Gospel Story Finder

At school I made an awesome football field out of clay. My friend accidentally knocked it over and broke it. I was very sad. My friend also made a football field, so my teacher asked him to give me his. He had been so excited to show his parents that I said, “No, you can keep it.” He said he was sorry, and I forgave him. It made me feel good to forgive because that’s what Jesus would want me to do.
William S., age 8, Texas, USA

I was born and raised in the Philippines, where I met and married my wife, Monina. It was there that our son, Mark, was born. In the mid-1990s, our family moved to Saipan, which is a small island in the Pacific. There, we were active members of another church. Occasionally, I’d see pairs of young men walking around the island, dressed neatly in white shirts and ties. I knew they were Latter-day Saint missionaries, but I had no plans to join another church. When I saw them coming my way, I would literally turn and run in the opposite direction.

My attitude toward the missionaries changed when two friends, Mel and Soledad Espinosa, were baptized into the Church. They encouraged our family to meet with the missionaries, and mostly out of curiosity, we agreed to do so. Our first meeting was in August 2007, and as the missionaries shared their message, I felt something powerful. My heart beat faster, and I felt a tingling sensation throughout my entire body. I later learned that my entire family felt inspired and uplifted. Our feelings intensified in the ensuing months as we learned more about the gospel of Jesus Christ.

About the time we began meeting with the missionaries, Monina’s energy began to decrease, and strange bumps started appearing all over her body. Her arthritis flared up as it never had before. We sought medical help, but none of the tests gave us any answers. As the months passed, her health deteriorated to the point that she needed additional medical attention. In December, Monina flew to the Philippines to meet with doctors there. I stayed in Saipan so I could continue to work and care for our teenage son.

Before she left, Monina told me that she wanted to be baptized when she returned to Saipan. She also asked me to continue meeting with the missionaries even though she would be missing some of the lessons. I promised her that Mark and I would do so.

During her time in the Philippines, we talked regularly so that I could hear about her doctor visits and she could hear what we were learning about the gospel. My wife reported that she was feeling less and less pain every day, and I was glad that the medical attention was working. In early January 2008, I purchased a plane ticket so I could go visit her, but she felt certain that she would be back in Saipan soon and that there was no need to waste money on the trip. She told me she loved and missed our son and me but assured me everything would be all right.

Three days later she died suddenly. The cause: undetected leukemia. Mark and I were stunned—and heartbroken. We immediately traveled to the Philippines for the funeral and then returned to Saipan. This was the most difficult time of our lives.

The sorrow I felt was profound, so much so that I found it hard to get out of bed each morning. One particularly difficult day, Mark reminded me of something the missionaries had taught our family. He said, “Dad, don’t cry too much. Mom is in a place of God. She is in the spirit world.” How grateful I felt that a just God had provided a way for Monina to continue to learn about the gospel, that everyone who has ever lived will have a chance to either accept or reject the gospel of Jesus Christ—either in this life or the next.

As I continued to learn the teachings of Jesus Christ, I realized that Heavenly Father had provided much more than that: He also made it possible for her to receive essential ordinances like baptism. Before my wife left for the Philippines, she and I had started talking about being baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Even though she wasn’t able to be baptized in this life, Heavenly Father had not left us without hope.

Mark and I faced several trials in the following months. After returning to the Philippines for my wife’s funeral, I lost my job. I sold our car to pay Monina’s hospital bills. Plus, Mark and I had to adjust to life without Monina. Despite the adversity, Mark and I found hope in our newfound faith, and we were baptized in April 2008. In the months that followed, I was able to find another job and pay the hospital bills. Mark and I made a goal to attend our branch trip to the Manila Philippines Temple so we could be sealed together as a family.

After saving all our extra income and preparing ourselves spiritually, Mark and I traveled with our branch to the temple in May 2009. As we prepared for the trip, we saw firsthand the destructive hand of the adversary as well as the strengthening and uplifting love of our Heavenly Father. I got extremely sick the day before we were scheduled to leave for the temple. Some members had unexpected immigration problems, while others had trouble obtaining passports. Our friends who introduced my family to the gospel, the Espinosas, lost their jobs the week we were scheduled to attend the temple. Even worse, a member of our branch presidency who was scheduled to attend the temple for the first time lost his father to a sudden illness three days before our trip. But in the end the Lord strengthened each of us and made it possible for 42 members of the branch to attend the temple. Sixteen of us attended for the first time.

May 13, 2009, is a day I will never forget. When I arrived at the temple, the weight and pain of my wife’s death immediately vanished. Although I was initially nervous about the temple because I didn’t know exactly what to do or where to go, I was struck by the calm, peaceful presence I felt once I stepped inside. It was very different from the busy streets just outside the temple doors.

As the day progressed, my temple experience became only more meaningful and more powerful. In the morning our branch participated in baptisms for the dead. As I watched, I found myself thinking of my wife, who a year and a half earlier had expressed her desire to be baptized. I then witnessed the fulfillment of that desire as a friend was baptized for and in behalf of Monina.

The most significant portion of my trip, however, came later that afternoon when I walked into the sealing room. My wife and I were married years ago, but we were not married in the temple by Heavenly Father’s priesthood authority. When my wife died, I thought I had lost her forever. But as I met with the missionaries, I learned that in the temple, families can be sealed together for eternity.

As I walked into the sealing room at the Manila Temple, I was overcome with emotion. Ever since my baptism, I had known the blessings of the gospel were real, but in that instant I truly witnessed their worth. As Mark and I knelt at the altar to be sealed as a family, I felt my wife’s presence. I could hear her voice, and it was as if I were holding her hand. I felt Monina’s presence with every feeling in my heart. I knew then that we were an eternal family.

I recall just a few years ago seeing a drama enacted at the Salt Lake Airport. On this particular day, I got off an airplane and walked into the terminal. It was immediately obvious that a missionary was coming home because the airport was full of conspicuous-looking missionary friends and missionary relatives.
I tried to pick out the immediate family members. There was a father who did not look particularly comfortable in an awkward-fitting and slightly out-of-fashion suit. He seemed to be a man of the soil, with a suntan and large, work-scarred hands. His white shirt was a little frayed and was probably never worn except on Sunday.
There was a mother who was quite thin, looking as if she had worked very hard in her life. She had in her hand a handkerchief—and I think it must have been a linen handkerchief once but now it looked like tissue paper. It was nearly shredded from the anticipation only the mother of a returning missionary could know.
Two or three younger brothers and sisters were running around, largely oblivious to the scene that was unfolding.
I walked past them all and started for the front of the terminal. Then I thought to myself, “This is one of the special human dramas in our lives. Wait and enjoy it.” So I stopped. I moved to the back of the crowd to watch. The passengers were starting to come off the plane.
I found myself wondering as to who would be first to breakaway from the welcoming group. A look at the mother’s handkerchief convinced me that she would probably be the one.
As I sat there, I saw the returning missionary start to come down the stairs from the airplane. I knew he was the one by the squeals of excitement from the crowd. He looked like Captain Moroni, clean and handsome and straight and tall. Undoubtedly he had known the sacrifice this mission had meant to his father and mother, and it had made him exactly the missionary he appeared to be. He had his hair trimmed for the trip home, his suit was worn but clean, his slightly tattered raincoat was still protecting him from the chill his mother had so often warned him about.
He came to the bottom of the steps and started out toward the airport building and then, sure enough, somebody couldn’t wait any longer. It wasn’t the mother, and it wasn’t any of the children, or even the girlfriend standing nearby. It was father. That big, slightly awkward, quiet and bronzed giant of a man pushed his way past an airline attendant and ran out and swept his son into his arms.
The missionary was probably 6?2? or so, but this big father grabbed him, lifted him off the ground, and held him for a long, long time. He just held him and said nothing. The boy dropped his briefcase, put both arms around his dad, and they just held each other very tightly. It seemed like all eternity stood still, and for a precious moment the Salt Lake City Airport was the center of the entire universe. It was as if all the world had gone silent out of respect for such a sacred moment.
And then I thought of God the Eternal Father watching his son go out to serve, to sacrifice when he didn’t have to do it, paying his own expenses, so to speak, costing everything he had saved all his life to give. At that precious moment, it was not too difficult to imagine that Father speaking with some emotion to those who could hear, “This is my Beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.” And it was also possible to imagine that triumphant returning son, saying, “It is finished. Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit.”
Even in my limited imagination, I can see that reunion in the heavens. And I pray for one like it for you and for me. I pray for reconciliation and for forgiveness, for mercy, and for the Christian growth and Christian character we must develop if we are to enjoy such a moment fully.
I stand all amazed that even for a man like me, full of egotism and transgression and intolerance and impatience, there is a chance. But, if I’ve heard the “good news” correctly, there really is a chance—for me and for you and for everyone who is willing to keep hoping and to keep trying and to allow others the same privilege.
I marvel that he would descend from his throne divine
To rescue a soul so rebellious and proud as mine. …
I think of his hands pierced and bleeding to pay the debt!
Such mercy, such love, and devotion can I forget?
No, no, I will praise and adore at the mercy seat,
Until at the glorified throne I kneel at his feet. …
Oh, it is wonderful, wonderful to me!
(Hymns, no. 80.)
In the sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.

At church, Trent heard about some families that needed help for Christmas. They didn’t have money to buy presents. Trent wanted to help them have a happy Christmas! He wanted to help them, like Jesus would.
When they got home from church, Trent told Mom his idea. “I want to make a box. All of us can put a little money in it. Then we can give the money to people who need it.”
“I think that’s a great idea!” Mom said.
Trent wrapped an empty shoebox in bright paper. He cut a hole in the lid. Then he dropped in three coins. Plunk, plunk, plunk. It wasn’t very much, but it was all he had.
Then his brother and sister put in their coins too. Now they had more coins.
That night Trent prayed that Heavenly Father could help him buy presents for the other families. He wanted to help lots of people.
The next day, Trent’s aunt came to visit. He told her his plan. She wanted to help too! She dropped some coins in the Christmas box.
Soon friends and neighbors learned about Trent’s Christmas box. Each one said, “I can give a little too.” They handed Trent jars of coins they had saved up. Trent and his family were so happy. Trent loved adding the coins to the box.
Finally the box was full. It was heavy. Mom said there was enough money to help four families! Trent’s eyes got big. Heavenly Father had helped him. And now Trent could help lots of people. Together, everyone’s little coins made a big difference!

When I was in college, I went on a study abroad to the United Kingdom. At the time, I was really struggling to feel close to Heavenly Father. I went to sacrament meetings and church on Sundays, and I went to Catholic mass and a beautiful, quiet Quaker meeting. I went often to Evensong, a lovely Anglican choral service. I was looking for any place I could feel peace. I read prayer books in cathedrals and spoke the Apostles’ Creed with people whose beliefs were, in many ways, so close to mine. And I found God again.
I felt so much love and truth in those spaces. The message I got was that if God loved all His children enough to give them so much truth and beauty, then He also loved and knew me.

During a recent stake conference assignment I attended in the Philippines, my heart was broken as I learned of the tragic experience of Brother Daniel Apilado. Brother Apilado and his wife were baptized in 1974. They embraced the restored gospel and were sealed in the temple. Thereafter, they were blessed with five beautiful children. On July 7, 1997, while Brother Apilado was serving as the stake president, a fire broke out in their small home. Brother Apilado’s oldest son, Michael, rescued his father, pulled him from the burning structure, and then ran back into the house to rescue others. It was the last time Brother Apilado saw his son alive. Taken in the fire were Brother Apilado’s wife, Dominga, and each of their five children.
The fact that Brother Apilado was living a life pleasing unto God when tragedy struck did not prevent the tragedy, nor did it make him immune from the sorrow that followed. But his faithfulness in keeping his covenants and exercising his faith in Christ gave him assurance in the promise that he will be reunited with his wife and family. This hope became an anchor to his soul.14
During my visit, Brother Apilado, now the stake patriarch, introduced me to his new wife, Simonette, and to their two sons, Raphael and Daniel. Truly, Jesus Christ can and will “bind up the brokenhearted.”15
In sharing Brother Apilado’s story, I am concerned that the enormity of his loss may cause many to think their own sorrows and sufferings are of little consequence in comparison. Please don’t compare, but seek to learn and apply eternal principles as you wade through the furnace of your own afflictions.

Derek Rasmussen frantically raced his car down the wooded turnpike. No one had expected the end to come this quickly, least of all Derek, and now he wondered if he could reach his grandfather in time.

He rounded a bend and, approaching the last toll booth before the city, slowed to a stop. It shouldn’t be happening this way, Derek mused as he dug into his front pocket for a quarter and dropped it into the box. When I was little, it seemed like Grandpa would live forever.

Derek had noticed something interesting in the time that he spent with his grandfather: Grandpa Reilly would not say good-bye, no matter what the situation was. When Derek’s mother called him home for dinner at the end of the day, Grandpa always saw him to the door; if Derek said good-bye, his grandfather would gently correct him. “I’ll see you again, so it’s only ‘so long’ for us,” he would say with a smile. “I said good-bye to your grandma when she left, and I don’t plan on saying it again until my time has come, too.” As Derek grew older he saw the logic in it, and soon for him, too, there were no more good-byes.

It seemed almost as if Grandpa Reilly had willed himself to hold on just long enough for Derek to return from the mission field. Soon after the temple experience Grandpa contracted pneumonia and became seriously ill.

The Rasmussens fasted and prayed for him continually, but it soon became apparent that Grandpa would slip away from them. When Derek’s father gave Grandpa Reilly a priesthood blessing, he could utter no promises of health, just words of comfort that he would not suffer; he also felt a peaceful feeling that all was right, that Grandpa was soon to be reunited with his wife.

Derek had not realized how soon that reunion would be until his mother called to tell him that Grandpa Reilly would probably not live until sunset. Grandpa had asked for Derek as he slipped away from consciousness. Now, as Derek pulled into the parking lot, he could do little but fervently hope that he had made it in time to see his grandfather.

When Derek entered the hospital room, he found his family by Grandpa’s bedside. His breath caught in shock. Derek had not seen Grandpa Reilly in two days, and in that time his grandfather’s countenance had become haggard and thin. Still, when Grandpa opened his eyes and smiled, Derek saw traces of the love for life that had been his grandfather’s most dominant trait.

“Looks like I’ll be heading home pretty soon, Derek,” Grandpa grinned wryly, although it obviously hurt to do so. “You want to wish me a safe trip?” The old man coughed violently, and Derek grimaced at the suffering that his grandfather was enduring.

“You’re not going to die, Grandpa,” Derek blurted out, willing to say anything if it would prolong the inevitable. “We’ll fight this thing together and you’ll get better and …”

“You know as well as I do that I’ve made it as far as I’m going to on this earth,” Grandpa Reilly quietly cut Derek off. “I’m ready to go, and your grandmother misses me. This time, I guess, it really is good-bye.”

When Grandpa said that, though, Derek was touched again by the message that he had taught for two years in Portugal, the message that thousands each year embrace as they come into the Church—that in the restored gospel of Jesus Christ there are no good-byes, not if all the ordinances and covenants are fulfilled. Derek and his grandfather were part of an eternal family now, a family in which good-byes would never be uttered, no matter the duration of the wait between reunions.

Reaching down, Derek cradled his grandfather’s frail hands in his own. “It’s not good-bye, Grandpa, and it never will be,” he whispered fervently. “Good-byes are forever, and I’ll be seeing you again. So long, Grandpa.” As Grandpa Reilly closed his eyes, Derek looked around the room and saw his parents, brothers, and sisters gathered close around him—just a small vision, he thought, of the family circle that would go on forever.

One day at my high school, we had an assembly about the negative effects of drunk driving and drinking alcohol in general. After a brief introduction, the speaker paused and scanned the auditorium. He said, “If you’ve never once tasted alcohol, stand up.”
Laughter bounced off the walls as people whispered jokes to each other. Their laughs were cut short when they noticed a few people were actually standing. Out of nearly four hundred students, seven were standing, including me.
As I felt my classmates’ eyes on me, my face grew hot and I shifted from foot to foot. But then, something I had often repeated in Young Women came into my mind:
“We will stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places” (see Mosiah 18:9).
With a soft yet powerful whispering from the Spirit, I straightened my back and stood tall. I was no longer embarrassed.
I stood for something.
Charlene J., Arizona, USA

Take 60 young men and women from the Emerson Second Ward, Paul Idaho Stake, get them singing, and what do you have? Not only lovely music, but a unified ward, too. In an activity that 100 percent of the ward’s young people participated in, they presented a sacrament meeting of music and talks. Most of them had never sung in four-part harmony before, and the ward’s 35-mile boundaries made it difficult for some to attend rehearsals, but it was well worth the effort. “I think Heavenly Father really helped us to sing our best,” said Paula Gibbons, one of the singers. “I’m glad I could be a part of it.”

Residents of Louisville, Kentucky, got an insight into the spirit of LDS missionaries after a tornado hit their city. The storm had no sooner ripped and twisted its way through town than elders from the Kentucky Louisville Mission traded their tracts, white shirts, and ties for work clothes, axes, hatchets, and muscle power and started helping to clean up. Theirs was only a small part of the immense cleanup operation, but no one worked harder at it. Of course, that was no big thing to them. Missionaries have always been among the hardest working people in the world.

Red Moon was searching for duck eggs among the marsh reeds when she found the leather pouch. She would have known it was a white man’s bag even if she had not already seen the hoof marks of a shod horse—a hard-running horse, too, from the depth of the tracks. But they were three days old so she was not afraid.
The bag was as stiff as wood, not soft and pliable like Indian leather. Red Moon found a dry knoll, carefully laid the eggs on soft grass, and sat down to examine her find. She traced the letters USC with her finger, thinking it was only a strange design.
The United States Cavalry messenger’s pouch was closed with a heavy metal buckle and strap. The Indian girl’s eyes sparkled with excitement as her nimble fingers struggled with the stiff leather. She hoped the bag would contain colorful glass beads or perhaps some red or blue lengths of ribbon.
Red Moon sighed with disappointment when only letters and dispatches slid out. She turned the pouch upside down and shook it, but there was nothing more.
Oh, well. It will make a nice carrier for my eggs, she decided with a sigh. She packed the large eggs between layers of grass, slung the strap over her shoulder, and started home.
Red Moon did not know it, but among the scattered papers she left behind was one very important message concerning her tribe. It was a dispatch from Washington, ordering that the peaceful Indians be permitted to remain on their land.
The girl was puzzled and uneasy when she again found the tracks of the white man’s horse. Is he sick or perhaps crazed from the sun? she wondered. She had already crossed his trail several times. He had backtracked and ridden in circles. Not even a white man could be that lost! she thought.
“The pouch! He must have crossed back and forth searching for it,” Red Moon murmured. “But he could easily make another bag.” It must be the paper packets with the strange squiggly marks that he’s so anxious to find, she thought.
It was a long way back to the marsh, but the girl retraced her steps. She gathered up the loose papers and tucked them into her blouse. It wasn’t likely that she would ever meet the man or be able to return them, but she had saved them from being blown into the water and destroyed.
Her heart grew heavy as she approached her village. The tribe would be leaving this beautiful site soon, and not for just a hunting season. This time they would never return! Soldiers had come. They said her people must go farther north than they had ever been and remain there. It was a desolate place where snows were deep and summers short.
Red Moon disliked cold weather. She could not understand why her people were being forced to leave their land. Her tribe had never preyed on wagon trains nor fought with the white soldiers. It was Black Buffalo and his braves from a neighboring tribe who were so troublesome. But the soldiers could not seem to distinguish one red man from another. The powerful white chief had decreed that all the tribes would be moved. It was tragic and unfair for all to be punished when so few were guilty.
An air of gloom and sorrow hung like a cloud over the little settlement of tepees along a sparkling brook. The Indian girl sighed and went directly to her family’s wigwam. No one was there so she put the eggs in a basket. Then she tucked the papers in the pouch, put it under her sleeping robe, and forgot about them.
A week later soldiers rode into the village. The officer in charge told Chief Wetaug to prepare to move his people. The chief’s appeal to stay here had not been answered. The tall white man inquired about a leather bag that had been lost by one of his messengers.
“The pouch! The one I found!” Red Moon gasped from her hiding place behind the chief’s lodge. He can’t have it! she decided. Why should I return it? The white soldiers are cruel. They’re driving us from our land, so I owe them no favors.
But her conscience bothered her as the white officer’s words were translated. The pouch did not belong to her. Keeping it would be the same as stealing it. And besides, some of the papers were letters to lonely soldiers who had not seen their families for one or two years.
Red Moon’s heart hammered with dread as she walked forward with the leather pouch and laid it on the buffalo robe of the surprised chief. Then she turned and ran away into the trees, afraid of the soldiers’ long guns and clanking swords.
It was the throbbing drums and dancing that drew Red Moon back to her rejoicing village. The officer had gone through the bag and discovered the dispatch that would allow them to remain free on their land. Only Black Buffalo’s tribe would be moved.
Red Moon shuddered as she thought how close, out of spite, she had come to keeping the pouch. If she had not returned it, her people would have been relocated in the north by the time another message of reprieve could be sent.
Red Moon would remember the lost pouch all her life!

We can learn how to trust God by looking to the example of one group of pioneers.

One of the most incredible pioneer stories is the journey of the first wagon company from Nauvoo, Illinois, USA, to the Missouri River. They experienced their fair share of feeling “stuck.” How did the pioneers feel after being chased from their homes in Ohio, Missouri, and Illinois, only to find themselves stuck in the mud while trudging their way through Iowa Territory? Let’s take a look at their story.

The first wagons crossed the Mississippi River on a freezing morning in February of 1846. With their limited knowledge of the western United States, they estimated they could cross the plains and reach the Salt Lake Valley in a few months. The company optimistically started the 300-mile trek across Iowa—only to find themselves caught in endless spring rain.1

Traveling incredibly slowly, they took more than four months to cross just Iowa. They were over 1,000 miles away from the Salt Lake Valley and didn’t have enough resources to make it there before winter. So they were forced to settle along the Missouri River until they could continue their trek the following spring.2

I wouldn’t be surprised if there were days some pioneers felt frustrated with God’s timing, felt alone, or perhaps even wondered whether God was guiding them.

He knew that the pioneers wouldn’t make it to Utah in the summer of 1846. Just like He can guide you throughout your life, He had future blessings in store for them that involved present momentary disruptions. I sometimes wonder if at times this is part of why God allows bad things to happen to good people.

The rain slowed the pioneers down just enough so they could indirectly help thousands of pioneers after them. God knew the pioneers needed to create a settlement on the Missouri River, which would become an essential outfitting post for thousands of Saints who would follow.3 God saw the bigger picture—and was able to use the rain to fulfill His plan.

It happened in the life of Sister Abie Turay, who lives in Sierra Leone. A civil war began in 1991. It ravaged the country for years. Sierra Leone was already one of the poorest countries in the world. “During the war, it was unclear who [controlled] the country—banks … closed, government offices were shuttered, police forces [were ineffective against rebel forces], … and there was chaos, killing and sorrow. Tens of thousands of people lost their lives and more than two million people were forced from their homes to avoid the slaughter.”
Even in such times, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints grew.
One of the first branches was organized in the city where Sister Turay lived. Her husband was the first branch president. He served as a district president during the civil war.
“When guests visit Sister Turay’s home [now], she loves to show them two [treasures] from the war: a blue-and-white-striped shirt [she got] from a bale of used clothing [given by members of the Church] and a blanket, now worn and riddled with holes.”
She says, “This shirt is the first … clothing I [received]. … I used to wear it to go to work—it was so good. [It made me feel so beautiful.] I didn’t have other clothes.
“During the war, this blanket kept us warm, me and my children. When the rebels [would] come to attack us, this is the only thing I [could] lay [my] hands on [as we fled to the bush to hide]. So we [would] take the blanket with us. It would keep us warm and keep the mosquitos away from us.”
“Sister Turay speaks of her gratitude for a mission president who would make his way into the war-torn country with [money] in his pocket.” Those funds, from the fast-offering donations of people like you, allowed the Saints to buy food that most Sierra Leoneans could not afford.
Sister Turay, speaking of those who were generous enough to donate for them to survive, says, “When I think [of] the people who did this … I feel that [they were] sent by God, because ordinary human beings made this kind gesture for [us].”
A visitor from the United States sat with Abie not long ago. During his time with her, he found his eyes “drawn to a set of scriptures that were on the table.” He could tell that they were a treasure, “well-marked with notes in the columns. The pages were [worn;] some were torn. The cover was detached from the binding.”
He held the scriptures in his “hand and gently turned the pages. As [he did, he found a] yellow copy of a tithing donation slip. [He] could see that, in a country where [a dollar was worth its] weight in gold, Abie Turay had paid one dollar as her tithing, one dollar to the missionary fund, and one dollar as a fast offering for those who, in her words, were ‘truly poor.’”
The visitor closed Sister Turay’s scriptures and thought, as he stood with this faithful African mother, that he was on sacred ground.

In June 1830 the Prophet went to Colesville, New York, to preach and baptize. When he arrived he found that believers in the area had prepared several of their friends for baptism. After the baptisms, a meeting was scheduled that evening for confirming the new members.
As the people began to gather at the designated time, Joseph was arrested “on the charge of being a disorderly person, of setting the country in an uproar by preaching the Book of Mormon.” However, the constable experienced a change of heart, apparently after getting to know the Prophet:
“The constable informed me, soon after I had been arrested, that the plan of those who had got out the warrant was to get me into the hands of the mob, who were now lying in ambush for me; but that he was determined to save me from them, as he had found me to be a different sort of person from what I had been represented to him.”2
Although he had a duty to take his prisoner to court, the constable kept his word to protect Joseph from the mob. The would-be attackers surrounded the constable’s wagon on its way out of town. Before they could assault Joseph, the constable thwarted the attempt by whipping the horses and driving the wagon past them.
That night the two lodged in a tavern. The constable gave Joseph the bed in the room and slept on the floor with his feet against the door and a loaded musket by his side, because, Joseph said, he had “declared that if we were interrupted unlawfully, he would fight for me, and defend me as far as it was in his power.”3
The next day Joseph was acquitted, and he and the constable parted as friends.

Years ago, I enjoyed being alone and deciding things for myself. I was an introvert and I liked it that way. I considered the people around me to be merely associates because I preferred being alone.
Then one day some family members and I were driving home, and we ended up in a freak accident. After a visit to the hospital for some stitches and X-rays, we headed home. Although our car was totaled, we were grateful to only have minor cuts and bruises.
A couple of weeks later, after trying my hardest to remember how the accident happened, I started thinking. This was my fault. I must have done something wrong. I must have forgotten to do something. My mind was inundated with possibilities like, what if I had died? Was I really ready to leave this world? What if my family had died? Yes, they were sealed together, but I wasn’t sealed to them, what would happen then? I was comforted with the knowledge of our Heavenly Father’s plan of eternal families.
I realized it didn’t necessarily mean I had done something wrong. It just meant that I was looking at the picture the wrong way. I needed to look more closely at my life and recognize the fact that I am still here for a reason. This accident confirmed my love for my family because if I were asked to give my life, I would have easily replied, “Yes, for all my family.”
Why do I feel so strongly? Because I believe in families, that they transcend this life. I understand their worth, as well as my worth in their lives on earth and throughout eternity.
Years later, am I now an extrovert? Absolutely not. Some days, some conversations, some hugs, are better than others. I’m still a work in progress. However, one thing remains the same.
What I believe in is what I want—an eternal family. President Russell M. Nelson shared, “Our family is the focus of our greatest work and joy in this life; so, will it be throughout all eternity.”1 An end result that displays our Savior’s love for us.

My family was driving down a residential road in France when my father thought he smelled something burning. We pulled over to the side of the road and inspected the car. We couldn’t find anything wrong with the car, but we did find something else: a wallet on the side of the road with money in it!
My initial reaction was that I would be able to buy lots of neat things. I knew, however, that we should be honest. My father drove to the police station, and we turned the wallet over to the police. I felt happy, and I know that honesty is worth any cost.

If you want to learn to lengthen your stride, you could probably get some good suggestions from Sherri Jensen, a 15-year-old sophomore at the Kaiserslautern American High School in Kaiserslautern, Germany. Sherri recently won the cross-country championship, Germany Region, for the American high schools, coming in first of the 83 competitors. Later she traveled to Wuerzburg, Germany, for the European Cross-Country Invitational where runners from Italy, Spain, Turkey, Greece, the United Kingdom, Germany, and the Benelux countries competed. She again finished first.
Sherri attends early morning seminary before her high school classes, is first counselor in her Mia Maid class in the Kaiserslautern First Ward, Germany Servicemen’s Stake, and enjoys sharing the gospel with friends.

While on a business flight several years ago, I found myself seated next to a man from the Netherlands. I was eager to visit with him since I had served in Belgium and the Netherlands as a young missionary.
As we became acquainted, he gave me his business card with the unique job title of “professor of happiness.” I commented on his amazing profession and asked him what a professor of happiness did. He said he taught people how to have a happy life by establishing meaningful relationships and goals. I replied, “That’s wonderful, but what if you could also teach how those relationships can continue beyond the grave and answer other questions of the soul, such as what is the purpose of life, how can we overcome our weaknesses, and where do we go after we die?” He admitted that it would be amazing if we had the answers to those questions, and I was pleased to share with him that we do.

Imagine being offered an appearance on the hottest prime-time television show in the country. Millions of people will see your face and hear your name. This appearance could catapult you to worldwide fame.
Now imagine turning it down.
For pianist William Joseph, this wasn’t an imaginary test. The show would have given him the opportunity to play his music for his biggest audience yet. Unfortunately, this show also promoted immorality, deceit, and other things William didn’t want his name associated with. What would you do?
“I was totally torn,” says William. “I knew what the right thing to do was, but it was literally a choice in front of me of riches and fame or choosing the right.”
With so much fame coming so quickly, William has had to keep his focus firmly on the gospel to guide his choices. But even in Hollywood, his commitment to choosing the right has gained him respect.
When William decided to turn down the television appearance, he explained his decision to his producer by saying, “‘The things that are on this show make a mockery of everything that I believe.’ That’s all I had to say, and he just said, ‘Then don’t do it.’ And he said, ‘Your morals will serve you well.’”

Mom left the decision up to us. How could she! Oh, I knew which choice was right. It’s just that the wrong choice was so appealing. And really, it didn’t seem as bad as all that.
I lay sprawled across my bed with my chin in my hands. I looked at my sister. Yes, she was thinking about it too. She had a peaceful, determined look on her face. Traitor! I knew what she had decided.
Maybe I’d better start at the beginning. My name is Susie, and my sister’s name is Karen. We were born eleven months apart, and we are the best of friends.
Yesterday, Stephanie, one of our non-LDS friends, brought over a birthday invitation. It sounded like so much fun! It was a swimming party and barbecue.
Stephanie’s pool is gorgeous. It’s made of colorful ceramic tiles. And there’s a beautiful waterfall that cascades down a miniature rock mountain into the pool, a diving board, and a spiral slide. Karen and I were really excited about going—until we checked the calendar.
“Oh no!” I groaned. “July 10th is on a Sunday!”
“Mom and Dad are never going to let us go,” Karen said. “We might as well call Stephanie right now.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Maybe if we tell Mom and Dad how much we want to go—and that we won’t be rowdy—they’ll let us go.”
Karen looked doubtful but agreed to wait.
We decided to clean up the house to surprise Mom when she got home from visiting teaching. Karen did the dishes and cleaned the bathroom. I dusted, straightened, and vacuumed. The house looked great!
“Wow! Somebody’s been busy!” Mom exclaimed as she walked in the door. Her eyes twinkled, and she smiled.
“Surprise!” we yelled. “You’ve been working so hard, we thought you could use some extra help today,” I added, winking at Karen.
Mom smiled again and went upstairs, humming to herself. Our idea certainly seemed to be working!
Mom came downstairs a few minutes later. It was her turn to cook dinner. “Well, it looks like we have a choice of spaghetti or french dip sandwiches. What do you think, girls?”
“French dip,” I said.
“Spaghetti,” said Karen.
“Spaghet—” I started to say.
“French—” said Karen at the same time. All three of us laughed.
“Oh—I just realized that I forgot to pick up mix for the dip at the store,” Mom said. “Looks like it’s spaghetti for dinner.”
The kitchen came to life with the clatter of pans and singing. In a few minutes the heavenly aroma of Italian spices and garlic filled the air. The timing seemed perfect.
“Mom, guess what?” I said.
“We got an invitation to Stephanie’s birthday party this weekend,” Karen said, handing Mom the invitation.
“Isn’t that nice! This sounds like fun—swimming and a barbecue and—oh-oh! It’s on Sunday!”
Mom looked sympathetically from my disappointed face to Karen’s. “You girls know what Dad and I have always taught you, and what you’ve learned in Primary. I trust you girls to make this decision. You have been baptized and received the gift of the Holy Ghost. I want you to think seriously about this. When you have made a decision, ask Heavenly Father if the choice is right. If it is, the Holy Ghost will let you know by helping you feel peaceful and good inside. Dad and I will support whatever choice you make.”
Karen and I walked slowly back to the bedroom we shared to think it over.
I flopped down on my bed. I had to admit that Mom was smart. We would make the right choice because we’d feel too guilty if we didn’t.
I decided right then that I was going to outsmart Mom. It was just a little party, after all. It wasn’t so bad, was it? As I tried to convince myself, I began feeling uncomfortable. A small, hard lump formed in my throat. I swallowed it and decided I was going to the party, anyway.
That was when I looked over at Karen. She had just finished praying and was sitting quietly on her bed. She had a sweet, peaceful look on her face. I could tell she would need to be convinced.
My sister and I talked a long time. She was calm and self-assured. I was defiant and stubborn. Karen finally convinced me that we should pray together. As we got up from our prayer, we hugged and smiled at each other, then went to the phone.
After dinner, while Dad was loading the dishwasher and Mom was dipping up pistachio ice cream for dessert, Dad asked, “Have you girls decided what to do?”
“Yes,” Karen and I answered together.
The day of the party was the kind of hot day that made you want to sit in the shade of a huge tree with a tall, cool glass of soda pop. It was the perfect day for a swimming party. Karen and I grabbed suits, towels, and a shimmering pink package and walked excitedly to Stephanie’s house.
We rang the doorbell. There stood Stephanie with a big grin on her face.
“Thanks for changing the party to Saturday!” I said.
“Yeah. It must have been a lot of extra work having to call everyone,” Karen added.
“It wouldn’t have been any fun without my best friends. Besides I think it’s neat that you stand up for what you believe.”
The three of us walked back to the pool, arm in arm. The party was even more fun than I had imagined.