!”
“Don’t worry,” Ellie said. “We’re brave!”
Ellie helped Peppa button her coat. Then she pulled on her own rain boots.
Ellie and Peppa walked outside with Mami and Papi. It was raining harder than ever. The wind turned their umbrella inside out. Ellie didn’t feel quite so brave anymore.
“What should we do?” Ellie asked. It was too stormy to walk to the bus.
“We’ll take a taxi instead,” Papi said.
“Good idea,” Mami said. “Let’s go!”
They walked down the flooded street. No taxis or cars drove past them. Even the panadería (bakery) was closed.
Finally they saw the area where taxis parked to pick people up. But the first taxi space was empty.
“Oh no!” Peppa said.
“Está bien. It’s OK,” said Ellie. “There could be one. We just can’t see it yet.”
They walked closer. The next parking space was empty too.
“Now what?” asked Peppa.
“I know,” said Ellie. “Let’s pray.”
The girls whispered a prayer. “Nuestro Padre Celestial, please help us find just one taxi so that we can make it to church today. We’re trying to choose the right, and this rain is making it hard. En el nombre de Jesucristo, amén.” Ellie was still learning Spanish, so she mixed English and Spanish together.
They walked a little more. The next parking spot was empty too.
“Maybe we should turn around and go home,” Papi shouted over the wind.
“Our feet are soaked!” said Mami.
“Let’s just go a little bit farther,” said Ellie. “We just need one taxi.”
Now they could see the last parking spot.
There, with its green light on, was a taxi!
Ellie and Peppa hopped in the taxi. Mami helped them smooth down their hair. “We’re sorry to get your seats wet,” Papi told the driver.
They arrived at the chapel and greeted their friends with besos and abrazos (kisses and hugs).
“I can’t believe we found a taxi,” Mami said. “¡Que suerte!”
“It wasn’t luck,” Ellie said. “Peppa and I prayed that Heavenly Father would help us get to church. And He listened!”

“It can’t be done. It won’t work.” That’s what everyone said. But when 17-year-old Tanya Fisher took a courageous stand against an embarrassing “eyesore” in her community of Laramie, Wyoming, she made it work.
A huge retaining wall (100 feet long and 22 feet high) covered with graffiti stood at the intersection of two of the busiest streets in the city. Many efforts had been made by the city council to eradicate the graffiti. They had tried painting over it with white wash. But that encouraged youthful street artists to write on it again. Then the city council spent lots of money to have large streetlights installed hoping to deter the activity. All that did was give the artists more light to work by. It seemed to be a losing battle.
One day Tanya and her mother were chatting at the kitchen table when Tanya came up with the idea to paint a giant mural on that embarrassing retaining wall. She thought it would be a great project for the student council of Laramie High School. An ambitious idea was born that day, but to bring it to full maturity took a lot of time and energy.
Tanya fought opposition everywhere, especially with her peers. They said it wouldn’t work, that graffiti would cover the drawings immediately. But Tanya didn’t give up. During the summer of 1988 Tanya visited Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, with her family. She contacted the Anti-Graffiti Network there and gathered more information. She took pictures of a wall that had been partially painted with a mural. Interestingly enough, there was graffiti all over the unpainted part of the wall. But the mural was left untouched. This gave her hope.
After much research Tanya’s first step was to present her idea to the student council at Laramie High School. It took a written proposal and some tall talking, but she finally won their support. The second step was to get the city council’s approval. Surprisingly, she was met with enthusiasm by both the council and the mayor, and the project took hold in the summer of 1989. It had taken more than a year to get to this point.
Ryan Fulton, a counselor at Laramie High School who became the sponsor of the project, said of Tanya, “That girl ramrodded the project and spent her time researching possibilities from other walls in other cities. She wasn’t afraid to present her ideas to the city council. That’s something for a high school student.”
The theme of the mural represents the three educational institutions of the community: Laramie High School, Wyoming Technical Institute, and the University of Wyoming. It was decided that there would be no advertising involved and neither the names of the schools nor the artists would appear anywhere in the drawings. Logos of the institutions are depicted in a kind of “new wave” art according to Tanya.
With about a dozen students from the high school and another dozen from the tech school, Tanya launched her project. John Kearnes, a Wyoming Tech student, was very helpful in the design and drawing of the mural.
Tanya had already met many challenges, but as the project began she found there were many more ahead. While the paint was still wet, rain washed away the first base coat. Hail ruined the surface in places another time. Tanya described the problems with the size of the wall. “There are 29 sections, only four where you can really stand. To get to the rest of it, we had to tie ropes around our waists and hang down the wall while we put in the measurements, did the sketching and the painting.” Over 600 man-hours were spent on this project. And Tanya personally contributed 87 hours. She also used this as her Young Women values project in the Laramie First Ward, Laramie Wyoming Stake.
Tanya’s mother Darlene Fisher, says, “Months have gone by and the wall is still fine. The whole city is proud of it. My husband (Monte Fisher) and I overhear people talking about the wall, and they don’t know we’re the parents of the girl who spearheaded the project. It makes us feel so good.”
What about upkeep on this huge project? The senior class of Laramie High School has formed a committee from the student council to provide maintenance on the wall. And the city council donates the paint.
Tanya said, “Everyone said it can’t work. But I said ‘Yes it can. If it can work in Boston and Chicago, it can work in a small town like Laramie.’” And it did! One young, determined girl, with a sense of community commitment, proved it.

I had always had the same dream. Ever since I could remember, my dream was to ice-skate in the Olympics. I worked very hard at it, skating in all my free time. Although I loved skating with all my heart, the time it took to practice left me with very little time for my friends.
I knew that I was lucky to have three close friends, because I was shy and it was difficult for me to make friends. When my parents told me that my father’s company was transferring him to another state, I was heartsick.
“Mom, we can’t move,” I protested. “It will mess up everything! I’ll have to get familiar with a new rink, a new practice schedule, a new coach. And since I’ll be unknown at the new rink, I’ll go to the bottom of the list for practice hours. And I won’t know a single person in the whole state, except you and Dad.”
“I know, Melissa,” Mom soothed, “It isn’t going to be easy for any of us, especially you. But we’re all going to have to do our share of sacrificing. You may have to work a little harder to reach your goals, but you’ll manage somehow.”
I knew that Mom was right, but I was still terrified of facing a new situation, and the thought of trying to make new friends made me feel sick to my stomach.
Mom and I drove to the ice rink in Danville, our new hometown, the first night we arrived. It was a Friday night, and the rink was open for public skating. Mom had an appointment with the owner to discuss practice time. I wanted to try out the ice.
I slipped into my skates and joined the twenty or so people on the ice. My spirits were so low that I just glided along without really putting any effort into it.
I watched the people closely. Most of them were in groups of two or three, except for a few girls my age. There were four of them, and I could tell by the way they were skating that they were not beginners. These laughing, boisterous girls were the girls I’d be sharing ice time with.
I tried to get up the courage to say hello and introduce myself, and I almost did—until I realized that they had noticed me and were eyeing me with interest. I knew that they were trying to size me up, and I lost all my confidence. I was relieved to see Mom coming out of an office door. I exited the ice quickly.
“How’s the ice?” Mom asked.
“It’s OK,” I mumbled.
“Well,” she started, “as you guessed, you’re going to have to share ice time. Practice times are Monday and Wednesday afternoons from four to six, and Tuesday and Thursday from three to five. You can be on the ice every morning from five to seven, but only with your coach. I set up an appointment for you to meet the coaches tomorrow. The sooner you pick one, the sooner you can get started.”
Mom went on and on about the business end of skating, and I was happy to let her. I was afraid if she tried to involve me in the conversation, she’d see how miserable I was feeling.
I chose a wonderful coach, and after a couple of weeks we had a routine down. We practiced every weekday morning for an hour, two on Saturday, and two hours in the evenings, Monday through Thursday.
I went to school and church and skated with the four girls I’d seen that first night at the rink. But I still had not made any friends. I knew that it was mostly my fault, because I hadn’t really tried. It was easier to pretend that I was too busy. But now that my schedule was no longer new, I was getting bored and lonely. I wanted to be friends with those girls more than I’d wanted anything since we’d moved. I decided that I was going to make an honest effort to befriend them.
Mom made a batch of her best fudge brownies, and I took them with me one Monday morning. It was just the icebreaker I needed. That day I became friends with Julie, Ann, Michelle, and Kelly.
For the next couple of days, everything went well. I was thrilled to have them for friends, and they seemed to like me, too. Danville was starting to feel like home.
On Friday night, we all met at the rink during public skate time to have a little fun. It was nice to just glide along the ice with a chill in my face and my hair blowing behind me and not worry about figure eights or double toe loops.
We had been on the ice for about twenty minutes, when Julie snickered and pointed to a heavyset girl of our age, coming onto the ice. “There she is again! I can’t believe that cow is coming on the ice.”
I couldn’t believe my ears! Who is she? I wondered. I hadn’t seen her here before.
“Hey, Moo-ey Mary, who let you out of the barn?” Julie hollered at her.
The other girls giggled. I looked from face to face, trying to decide what to do. I looked back at Mary, who was trying to ignore them, but I could see that her feelings were hurt.
My first thoughts were for myself. Why is this happening? I know that going along with them is wrong, but if I say anything, I’ll probably lose them as friends. Maybe I could just ignore the whole thing. I grabbed Ann’s arm. “Come on,” I said, “let’s skate.”
“Wait a minute,” she said. “I want to watch this.”
“Try not to crack the ice,” Julie yelled, and the girls laughed as if on cue. Then they all began to moo.
I looked over at Mary to see what her reaction to this would be. I could see tears running down her cheeks. She was so upset that she was shaking. Everyone on the ice had stopped to look at her.
Mary tried to continue skating, but as she reached us and realized that she would have to pass by us, she went completely white in the face. I had never before known what it meant to feel dirty, but I did now.
I had already noticed that she wasn’t a very good skater and that she had labored to get this far without falling. The other girls were calling her names now, too, and I saw some boys coming our way, laughing.
Mary let go of the handrail, which she had clung to for these past few minutes, and tried to pass us. I could tell that she wasn’t going to make it. Michelle jumped out at her, knocking her off balance, and she fell with a thud to the ice.
The boys, who had joined our circle, started to shake in imitation of an earthquake. It made me sick to my stomach to watch the girls go into peals of laughter over this. I felt angry—mostly with myself.
“Why are you doing this?” I blurted out. “Why don’t you leave her alone. She has as much right to be here as we do.”
Julie turned toward me, all traces of friendship gone from her face. “If you like her so much,” she spat at me, “then why don’t you be her friend?”
I hesitated. But I knew right from wrong, and this was wrong!
“I will!” I said. “I’ll be glad to.”
I skated over to Mary, who had been trying to get on her feet without success. I took her arm, and as I did, I saw that Kelly was reaching for the other one. Together we helped her to her feet and to the handrail.
“My name is Melissa,” I said. “And this is Kelly. Don’t pay any attention to them. They made mistakes and fell when they were learning to skate, too.”
“That’s right,” Kelly agreed.
“Thank you,” Mary managed to say. “Can you help me get to the gate?”
“Oh, please don’t go,” I pleaded. “Stay and have some fun. Kelly and I will give you a free skating lesson, won’t we, Kelly?”
“You bet,” she said. “You can have as many as you like.”
My actions caused me to lose three friends that day. But I made two lifelong, special ones, and I’ve never been sorry for making the right choice.

The children sang songs, danced, and even put on a skit of “Cinderella” for the girls. Although they couldn’t understand the children, that didn’t slow things down. Seventeen-year-old Elisabeth Farnsworth says, “The language barrier didn’t matter because we were able to communicate through our spirits.”
When the children finished their program, they asked the young women to sing for them. “As we stood to sing ‘I Am a Child of God’ to these children, who didn’t understand English, tears came to my eyes,” says Elisabeth. “I received the feeling that what we sang was true and that, even though we speak a different language and come from different countries, we all are children of the same Heavenly Father who knows what each of us needs. He does love each of his children. These children were away from their families, and they needed to know that they were loved.” The Lord had provided that love through the young women.

Shortly before my wedding, my brother, Neipta, and I started arguing. We had been mad at each other for a long time, and the tension finally erupted into words. Although we couldn’t remember what had made us angry in the first place, the feelings were real.
At that time my brother’s relationship with the whole family was suffering. There was antagonism and misunderstanding between him and my father, and he and my two sisters did not communicate at all. But my mother suffered the most. She said I didn’t love Neipta. But I knew I loved him, and it hurt to hear my mother say that. The problems escalated, and my brother left our home in Venezuela.
The next week in Sunday School we had a lesson about forgiveness. I started to feel horrible, and the thought came to my mind: “Aurora, you must apply what you have learned.” The Spirit touched my heart that day, and I knew I needed to forgive my brother. I left with a firm determination to fix things between us.
On Friday of the next week, Neipta came home to pick up some things. I feared his reaction—but that day was my mother’s birthday, and asking my brother’s forgiveness would be the best present I could give her. I went to my room and said a prayer for strength and for the right words to say to my brother. Heavenly Father heard my prayer and gave me courage.
I pulled Neipta aside to talk. I explained how much this situation had hurt us and that I wanted it to end. With tears in my eyes and almost unable to talk, I asked for forgiveness. My brother also began to cry. He forgave me and asked for my forgiveness in return. In just a few minutes we were able to erase months of bitter feelings.
Two days later, my brother and father worked to reconcile their differences and ended their discussion with a hug. The transformation in my family was a miracle. My heart was filled with joy and gratitude to Heavenly Father for teaching us to forgive.

When I was a new missionary serving in Kobe, Japan, I noticed an unusual box hanging in the middle of the Church bulletin board.
“What is that?” I asked my companion.
“It’s a mailbox,” she explained. “Our Sunday School teacher Brother Nakatani* has an eight-year-old daughter named Misaki. She was hospitalized a few months ago with cancer.”
We began writing letters every week. Writing in Japanese was difficult for me. But as I wrote, I thought of what I would say to my own little sister, and somehow the words came easily.
One Sunday, Brother Nakatani pulled us aside and told us that Misaki loved our letters and wanted to meet us. He gave us the address of the hospital and told us when to be there. We stood behind a glass wall and spoke to Misaki through a telephone. She wore a little hat to cover her bald head. She looked frail but laughed and talked with us.
Not long afterward I was transferred to another area. I continued to write to Misaki. Sometimes I worried about my Japanese and wondered if the letters were difficult for her to read.
On the last month of my mission I was transferred to a ward in Misaki’s stake. I ran in to the stake president and immediately asked about Misaki.
“A few months ago we almost lost her,” he said. “But now she can go to school again. Her hair is growing back, and she is doing just fine.”
A few days later my companion and I went to church to help with a stake Primary activity. While we were there I saw Brother Nakatani.
“How is she?” I asked.
“She’s here,” he said. “Do you want to see her?”
I recognized her right away. A hat covered her head, but this time I could see dark tufts of newly grown hair underneath.
“Misaki Chan!” I called.
She looked up and smiled as I knelt beside her.
“Do you know who I am?” I asked.
She looked puzzled. I pointed to my nametag.
Misaki’s face brightened, and she clapped her hands with joy. Then, she pulled out the missionary packet that all Primary children had received and asked for my autograph. At that moment, I knew that every letter I had sent to her had been worth it. Each of my letters, imperfect as they were because of grammar and spelling errors, had brought her happiness.
Whenever I hesitate and fear that my kindness to others will be misunderstood, I remember the letters to Misaki. No matter how small or imperfect, kindness is always worth it.

A year or two later I learned another lesson about chickens. Each fall in Idaho there is a big state fair that is open for one week. Part of the fair includes a carnival. Just before the fair opened one year, I was surprised to see that a family had moved into an old abandoned house at the end of our street. It had no windows, the doors were kicked off, and it was full of trash. It did offer a little shelter, though. The family staying there was with the carnival that came with the state fair.
They had a boy about my age named Billy, and we quickly became friends. But Billy was a little different than many kids, because he had a mild form of epilepsy. Whenever he would get excited or embarrassed, he would raise his shoulders, put his arms together over his head, and then uncontrollably hit his wrists and elbows together, jerking and twisting as he did. It was a sad thing to see, but it was okay because he was my friend.
Billy’s parents made him go to school whenever he could, so for a week he went to my school. One day I remember coming out of the junior high and hearing a lot of kids shouting. I walked to the side yard and saw about 50 kids huddled in a crude, loud circle, cheering on a fight.
In the circle I saw a big kid named Todd, who was known around town as a real bully and always seemed to be in fights. I couldn’t see the other person, so I moved closer. And then I saw Billy in the circle, curled up and lying on the ground.
Todd would kick Billy and then laugh when he lost control and started his seizure. All the other kids were laughing too. It was just disgusting. Acting out of anger, not courage, I stepped into the circle and yelled at everyone to leave Billy alone. Suddenly, Todd ran over and punched me in the face. I fell to the ground and everyone left.
Just like the junkyard man, Billy was picked on only because he was a little different.
The next day, the fair ended and Billy’s family left town. But a year later, I saw Billy again at the fair. He was running a coin toss carnival booth, calling out for people to throw their pennies, nickels, and dimes into dishes for a chance to win a prize. I wasn’t sure at first that it was Billy, but when he looked my way, we recognized each other. He stopped his work and ran over to me. He smiled, gave me a hug, and thanked me for helping him get out of the fight the year before. I will never forget the great feeling I had that day.

As I walked through the door of the Relief Society room, I avoided meeting the gaze of any of the sisters by pretending to look intently at a fly resting on the piano. Glancing up to see how far back I could sit, I spied a seat on the last row, deep in the corner. I sat down and began to thumb through my scriptures, hoping my studious appearance would help me avoid making eye contact. My mother had been my Young Women leader for four years and was still in Young Women as I, now 18, moved on to Relief Society. Suddenly my peers changed from Beehives, Mia Maids, and Laurels to ladies my mother’s age.
As women filed through the door, I recognized all their faces, yet they seemed unfamiliar in this setting. Sister Pratt had taught me in seminary; Sister Caton used to teach my Sunday School class; I often babysat Sister Bent’s children. How could I ever relate to these women who had so much more life experience than I did?
The chatter began to die down as the clock ticked closer to the start of the meeting. Nobody sat by me. The empty seats surrounding me began to feel like a force field that was keeping me from joining the fellowship and camaraderie the others seemed to share.
I began shifting in my chair, wishing I could go back to the Young Women room to girls with whom I shared interests, friends, experiences, and the same decade of birth. Suddenly my “force field” was penetrated by a whisper in front of me.
“Heidi,” Sister Pratt said.
I looked up to see her beckoning me to sit by her.
“Come sit with us.”
I smiled as a rush of relief swept over me. Although I had chosen to sit alone, I was now grateful for the invitation to be included.
“Don’t ever try to sit on the back row again,” she said with a wink, as I sat down beside her.
Each week this wonderful warmth was repeated over and over again as other caring sisters invited me to sit with them until I felt truly loved by these sisters. It wasn’t long before I didn’t need to wait for an invitation.
I began to reach out to these sisters, just as they had reached out to me. I let their love engulf me and penetrate the wall I had built. I no longer felt a sense of dread as I entered the Relief Society room. These women with whom I had felt nothing in common soon became more than just sisters; they became my friends. I felt a part of the fold.

As mayor of Palo Alto, he brought about a number of civic developments and projects that serve Palo Alto’s needs today. But his warmth and goodness also helped him win friends for the Church. They grew to understand and respect the standards he lived by. Still, few of his non-member acquaintances realized the depth of Mayor Haight’s commitment to his church—until one night in 1963.
At the end of a city council meeting, Mayor Haight told city officials, citizens, and reporters that there was one additional item of business not listed on the agenda. “I want to announce,” he said, “that as of tonight I am resigning as the mayor of Palo Alto and as a member of the city council, as Mrs. Haight and I have been asked to go to Scotland for the Mormon Church. The meeting is now adjourned.”
Non-member friends on the city council tried to persuade him not to go, but he explained that the call to service had come from President David O. McKay, a man he regarded as a prophet. David Haight felt the only matter to be resolved was when he would be needed in Scotland.
“The Savior talked about putting your hands to the plow and not looking back, and I’ve thought of that many, many times,” Elder Haight says now. “You don’t look back with regrets, with a sense of wishing for what you had been involved in.”
That day, twenty-four years ago, he put his hand to the plow and has never looked back with regret.

When I first made the decision to repent of homosexual activity, I greatly feared how the bishop would react. Would he act disgusted or angry? Would I be made to feel worse than I already did over having sinned?

Anxious about disclosing such a personal struggle, I delayed the repentance process for many months. When I did finally meet with my bishop, instead of burdening me with more guilt, he beckoned me back to the fold with words as inviting as Alma’s: “If ye have experienced a change of heart, and if ye have felt to sing the song of redeeming love, I would ask, can ye feel so now?” (Alma 5:26). The bishop’s calm and spiritual reaction to my confession made it easier to go to him later on, knowing I would be loved and helped. His Christlike approach aided in my repentance.

When I was 12 years old, my family moved from subtropical Hong Kong to a place with cold, unfamiliar winters. Soon, I was invited on my first winter hike with the young men in my ward.
On the day of our hike, I dressed as warmly as I knew how. As we ascended the winding mountain trail, I was excited to see falling snow cover the ground. I was inadequately dressed for the terrain and weather, however, and had difficulty keeping up with my group. I told them to go ahead and I would join those who I believed were following us.
As I continued at my own pace, my shoes and clothing became soaked and my hands, feet, and face became numb. It then began to snow so intensely that I could no longer see the trail. After wandering for some time, I realized that I was lost, alone, and unsure if anyone knew I was missing.
Elder Tai in the Sierra Nevada range of California around 1988. The story he shares took place on Mount Baden Powell in the San Gabriel Mountains of California in 1984.
Photograph courtesy of the author
Lost, cold, and alone on that snowy mountain those many years ago, I became desperate. Not knowing what else to do, I knelt in the newly fallen snow and prayed to my Heavenly Father for help. I shared my predicament and fears with Him and pleaded to be found and rescued.
When I arose from my prayer, the snow descended all around me, and a beautiful, calm silence filled the trees. This serenity was disrupted when I heard rustling in the bushes nearby. Two older boys emerged. They had already reached the summit, and instead of following the trail, they decided to slide down the mountain. Of all places, they slid right to where I was!
When they asked me what I was doing there, I told them I was lost. They invited me to join them, and together we slid safely down to the trailhead at the base of the mountain. Eventually we were reunited with the rest of our group.

Some years ago I had the privilege of serving as deacons quorum adviser. In our quorum we had three active deacons, all of whom were called to be part of the quorum presidency.
In one of their meetings, this young presidency decided they wanted at least two of the less-active deacons in their quorum to begin attending Church meetings and activities. They prayerfully set a date—a Sunday six weeks away—by which to achieve their goal. They prayed for success in this sacred endeavor and prayerfully pledged to do the following:
Pray together regularly.
Fast together.
Visit each deacon on the roll.
Plan activities so that any returning deacons would enter a well-structured program.
The presidency felt deeply that these goals were the will of the Lord, so they moved forward with faith and confidence.
During the following weeks, these three young men did what they had promised, expecting that their prayers would be answered. They prayed together, fasted together, visited the less-active deacons and invited them back, and prepared activities, believing that they needed to be prepared for an increase in attendance.
Despite their diligence, no deacons returned—not to church or to any other activity. The date approached, and though they were disappointed that members of their quorum were not returning to church, the young men remained confident that Heavenly Father would answer their prayers.
The Sunday of their goal arrived, and none of the young men whom the presidency had reached out to came to church. But the bishop announced during sacrament meeting that two 12-year-old young men who had been investigating the Church would be baptized that evening.
What a blessing it was for these two new members of the Church to join a quorum with such a presidency. And what a blessing it was for the presidency to see their efforts and prayers answered so directly and to learn that the Lord keeps His promises.
Such was the excitement in the quorum that one member of the presidency said, “Let’s do this again.”

Our son, Spencer, has tried to learn to fast since his baptism two years ago. We have not made him feel he must fast at his young age, and he may not fast as long as we, his parents, do on some Sundays. However, in fast and testimony meeting some time ago, he whispered to me, “I think I’ll bear my testimony.” I smiled and nodded my approval, His sincere testimony touched my heart. Obviously, he was feeling something work within him because he was fasting. We, too, can develop special feelings within us if we enter into fasting with proper intent and with the foundation of prayer.

Even with such deep focus, Juan knows that it’s not easy to stay on target. A few years ago he gained a lot of strength from older young men in his ward. But most of them have moved or have started attending elders quorum, leaving Juan with few Church friends to support him when things got hard. During those times, Juan sought strength from his parents and siblings—and from his Heavenly Father.

“You feel a little alone sometimes because you have different standards, a different way of living, of treating other people, of seeking different things in life. But the truth is,” Juan adds confidently, “you are never alone. We always have prayer, and we can always draw closer to our Heavenly Father. I have always prayed to have the strength to do what’s right, to have the courage to stand up to my friends when they do things that aren’t right.

“And you know what?” he continues. “Sometimes my friends have told me they admire my example and the strength I have to say no.”

Some of the temptations that Juan faced were easy to reject. He could easily say no when a friend would invite him to drink alcohol. That was a clear violation of the commandments.

“But there are times when the temptations are more subtle,” Juan explains. “As it says in the scriptures, sometimes it’s disguised [see Matthew 7:15]. The temptations can appear as though they are nothing bad because they don’t appear to break a specific commandment. That’s when you have to pray to be aware of what’s going on so that you don’t get confused. The Spirit has helped me understand this many times when something is wrong or when people are trying to get me to do bad things.”

As Juan prepares for his mission, he has made some new friends in the Church who support him.

“I’m an example for other youth now, and this has been a blessing for me,” he says. “It helps me understand that the effort to be strong, to be faithful, is worth it.”

Dear Reed,
Guess who came to see us—the Brooks family! They were on vacation. They went to the temple and were sealed as a family. Bobby told us about when you baptized and confirmed him. He said that when you blessed him, you said that someday he would be sealed to his family in the temple, and now that’s come true.
We all went out to dinner together. Elder Watts came with us. He’s been home from his mission for almost a year. He said that you were a great companion and a hard worker.
The Brooks family went to church with us too. We sat between them and Sam’s family. Bobby went to our Valiant class with Sam and me. After the lesson, we played blackboard baseball, and Sam and Bobby and I won! If Sam or I didn’t know the answer, Bobby did. He’s learned a lot about the gospel.

Patrick Wong has already submitted more than 30 generations from his family line. Currently serving as an Area Authority, Elder Wong has frequent opportunities to share his testimony of the importance of temple work.
“I was baptized when I was 16,” he begins, “the first one in my family. Unlike many first-generation converts, however, most of my family joined, including my parents and a younger brother and sister. But despite their conversion, my parents were never sealed—my mother’s health prevented it.
“In 1988, while my wife and I were living in Australia, my father died. A year later my mother was gone. When I returned to Hong Kong for her funeral, we agreed that the work for our parents should be done. My younger brother volunteered to do it in the Taiwan temple.
“Two months later, my wife had a dream. She saw my mother, who seemed very unhappy. ‘Grandma, why are you so unhappy?’ she asked. ‘Patrick’s brother promised to take care of me, but he hasn’t.’ ‘Don’t worry, Grandma. Patrick will take care of you,’ my wife promised.
“Believe it or not, I didn’t understand what the dream meant when my wife told me about it,” Elder Wong says. “However, two weeks later she had another dream, a dream of my father. ‘Kathy, tell Patrick I need to get married as soon as possible.’ When Kathy told me about that dream I finally understood.
“I immediately called my brother and asked him if he’d been to the temple to do our parents’ work. He hadn’t. His wife had been ill and was having a difficult time recovering. ‘Go and do it, Patrick,’ he told me. So within days, we went to the temple in Sydney and had my parents sealed.
“I know this work is essential for our ancestors,” Elder Wong concludes emotionally. “My parents wanted their work done so badly. Other ancestors feel the same way. The Hong Kong Temple is part of Heavenly Father’s plan. It is a comfort to us, a symbol of the Lord’s confidence in the Chinese people here and all around the world, a symbol of the future of the Church.”

We had a similar experience in our family. Last spring some of our children and fourteen of our grandchildren had a family outing in the mountains. One of our activities was a meeting to share experiences and testimonies. We gathered at the appointed time, but the little people were only gathered in body. The large spirits in those little bodies were clamoring for more of the exciting outdoor activities they had been enjoying. The cabin where we met was too small to contain them, and it seemed as if a dozen restless children and their outcries were ricocheting off the walls in every direction. Grandparents will appreciate the apprehension I felt at trying to sponsor something serious in that setting.

Suddenly the instinctive wisdom of young mothers rescued our efforts. Two mothers began to sing a song familiar to the children. Others joined in, and within a few minutes the mood had changed and all spirits were subdued and receptive to spiritual things. I offered a silent prayer of thanks for hymns and for mothers who know how to use them!