Gospel Story Finder

Karson walked to the back of the classroom to put his book away. There, lying on the carpet in front of the bookcase, was a golden ticket! He picked it up. His heart beat faster when he saw that the name line was blank.
The boys and girls in Karson’s class could earn golden tickets by doing well in their work or by being extra helpful or kind. Once a week his teacher drew a ticket out of a jar and let the winner choose a prize.
Karson couldn’t believe his luck! Today was the golden ticket drawing, and here was another ticket, just for him. He looked around, but no one else was near the ticket. All his classmates were at their desks, laughing and talking with each other.
Karson decided to write his name on the blank line. Then he could put it into the prize jar with the tickets he’d already earned. With so many chances, at least one of his tickets would definitely be picked! Then he could choose the pink stuffed pig for his sister’s birthday present, just like he had been hoping. He smiled and reached for the pencil in his pocket.
Suddenly his fingers stopped. There was a weird feeling in his chest, and it wasn’t his heartbeat. It’s finders keepers, right? he wondered.
He looked out the window and tried to figure it out. He did find the ticket, but he hadn’t earned it. And maybe whoever lost it was looking for it. But he needed this extra ticket for his great plan! He traced his finger over the blank name line and sighed. His plan wouldn’t be so great if he won with a ticket that wasn’t really his.
He remembered what Dad had told him once when he hadn’t wanted to share with his sister. “When you make a good choice, you can feel peaceful inside. You never have to feel bad about your choice later.”
He put the pencil back in his pocket and walked over to his teacher’s desk. Miss Evans smiled. “What can I do for you, Karson?”
“Uh, Miss Evans, I found this ticket on the floor near the bookcase,” he said. “I think somebody lost it. But these are mine,” he said, dropping six tickets into the jar on her desk. He turned around to leave, but Miss Evans called him back.
“Karson, you know what? I’d like you to have another ticket because you were honest and returned this one.”
“Thank you!”
“By the way, what prize would you choose if your name was drawn? The big candy bar? Or maybe the fire truck?”
“The pink stuffed pig!” Karson said right away. “It’s my sister’s birthday next week, and I really want to give it to her. That’s her favorite animal.”
Miss Evans smiled. “Well, I hope you can win it for her.”
Karson sat down at his desk and smiled. He still wanted his name to be picked, but he would be happy even if it wasn’t. Dad had been right. Making the right choice did make him feel great, and maybe, just maybe, he still might win the pink pig.

“I felt like I was in a disaster movie,” says Alex V., 18.
It was 8:30 in the morning, but the sky above Paradise, California, USA, was dark and getting darker. Burning embers fell through the choking, smoke-filled air. Streets were gridlocked.
“Traffic lights would turn red and green, but no one was paying attention,” Alex says. “People were screaming and honking, not moving at all. Some of them started driving on the wrong side of the road.” And a wall of fire was rapidly moving toward them.
Alex called his mother: “The trees are exploding!” he said.
“You mean they’re on fire?” she said.
“No, they’re exploding! They’re bursting into flames, the whole tree at once!”
His dad told him to ditch the car and meet the family in a restaurant parking lot about two-and-a-half miles away, where he was waiting with his truck. Alex has severe asthma, and he didn’t have his inhaler. But he pulled over, said a quick prayer, and abandoned the car.
“When I started running,” he remembers, “I immediately felt safe.” He ran until he met up with his family, and eventually they escaped from the fire.
That was on November 8, 2018. Looking back today, Alex sees blessings that weren’t obvious at the time:
He had clear cell phone reception in areas that usually don’t receive service.
He had service throughout the evacuation, when service is usually so swamped it fails.
He felt peace about what he should do.
He was able to “run and not be weary” until he reached his family (see Doctrine and Covenants 89:20).

Peter earned his bachelor’s degree and then married Frances Mary Costello in 1970. The couple moved to Auckland so Peter could gain a diploma from Ardmore Teacher’s College. Shortly after that move, he was approached by two missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“I agreed to meet with them because they seemed like nice people,” Peter remembers, “but I wasn’t interested in their religion.” Still, when the missionaries left copies of the Book of Mormon for him and Frances, they read it. “That same Spirit came upon us as when I read the Bible,” Peter says. “We just knew that it was true.
“When the missionaries came back, we said, ‘Well, we believe the Book [of Mormon] is true. What do we do now?’ That is how we came to be baptised.”

When they joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, my friend and her husband joyfully learned family relationships need not be “until death do you part.” In the house of the Lord, families can be united eternally (sealed).

But my friend did not want to be sealed to her father. “He was not a nice husband to my mother. He was not a nice dad to his children,” she said. “My dad will have to wait. I do not have any desire to do his temple work and be sealed with him in eternity.”

For a year, she fasted, prayed, spoke a lot with the Lord about her father. Finally, she was ready. Her father’s temple work was completed. Later, she said, “In my sleep my dad appeared to me in a dream, all dressed in white. He had changed. He said, ‘Look at me. I am all clean. Thank you for doing the work for me in the temple.’” Her father added, “Get up and go back to the temple; your brother is waiting to be baptized.”

My friend says, “My ancestors and those that have passed on are eagerly waiting for their work to be done.”

“As for me,” she says, “the temple is a place of healing, learning, and acknowledging the Atonement of Jesus Christ.”

While my family and I were saying family prayer, I felt something I had never felt before. I felt this feeling when my mom was praying for a visitor of ours to be guided and protected. The feeling was warm and good. I felt that Heavenly Father would help me in my life and that He loves me. Lately I’ve been tempted with bad thoughts about the Church, but after feeling this good feeling, I feel good. I feel I have my own testimony now. I know the Church is true. I know Joseph Smith translated the golden plates and that they are the words of Heavenly Father. I felt the Holy Ghost tell me that, and I know it’s true.
Alex M., age 7, Utah, USA

He describes his introduction to the gospel: “Elder Pulsipher opened with prayer. He knelt down and asked the Lord in the name of Jesus Christ for what he wanted. His manner of prayer and the influence which went with it impressed me greatly. The spirit of the Lord rested upon me and bore witness that he was a servant of God. After singing, he preached to the people for an hour and a half. The spirit of God rested mightily upon him, and he bore a strong testimony of the divine authenticity of the Book of Mormon and of the mission of the Prophet Joseph Smith. I believed all that he said. The spirit bore witness of its truth. …
“Liberty was then given by the elders to any one in the congregation to arise and speak for or against what they had heard as they might choose. Almost instantly I found myself upon my feet. The spirit of the Lord urged me to bear testimony of the truth of the message delivered by these elders. I exhorted my neighbors and friends not to oppose these men, for they were the true servants of God. They had preached to us that night the pure gospel of Jesus Christ. When I sat down, my brother Azmon arose and bore a similar testimony. He was followed by several others.”
Three days later, after carefully searching the Book of Mormon, he was baptized on 31 December 1833. He wrote: “The snow was about three feet deep, the day was cold, and the water was mixed with ice and snow, yet I did not feel cold.”

3 Second, the prophet. Our prophet continues to testify of Jesus Christ. When President Hinckley was here in Atlanta, I listened to his words and felt the Spirit strongly. Afterward, I got to give him a picture and shake his hand. He said thank you to me and continued to shake other people’s hands. When I looked into his eyes, I knew that he was a prophet of God. The day I met him will be one I will remember forever and will share with my children.
In the April 2000 general conference, President Hinckley gave a whole talk on his testimony of Jesus Christ. He said:
“He is my Savior and my Redeemer. Through giving His life in pain and unspeakable suffering, He has reached down to lift me and each of us and all the sons and daughters of God from the abyss of eternal darkness following death. He has provided something better—a sphere of light and understanding, growth and beauty where we may go forward on the road that leads to eternal life. My gratitude knows no bounds. My thanks to my Lord has no conclusion.
“He is my God and my King. From everlasting to everlasting, He will reign and rule as King of Kings and Lord of Lords. To His dominion there will be no end. To His glory there will be no night.
“None other can take His place. None other ever will.”*
When President Hinckley bears testimony of Jesus, I believe in Jesus, because I know he speaks the truth.

Teenagers from the priests quorum of the Kansas City North Ward are brightening the lives of some elderly inner-city residents by helping repair their homes. Since last winter, the group has rebuilt steps and added porch railings to several older residences.
“It was hard, grueling work at times, and my toes nearly froze,” said David Nielsen, one of the young men. “But it makes me feel good to help people who can’t keep up their homes just because they are elderly or too sick.”
The boys came up with the idea when the group’s leader, Matt Kessler, read about the Metropolitan Lutheran Ministry’s need for volunteers to help weatherize inner-city homes for the disadvantaged. The following Sunday in priesthood meeting he suggested the young men volunteer. The priests decided it would be a great service project. They contacted the ministry, which provided them with home referrals for the group to get started. A local lumber company provided the materials for the project.
Most of the boys had little or no experience in carpentry before the project began. Brother Kessler taught them the basic skills they required and supplied the tools the young men used. Most of the work was done by hand. “The project gives the boys an opportunity to serve people and see another part of life which they are not accustomed to,” said Brother Kessler. “We also wanted them to know how to build something when we finished.”
Most of the people the boys help are elderly widows. One 80-year-old woman, Mrs. Sara Chagoyan, has been unable to take care of her home since her husband died ten years ago. “My new steps are perfect,” she said. “I was afraid to go out my back door because the steps were so unsafe. Now I think how wonderful they are every time I go in and out of my house. I really appreciate the boys helping me.”
“I felt like I was on a mission,” said Brett Van Fleet. “We’ve actually been able to reach out and change somebody’s life.”

My university days were not all easy. As I neared the time for graduation, I seemed to have a mountain of work to complete before the specified time, and I worried that I would miss the deadline. Over the years of college training I had been earnest in my prayers and had constantly asked that the Lord would bless and guide me. But I was not aware of any special help received, even though I had made good progress. One Sunday, about a week before graduation, my wife and I were visiting a young couple who were our close friends. (You see, I didn’t study on Sunday, because I thought that during my school years that would be the same as working.) My friend asked me if I was ready for graduation. I told him that my work was still incomplete and that there was some doubt whether I could complete it.
“Oh,” he said, “you’ll make it all right. Let’s look in the newspaper. They just published the list of graduates.” He began by reading the names of those who would graduate with honors, and he included my name.
Of course, I knew he was only teasing, and I laughed as I said, “You can’t fool me with your jokes.”
Then he said, “Well, isn’t this your address?” and he read that.
I said, “Let me see the paper.”
As I read my name among those who were to receive honors, my eyes filled with tears and an inward light filled my whole being with understanding. As clearly as in a vision I saw how, over the years, in quiet, unseen ways, God had been listening to my prayers and had overshadowed me with his blessed influence to bring me through triumphant!

By the time my plane approached the Salt Lake airport, I felt worn out with the traveling and emotions of the day. The plane had crossed the high Rocky Mountains, which in the early sunset presented a fairy world of peaks and crevices, clouds and shadows in changing, shifting patterns before my eyes.

But now, as the plane touched down, as I moved with the press into the crowded terminal, it seemed everyone had someone to meet them and some place to go. I hesitated, uncertain what to do or where to go next. I noticed a woman approaching, an older woman, very attractive, with rich brown hair and a lovely face. As she drew closer, I thought she looked familiar, so I glanced at her again. It looked as though she was coming directly my way. I shifted my feet and stared down at the floor, and when I glanced up again the woman was standing right beside me. She smiled, and the feeling that I had seen her somewhere before grew stronger.

“Michelle?” she said, with a little question at the end of the word. “You are Michelle Briggs, aren’t you?”

“Yes …” I stammered.

“I thought so,” she said. “You look very much like your mother, Michelle; you have her beautiful eyes.” She smiled again. “I don’t mean to alarm you, my dear, but I’m your Aunt Beth.”

“I don’t understand,” I cried. “What are you doing here? How did you know where to find me … or … or that I exist at all?”

“Your mother, Michelle,” she said, and took my hand gently in hers. “All these years I have written to your mother, but not once did she reply.”

“You, you mean, my mother’s known where you’ve been all along?”

“She’s known, but she hasn’t wanted to admit it. Your mother was very young when I went away, and your Grandpa Hunter did a good job of poisoning her mind. By the time she was old enough to understand … well, it was too late.”

“Understand? Understand what?”

She paused, and her eyes began to sparkle. “When I was a girl I defied my father and joined the Mormon church. I was young and unwise. I hurt his pride, and he refused to forgive me. When I left and went to Utah, he refused to tell anyone where I had gone or what had really happened to me. He died without knowing that I had married and that he had three grandchildren he had never seen and another one on the way.

“But you see, Michelle, I kept taking the Franklin City paper and I read about your mother’s wedding, and I wrote to her faithfully, hoping that sometime something would touch her heart and she would respond to me.”

“All these years?” I breathed in amazement.

“All these years. And all these years I have prayed that the Lord would soften her heart; and he has answered my prayers, Michelle, through you.” The sparkle in her eyes was wet now and her hand tightened over mine.

“But what …” I stammered, “how …” I still didn’t understand.

“Your mother wrote to me telling me you had joined the Mormon church, telling me you were coming to BYU and asking me to take care of you.”

“My mother … did that … ?”

My aunt nodded. “She told me what a special girl you were and how much she loved you.”

I couldn’t see too well, for my own eyes were clouded with tears and my throat ached trying to hold them back. My prayers and Aunt Beth’s prayers—and the prayers of a mother whose concern had overcome her “Pride and Prejudice,” and who could still teach me something about sacrifice and love! I smiled at the lovely woman who held my hand.

“I’ve got a long way to go,” I said.

“You’ll make it,” she replied, and I felt she understood all the things I was unable to say.

“Yes, yes,” I agreed, I have to make it. I want to be a real Latter-day Saint. I want to make my mother proud of me.”

I have always been interested in animals and birds. When I learned to read, I found books about birds and animals and came to know much about them. By the time I was in my teens, I could identify most of the African animals. I could tell a klipspringer from an impala, or a gemsbok from wildebeest.
I always wanted to go to Africa and see the animals, and finally that opportunity came. Sister Packer and I were assigned to tour in South Africa. We had a very strenuous schedule and had dedicated eight chapels in seven days.
The mission president was vague about the schedule for September 10th. (That happens to be my birthday.) I thought we were planning to return to Johannesburg, South Africa. But he had other plans. “There is a game reserve some distance from here,” he explained, “and I have rented a car, and tomorrow, your birthday, we are going to spend seeing the African animals.”
Now I might explain that the game reserves in Africa are unusual. The people are put in cages, and the animals are left to run free. That is, there are compounds where the park visitors check in at night and are locked behind high fences until after daylight. They are allowed to drive about, but no one is allowed out of his car.
Because of a delay in getting our evening meal, it was long after dark when we left to go to our isolated cabin. We found the turnoff and had gone up the narrow road just a short distance when the engine stalled. We found a flashlight and I stepped out to check under the hood. As the light flashed on the dusty road, the first thing I saw was lion tracks!
Back in the car, we determined to content ourselves with spending the night there! Fortunately, we were rescued by the driver of a gas truck who had left the compound late because of a problem.
In the morning they brought us back to the compound. We had no automobile and no way to get a replacement until late in the afternoon. Our one day in the park was ruined and, for me, the dream of a lifetime was gone.
I talked with a young ranger, and he was surprised that I knew many of the African birds. Then he volunteered to rescue us. “We are building a new lookout over a water hole about 20 miles [32 kilometers] from the compound,” he said. “It is not quite finished, but it is safe. I will take you out there with a lunch. You may see as many animals, or even more, than if you were driving around.”
On the way to the lookout he volunteered to show us some lions. He turned off through the brush and before long located a group of 17 lions all sprawled out asleep and drove right up among them.
We stopped at a water hole to watch the animals come to drink. It was very dry that season and there was not much water, really just muddy spots. When the elephants stepped into the soft mud, the water would seep into the depression and the animals would drink from the elephant tracks.
The antelope, particularly, were very nervous. They would approach the mud hole, only to turn and run away in great fright. I could see there were no lions about and asked the guide why they didn’t drink. His answer, and this is the lesson, was “Crocodiles.”
I knew he must be joking and asked him seriously, “What is the problem?” The answer again: “Crocodiles.”
“Nonsense,” I said. “There are no crocodiles out there. Anyone can see that.”
I thought he was having some fun at the expense of his foreign game expert, and finally I asked him to tell us the truth. Now I remind you that I was not uninformed. I had read many books. Besides, anyone would know that you can’t hide a crocodile in an elephant track.
He could tell I did not believe him and determined, I suppose, to teach me a lesson. We drove to another location where the car was on an embankment above the muddy hole where we could look down. “There,” he said. “See for yourself.”
I couldn’t see anything except the mud, a little water, and the nervous animals in the distance. Then all at once I saw it!—a large crocodile, settled in the mud, waiting for some unsuspecting animal to get thirsty enough to come for a drink.
Suddenly I became a believer! When he could see I was willing to listen, he continued with the lesson. “There are crocodiles all over the park,” he said, “not just in the rivers. We don’t have any water without a crocodile somewhere near it, and you’d better count on it.”
The guide was kinder to me than I deserved. My “know-it-all” challenge to his first statement, “Crocodiles,” might have brought an invitation, “Well, go out and see for yourself!”
I could see for myself that there were no crocodiles. I was so sure of myself I think I might have walked out just to see what was there. Such an arrogant approach could have been fatal! But he was patient enough to teach me.
I hope you’ll be wiser in talking to your guides than I was on that occasion. That smart-aleck idea that I knew everything really wasn’t worthy of me, nor is it worthy of you. I’m not very proud of it, and I think I’d be ashamed to tell you about it except that telling you may help you.

Just having somewhere specifically for young people has already made a difference for missionary work. Elder Webb tells of two missionaries who were on a university campus contacting young single adult students. They were turned down flat by the first 10 people they contacted. Then they changed their approach, mentioning the wonderful new center nearby for young single adults where there were all kinds of activities and classes. The missionaries reported having serious conversations with 28 of the next 30 people they contacted.

The residents of “Condie’s Terrace” were well known to President Harold B. Lee, who presided over the Pioneer Stake during the early Depression years. President Lee took a special interest in Tom Monson. Among other things, he ordained him a high priest and set him apart as a counselor in the bishopric. Later Tom sought Elder Lee’s advice about his status in the Naval Reserve and about a long-sought commission as an ensign he had received. At first he questioned Brother Lee’s advice that he decline the commission and request a discharge from the Naval Reserve. Tom reasoned that while declining the commission presented no problem, his request for discharge might not be granted, given the increased tensions in the Orient. “Have more faith, Brother Monson,” said Elder Lee. “Your future is not with the military.” Tom followed the advice and was released from the Naval Reserve in the last group processed before the outbreak of the Korean War. Elder Monson’s love for Harold B. Lee was reflected in the naming of his first son, Thomas Lee Monson.

Ana Visbicut leans back against the wooden slats outside her home with a smile on her face. Her children sit with her on a bench, each smiling as broadly as she is. It’s a warm, sunny Saturday afternoon. Ana lives in Puerto Francisco de Orellana, a small city in the jungles of eastern Ecuador. Members of the Orellana Branch presidency have just stopped by, unintentionally interrupting Ana’s visit with the sister missionaries, but she doesn’t mind. She welcomes the company. She has much to be thankful for and offers her thanks freely.
It’s not as though Ana hasn’t had her share of struggles. She lives alone with her five young children. Finding daily work is hard. And when she was baptized in August 2009, only one of her children joined with her.
But over the course of the next year, the blessings came as three more of her children followed her example and were baptized and confirmed (one was too young at the time).
Yes, Ana’s eyes sparkle with gratitude. She, like other members of the Orellana Branch, has discovered the pure joy that comes from living the gospel of Jesus Christ.
In December 2008, there was no formal Church organization in Puerto Francisco de Orellana. At the time, a number of members were living there, some of whom had not attended church in years.
But something happened. The Spirit touched hearts and changed lives, prompting four families to begin meeting together to study the scriptures and teach each other. And this feeling permeates the city even now.
“The people here are hungry and thirsty for the gospel,” says branch member Fanny Baren Garcia.
This hunger inspired members in Puerto Francisco de Orellana to contact the Church and ask permission to have the sacrament. “We didn’t come to them,” recalls Timothy Sloan, former president of the Ecuador Quito Mission. “They called me. The desire to act upon those feelings—to follow the invitation of the Savior throughout the Book of Mormon to exercise faith in Him and to repent—was already there. That’s a message to all of us.”
A similar desire existed in the hearts of those moving to Puerto Francisco de Orellana. In early January 2009, Marco Villavicencio—now the branch president—and his wife, Claudia Ramirez, were considering a job opportunity that would require relocating to Puerto Francisco de Orellana from their home in Machala, on the other side of Ecuador.
“My first question,” says President Villavicencio, “was ‘Is the Church there?’ My wife and I talked it over with our family, and we prayed to know if we should move. As soon as the offer came, we learned that the Church was being established in Puerto Francisco de Orellana. We moved here in February 2009, and the branch was formed the following September.”
The desire to come unto Christ leads naturally to a desire to serve. The gospel of Jesus Christ changes both those who give and those who receive. This reciprocal process happens when hearts are humble, minds are open, and service is rendered. Service has played a principal part in the growth of the Church in Puerto Francisco de Orellana and has strengthened those who have served.
“How do I feel about my calling?” asks Clara Luz Farfán, who was called in September 2010 to serve in the Relief Society presidency. “Happy, because I know I’m going to be able to help other sisters come to church and strengthen the new sisters who have been baptized.”
That same feeling has swept through the hearts of the members of the branch. Lourdes Chenche, the Relief Society president, says that strengthening the sisters requires effort, but it is effort she gladly gives: “As a presidency and as members of Relief Society, we visit the sisters. We draw close to them when they have problems. We provide them food when there is a need. We let them know they are not alone, that we have the help of Jesus Christ and the branch. And we teach them that they have to do their part—pray, study the scriptures, and prepare themselves. We pray with them, we console them, and we love them deeply.”
But the sisters do not do the work alone. “We talk with the branch president to see what can be done,” adds Lourdes. “We share their needs with him and the branch council so we can decide what we need to do.”
The sisters’ commitment to do their part is a sentiment common throughout the branch. At one service project to help a family in the branch, “we all participated,” says Lourdes. “The children, the youth, the adults, the Relief Society, the missionaries. The experience was very edifying. I know that when we ‘are in the service of [our] fellow beings [we] are only in the service of [our] God’ [Mosiah 2:17]. When I serve, it is like I am doing it for Jesus Christ. That’s what the kingdom is about.”
There is something undeniably strengthening about unity, that sense of belonging to the community of Saints. Blessings result when we become “fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God” (Ephesians 2:19) and we live like members of a family who “are willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light; yea, and are willing to mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort” (Mosiah 18:8–9).
Fanny explains, “I believe our strength comes from the fact that we as members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints feel like a family. And I think serving each other has done great good. We give whatever is needed, and this has created a sense of unity. We receive every new person who comes to church with open arms. We welcome them. I believe a hug says more than a thousand words.”
Ana’s experiences confirm that. As a single mother of five, she faces a constant economic challenge of trying to provide for her family when work is not easy to come by, and that effort can be emotionally and spiritually draining. The fellowship of branch members has been an important contribution to her family during difficult times. “The members come and read scriptures with me,” says Ana. “They watch over me. When we struggle, they are there. That’s very important for new members.”
This sense of fellowship is part of the reason the branch has grown so quickly. From 28 members on its first Sunday, the branch grew to 83 in attendance just a year later, including a dozen visitors not of our faith.
Branch leaders spent the Saturday before their branch conference visiting with members and those investigating the Church. They shared scriptures with them, encouraging them to be better.
One recently baptized brother was converted by a study of the scriptures—reading both on his own and with the members and missionaries. “The Book of Mormon is the key,” he says. “It is the key for me.” He has found joy in the Church. The pull of the gospel is so strong he started paying tithing even before he was baptized.
But friendship goes beyond sharing the gospel with others. It can change a way of life.
“Before I joined the Church,” says Bernabé Pardo, another recent convert, “the only friends I had were people who would go out to drink. But now that I am a member, I have many friends—real friends. They invite me to read the Book of Mormon with them. They invite me over for family home evening. They serve each other. I have gone on service projects with them. My life is completely different now. I have received many, many blessings. I pay my tithing, and the Lord has blessed me.”
It’s a way of life that is not limited to adults. “We are always teaching the young women about the power of fellowship, of saying hello and engaging others,” says Claudia Ramirez. “When people arrive at church for the first time, what makes an impression on them is how they are received. So we teach the young women how important each soul is to the Lord. This has been a great help. And we set goals with the young women for Personal Progress. This motivates them so they can share their friendship with others.”
President Villavicencio explains that “we try to put in practice President Gordon B. Hinckley’s admonition that every new convert needs to be nurtured by the good word of God, have a friend, and have a responsibility.”1
Ana serves as the second counselor in the Primary presidency. Her son Jorge serves as the first counselor in the teachers quorum.
“We give them a responsibility,” says President Villavicencio, “a chance to learn in leadership positions, to have someone help them along.”
For Claudia, serving in the gospel resulted in a subtle swelling of confidence in her heart. “I was baptized when I was eight years old,” Claudia says. “We always attended church. But as I grew older, I saw many bad marriages. I thought about them a lot, and I worried that I could never marry because it wouldn’t be successful. I was afraid to trust my life to someone, that it would be too hard. But when I returned from my mission, I didn’t think the same. Teaching the doctrine changes you.”
Claudia and Marco Villavicencio were friends before her mission. Not long after she returned, they attended the temple together with some friends. Something special occurred. “I felt as if the Lord was answering my prayers, that this was a man I could marry,” Claudia explains. “I have the greatest blessing to have a good husband.”
“Our happiness doesn’t depend on material things,” says Oscar Reyes, age 15, “but in how we live our lives. That’s why I keep the Sabbath day holy, because it is pleasing to God. And that’s why I will serve a mission and why I like serving others.”
By living the gospel, members of the Orellana Branch have found true joy. “I am very happy,” Lourdes shares. “Even though I am very far away from my family, I have a family here too, a spiritual family. I have a great testimony of this work. I know that Jesus Christ lives and that, if we are obedient, He will bless us.”
It is a joy that permeates their lives no matter the challenges life throws at them. It is the joy that comes from righteous living.

When Winston was twelve, his father decided to send him to Harrow, a reputable public school (in the United States, it would be called a private school). However, on his entrance examination, Winston was not able to answer even one question on the Latin test. But because his father was one of the most brilliant and influential men in England, Winston was admitted. He spent the next four and a half years at Harrow, consistently finishing at the bottom of his class.

Because he kept failing Latin, Winston had to repeat the lowest form, or grade, again and again. This meant that he also got to retake the same English grammar class each time. He never did learn Latin very well, but he did become a great journalist and author—in 1953 he won the Nobel prize for literature—and an excellent speaker. Even though he was assigned to the form for the slowest learners, Churchill tried out for the school prize in recitation. He wrote to his father, proudly telling him that he was memorizing a thousand lines of Macaulay, a popular British writer. Then, the day before the recital, he found out that he needed to recite twelve hundred lines! He spent every spare moment memorizing the additional lines and won the top prize, to the amazement of the school.

Last summer when I was away from home, a fierce wind and rainstorm blew through our neighborhood. A huge tree had fallen from my neighbor’s yard, filling my yard and knocking down power lines. The tree needed to be removed before the damage could be repaired and power restored to my home.
Early in the morning I called my brother, who planned to find some equipment and come as soon as he could. I also called my bishop. Within minutes my bishop, home teacher, former stake president, and 10 men from my ward were there with their chain saws and made quick work of this disaster. My visiting teachers brought in dinner that evening. Many more men from the high priests group, the elders quorum, and the neighborhood came on subsequent evenings to assist me and my family in cleaning up the mess.
I was needy on that occasion. I needed help from others. My discouragement turned into joy and gratitude. I felt loved and cared for. These people were quick to recognize one in need. They lived their testimony and demonstrated the reality of their covenants.

About that time I was waiting in a doctor’s office, and I noticed that the young lady seated next to me had opened a book with a blue cover. The book’s text was written in columns like the Bible. I was curious to know if it was the Bible, but I also wanted to get back to the comic book I had been reading.
I directed my eyes to the blue book and read a word at the top of the page: Alma. I made an effort to remember that name from my Bible reading, then went back to my comic book. But the blue book continued to attract me, and once again I directed my eyes to that mysterious book.
When the young lady noticed my interest, I asked if the book was the Bible. She answered no and asked me what church I belonged to. I told her none, because I didn’t know which one was true.
That night I couldn’t stop thinking about that strange book. I didn’t know its name, because the young lady had said only that it belonged to the Mormon Church. I told my friend Ghersi about it, and he offered to get me a copy. Several weeks went by, and then one afternoon he handed me a book without a cover and with worn pages. All he said was, “Here’s the book.”
That afternoon I opened the book and read the testimony of Joseph Smith. I felt that it was what I had wanted to know; the feeling became stronger when I read about the visit of the angel Moroni. Unable to contain my excitement, I arose from my chair and shouted, “This is what I was looking for! Here is the truth!” I read the first chapters of 1 Nephi very slowly. I felt that I understood them as I had never understood a book before.

Our home in Manti, Utah, was small, and our family was very close. Our sons, Stewart and Chandler, played together constantly and shared a bedroom. The room was small, and the boys didn’t seem to mind sharing a twin bed, one sleeping at each end. Their toes would barely reach to the middle, and often the sounds of giggling would escape as they tickled each other’s feet.
They soon outgrew the bed, though, so we shopped around and decided to get bunk beds. Their excitement was overwhelming as my husband, Rex, set up the new beds. He attached a board across the top bunk to keep Stewart, age four, from rolling off the bed. Chandler was younger and smaller and had the bottom bunk. After family prayer they climbed happily into their new beds, and we heard giggling and whispering through their closed door. Eventually they went to sleep, and the house was quiet.
Housework, dishes, and laundry filled the rest of my evening, and I clutched Rex’s hand tightly as we had our evening prayer. Finally we climbed into bed, exhausted from the day’s work. It must have been only seconds before I was in a deep sleep.
I woke up around 2:00 a.m., opened my eyes, looked at the clock, and was ready to doze back to sleep when I heard a very quiet voice say, “Check the boys.” I looked at Rex to see if he was awake, but he was sleeping soundly. I closed my eyes a second time, but again I heard, “Check the boys.” My body was so tired I wasn’t sure if I was awake, and once more I closed my eyes to go to sleep when I heard the voice a third time: “Check the boys.” My mind began to fill with stories I had heard about the still, small voice. I couldn’t imagine why I should check the boys, but finally I climbed out of bed and headed toward their room.
I walked down the dark hall and through the kitchen. All was quiet. I walked through the family room and finally reached the boys’ door. I heard a faint whimpering in the bedroom. As I quietly opened the door, I looked at the new bunk beds, and to my horror, Chandler was hanging from the top bed. His skinny body had slipped through the space between the mattress and the board, but his head had caught. His small body hung limp. His only cry was a muffled whimper as his face was buried in the mattress. Stewart slept soundly on the bottom bunk, unaware of his brother’s distress. They must have switched beds after we tucked them in for the night.
I quickly slipped Chandler back through the small space and held him tightly in my arms. His frightened, tear-filled eyes met mine. I realized how close he had come to death. I rocked him back to sleep and placed him in the bottom bed beside his brother. The image of Chandler hanging from the top bed haunted me. I knew he couldn’t have survived for more than a few minutes.
As I watched my two sons sleep, I felt the protective Spirit of the Lord within my heart and realized I had been given a miracle that night. After returning to my bedroom, I knelt and thanked my Heavenly Father for the repeated prompting I had received and for the safety of our family.

My grandparents have had a great influence on my life. Even though they have been dead for many years, I still feel their confirming love. One grandfather, James Akerley Faust, died before I was born. I knew him only through the stories my grandmother and my parents told about him. However, I feel a strong kinship with him because I am in part what he was. Among other things, he was a cowboy, a rancher, and a postmaster in a small town in central Utah. On one occasion, Grandfather took a trip in the winter to Idaho, where he met an acquaintance who had fallen on hard times. It was cold, and Grandfather’s friend had no coat. Grandfather took off his coat and gave it to him.

I came across a Personal Progress goal that motivated me to get started on my family tree. Whenever I went to my grandparents’ for lunch, they told me stories from their lives and from those of my other relatives. I began going to the family history center and gathering information about my family.
I remember when I found information about my great-great-grandmother. While pregnant, she came to Argentina on a ship. During the voyage, she buried her son at sea. She was just a story until I found her name in a record. I became even closer to my grandparents, and I came to know my ancestors as if I had lived with them. I found information about my ancestors, shared the glad tidings of eternal sealing, and helped bless many generations.
I continue to discover hidden treasures thanks to FamilySearch. I love what President Thomas S. Monson said: “I testify that when we do all we can to accomplish the work that is before us, the Lord will make available to us the sacred key needed to unlock the treasure which we so much seek.”1 Through our efforts, we will discover the keys to our eternal treasure, and one day we will be able to meet our ancestors in person.