Gospel Story Finder

Illustrations by Mark Robison
“Say cheese!” the photographer said.
The camera clicked, and a light flashed. It was class picture day for Mae’s sixth-grade class. And she was in the center of the back row—again. That was where the tallest person in the class always stood. And she was always the tallest.
Mae didn’t like how she had to look down when she talked to her friends. She didn’t like how the boys looked up at her like she was a skyscraper. She didn’t like how her friends wore size extra small and she wore size medium. Every TV show she watched made it seem like girls were supposed to be small.
Mae’s friends waited for her as she climbed down the bleachers.
Kayla waved for Mae to hurry. “It’s finally lunchtime! I’m starving!” she said.
Mae smiled and headed to lunch with her friends. After eating their deliciously warm, cheesy pizza, they went outside.
“Let’s go play kickball!” Kayla and Lexi said, running ahead.
Mae started to run after them when someone called, “Hey!”
She turned around. It was Demi and some of her friends.
“Good thing they put you in the back row for pictures,” Demi said. “Otherwise you’d cover everyone up with your big head!”
Demi’s friends laughed. Mae looked around for Kayla and Lexi. They were far away now.
“Leave me alone,” Mae said.
“What’s a giant like you going to do about it?” Demi smirked.
Mae felt tears roll down her cheeks as she ran past Demi and her friends. She ran until she got to the back corner of the field, where no one would see her crying.
Mae felt sick to her stomach, and her heart hurt. She thought of the words to her favorite Primary song: “Heavenly Father, are you really there? And do you hear and answer every child’s prayer?”
Mae knew she could pray anytime, anywhere. She found a quiet spot behind a tree and knelt down to pray.
“Heavenly Father, what Demi said made me feel bad. Please help me feel better. I love Thee and thank Thee for the nice friends I do have.”
Mae ended her prayer and continued to kneel quietly. She could hear kids playing across the field. She felt like someone had wrapped a blanket around her. It was like a warm hug!
Then she thought she heard the quietest voice in her mind say, “I love you, Mae.”
She smiled. She knew that Heavenly Father was answering her prayer. Even though Demi’s words still made her feel sad, she felt better.
Mae knew she was a child of God. There was nothing wrong with the way she looked! God loved her and cared about her. Maybe Demi wouldn’t say mean things if she knew she was a child of God too, she thought.
Then Mae got an idea. She smiled and prayed again.
“Heavenly Father,” she said, “help me forgive Demi and be kind to her. Please help her know that she is a child of God too. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
When Mae stood up, she didn’t feel sad anymore. Sure, she was still the tallest and probably would be for a few years. But she knew that Heavenly Father loved her, and that was all that mattered.

Joseph and Emma Smith’s home in Harmony, Pennsylvania.
In April 1828, Emma and Joseph were living in a home along the Susquehanna River, not far from her parents’ house.22 Now well along in her pregnancy, Emma often acted as Joseph’s scribe after he began translating the record. One day, while he translated, Joseph suddenly grew pale. “Emma, did Jerusalem have a wall around it?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, recalling descriptions of it in the Bible.
“Oh,” Joseph said with relief, “I was afraid I had been deceived.”23
Emma marveled that her husband’s lack of knowledge in history and scripture did not hinder the translation. Joseph could hardly write a coherent letter. Yet hour after hour she sat close beside him while he dictated the record without the aid of any book or manuscript. She knew only God could inspire him to translate as he did.24

One day my older brother Wallace and I were on our way to school. It had been raining the previous day and the ground was very muddy, especially along the street on which the building known as Joseph’s brick store was. Wallace and I both got stuck fast in the mud and could not get out. And, childlike, we began to cry. Looking up, I beheld the loving friend of children, the Prophet Joseph, coming to us. He soon had us on higher and drier ground. Then he stooped down and cleaned the mud from our little heavy-laden shoes, took his handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped our tear-stained faces. He spoke kind and cheering words to us and sent us on our way to school rejoicing. You can see why Wallace and I loved him.

When I was about nine years old, I obtained a summer job working on a farm. Most of the other boys on the field gang were older, and when I went to work the first day I noticed that everyone had a pair of leather work gloves. My hands were soon sore from my labors, and I knew I just had to have a pair of gloves like the others. I also knew gloves like those cost four or five dollars, and it would take several days to earn enough money to buy them.
That evening I went into the local market to check the price of the gloves. As I examined and tried them on, Satan began to use his influence on me. “I need these gloves right now,” I thought. “If I take them, they will never be missed, and then after I get paid,” I rationalized, “I will come back and pay for them.” It sounded logical and perfectly all right.
This is how rationalization sometimes works. I had decided that my supposed need would justify stealing the gloves. I had been in the store for quite some time trying to get up my courage, and finally I stuffed the gloves under my shirt and began to leave the store. Suddenly I thought, “I must buy something or they will suspect me,” and so I picked out the only thing I could see quickly that I could buy with a quarter. It was a pocket comb, not a very good choice for a kid with a crew cut. I went to the counter and, with sweaty hands, paid the clerk. I could feel the gloves scratching against my stomach, and I thought he would never close the cash drawer and let me leave. Finally it was over, and I started for the door. Just as I reached out to push it open I felt a large but firm hand take hold of my shoulder, and the store owner said, “Dave, didn’t you forget about the gloves under your shirt?”
My heart sank to my toes, and suddenly all the “good” reasons I had had for my act were gone. My captor called my father to come to the store, and my process of repentance began. I had learned a valuable lesson which I never forgot. That is how Satan works with this rationalization business. He can make things that you know are not right sound okay under the circumstances. He will use other people to try to persuade you, and on many occasions you will really feel that opposition that Nephi spoke about.

Tommy turned over on the straw mattress in the bottom of the wagon box and pulled the patchwork quilt close around his ears. Any other morning the bugle would have blown and he would have been up, but the brethren had decided to stay in Garden Grove, and as a result he could stay in bed this one morning.
But the bugle blew crystal clear after all, right into Tommy’s wagon box. Quickly he put on his shoes, grabbed his coat, and jumped out of the wagon. He met Father coming out of the tent.
“What’s the matter?” Tommy asked.
“I don’t know,” replied his father. “Let’s find out.”
Together they went over to the big bonfire where Brigham Young was waiting for the men of the camp to gather. When they had all arrived, he began. “Today is the twenty-fifth of April and the ground is in condition to plow. We can plant grain now, and by fall there will be a good harvest. If we’re not still here, the Saints coming after us will be able to harvest it. Those who are sick can stay here until they are better. Those who do not have enough food and clothing to go further can stay here until they get what they need. The Saints who come after us can use our houses until they are able to go on.”
He paused and the men were quiet, waiting for him to continue. “I have divided our camp into groups. One hundred will cut logs, 48 will build houses, 10 will build fences, 12 are to dig wells, and 10 will build bridges. The rest, numbering 175, will clear the land of brush, make some wooden plows, and then plant grain.”
As soon as President Young had finished speaking, Tommy ran and told his mother about the new plan. “It’s a wonderful way to help each other,” she said. “Many of our friends in Nauvoo would start out west if they knew there was someplace along the way where they could get food and rest if they were sick.”
“Maybe all our friends would come if they knew this,” said Tommy wistfully, as he remembered the good times with the other boys back in Nauvoo.
“How can we let them know that there will be a house here for them?” asked Betsy.
“I think the brethren will let them know,” Mother answered.
Just then Father came into camp, all excited about his assignment. “I’m going to build houses,” he said, “and Tommy, you’re going to help me!”
“Hooray!” said Tommy. And Tommy’s mother smiled as her two men walked off together.
The weeks that followed were busy ones. Every morning the camp was awakened by the bugle. Everyone started to work as soon as breakfast was over and the morning prayers were said. Within two weeks it was as if the little village, with all its houses, fences, bridges, and wells, had been there for a long time. Around it were acres and acres of land that had been plowed and leveled and planted into wheat. Tommy and Betsy liked to imagine the pies and cakes they might have at harvest time. It had been a long time since they had tasted even a piece of bread made out of real flour instead of cornmeal. They were so tired of corn that sometimes they went to bed hungry rather than eat it.
Tommy was proud of the houses he helped build. They were made of logs stacked one on the other. His job was to fill the cracks between the logs with mud and grass. It was a happy day when Tommy and Betsy moved with their father and mother into one of these houses. There was a fireplace at one end of a large room. Father made a table and some benches for the center of the room and a rough bed frame for one corner. Betsy and her mother made a rope spring by weaving a long, thin rope over the bed rails from front to back and from head to foot until the spring was woven into three-inch squares.
“It makes the bed soft and jiggly,” said Betsy when she sat on it.
“It’s better than sleeping on hard boards,” said Tommy, as he thought of his bed in the wagon box.
When everything was in place, Betsy looked around at her new home. A fire was burning in the fireplace, a pot pie was simmering on the hearth, and a clean cloth was on the table, which had been set for supper. “It’s a beautiful home,” she said. “I hope we can live in it for a long time.”
But Tommy and Betsy only lived in their house for three weeks. On June 1 Father told them, “We must leave in the morning for Council Bluffs. President Young wants us to go there to build houses and plant crops as we have done here.”
Tommy and Betsy looked sad. Mother tried to comfort them, saying, “It doesn’t really matter where we live as long as we’re together. It’s the love that people have for each other that makes a home, not the place they live in. The important thing now is that we show our Heavenly Father how much we love him by doing what he wants us to do.”
When everything was packed and the family was ready to leave the next morning, they sat down for their last meal. Suddenly there was the sound of wagons—many of them. “It must be a wagon train coming to join us,” said Father. And instead of eating, the family went out on the road to greet the newcomers.
Tommy saw some friends in one of the wagons. “Eliza, Elija,” he called. The newcomers turned and shouted for joy and, jumping out of the wagon, ran to meet Betsy and Tommy.
Father invited Eliza and Elija’s family to supper. Mother made a bed so their mother could lie down. Betsy was glad that she and her mother had made the rope springs so the bed would be more comfortable.
That night, before settling down in their wagon-box bed, Tommy said, “I’m glad Eliza and Elija are going to live in our house.”
“I am too,” said Betsy. “It is good they have such a nice house to come home to.”

My father was not a member of the Church, and my mother did not attend Church meetings when I was a young girl, but I went to Primary occasionally with my friends. One day after I recited one of the Articles of Faith to the Primary president at her home, she took my hand and asked, “Wouldn’t you like to be baptized?”
I was baptized just before my eleventh birthday, on the same day as my sister, Geri, who was eight years old. This was my choice, and my parents supported my decision. They taught me to be kind, honest, and loving, and they supported me in everything I did.

“What you say is true. This will change your life forever,” I tell Brother and Sister Frost in response to her statement. And it will. I’ve been teaching the gospel of Jesus Christ as a missionary for nearly two years now. Soon I’ll be going home. I’ve learned that whenever people accept the gospel, it changes their lives. Of course there are those who, after searching a lifetime, find in the gospel nothing but great relief from life’s most difficult questions. Usually though, it’s the other way, the refiner’s fire, a test and building of faith. But always, always, the gospel brings change.
Elder Jepson and I have been teaching the Frosts for three weeks now. With their permission, we started calling them Brother and Sister. He’s an accountant, and she worked as a legal secretary before their children were born. I’m not sure where we are with them. We’ll need to move forward carefully with our teaching.
I wait for one of them to speak. It’s an important moment. I hope Elder Jepson recognizes it and doesn’t suddenly lose his shyness. The Frosts are a handsome couple, she blond and he dark. Not Hollywood-like at all, but vibrant, a handsomeness born of hope for their lives. I like them both.
Sister Frost speaks, “I think it also means leaving our family, our friends.”
“You might bring some of them with you. Lead the way,” I say. I wait again for someone to fill the silence. They have told me several times how their families feel about Mormons. “We personally have nothing against you Mormons,” they said to us the evening we first knocked on their door. It was to convince themselves of their open-mindedness, I suspect, that they invited us in. In three weeks now we have become close friends.
Sister Frost glances at her husband, but he continues to stare into the carpet. She’s not saying what she wants to do. She just keeps pointing out the practical problems—the difficulties of the choice. I think she’s waiting for him to do something, but I’m not sure.
Two days ago, we asked them to be baptized. He is treating us with the distance that we felt the first visit. I recognize the signs. He is on the edge. We must wait now, no matter how loud the silence screams at us to fill it. I want to step in. I want to persuade. I’ve learned though that seconds on a clock wing their way with their own voice.
I look over at Elder Jepson. Two months in the mission field, six feet tall, two-hundred pounds. He has a lot to learn. Elder Jepson is shy, and it may be weeks before he can give the lessons. I know this family is important to him, though. It will really hurt him if they veer away from the Church.
Elder Jepson looks like he’s studying the carpet, too. His coarse red hair dangles from the top of his forehead.
Brother Frost clears his throat.
“Your church asks a great deal—too much I’m afraid. My wife and I have talked a lot. We’re impressed—truly impressed—with your church programs. But all of our friends, all of our family, they believe differently. We’d have to offend them by not drinking with them. We’d have to go to church every Sunday. We’d be … like you say, changing everything.” He talks again about the many fine programs in the Church. But in the end, using accountant’s language, he says, “The ledger page doesn’t balance.”
It’s clear he’s slipped off the edge now. It’s 8:40 P.M. and I’ve been up since 5:30 this morning. I’m tired and I want to go home. I know we’re not supposed to weary in well-doing, but I think we have done all the good we can. I can’t expect Elder Jepson to help here. I must try to hold on to everyone’s dignity. It’s up to me to exit us gracefully and hope the Spirit will work on them after we have gone.
Brother Frost thanks us and wishes us well, but thinks we should look for others who might be more willing followers.
I feel the emptiness I’ve felt a hundred times before. I feel alone. Awkward. We’ve given so much time and effort these last three weeks. I look over at Elder Jepson to see if he’s ready to go. He is staring at Sister Frost and she at him. A tear moves from Elder Jepson’s left eye, down his freckly face. This surprises me. I look at Brother Frost. He’s looking at me and doesn’t notice. I look at Sister Frost. Her eyes brim with tears.
“May I speak?” Elder Jepson’s voice, husky now, breaks the uneasiness. He brushes the tear away, then turns slowly to face Brother Frost. His large farm-toughened hands grab at his knees. He slides forward on the couch, locks his eyes onto Brother Frost’s, and begins.
“I came 2,500 miles to find you. I feel we were guided to you.” Elder Jepson looks down like he’s trying to find what to say next.
“I love your wife, Brother Frost. I love her because she sees. She has told you all of the problems; she has given you all of the pictures a man could want so he could understand and solve them, and you’re running from them. Why?”
I’m stunned. I look at Brother Frost. The room, sedate only a moment before, is intense now. Brother Frost, I think, is puzzled, trying to figure out what Elder Jepson is doing. I want to interrupt, but something says to move aside—for the moment.
Before anyone else speaks, Elder Jepson continues. “And I love you, Brother Frost. I know about your job and your accounting degree. About your dreams, your courtship and marriage, and your three children. I know about your child that died two years ago. I know about your despair. And I know that you’re all wrong about what it means to be a member of the Church.”
Brother Frost rises on his seat. I squeeze the scriptures I have in my hand. Brother Frost has let us know he believes he and his family are good. He has told us how the family goes to a church from time to time, how he is honest, how he has always read a little from the Bible and how, when he was 12, he made up his mind he would never use certain words, and he never has. I’m afraid that Elder Jepson has offended him. I better salvage what I can, quickly. I start to say something. Brother Frost raises his hand—a sign for me to be quiet—and continues staring at Elder Jepson. Then he says, “We’re not perfect, Elder Jepson, but we are decent people. I believe I know all that I need to know about your church and your God. We could easily join you, but we don’t want to.” Brother Frost speaks kindly but firmly. The discussion is over.
But Elder Jepson softly begins again: “You say that, but you never talk about the Savior. Oh, you can talk about God but you have never understood. You tell us you like the Primary because it teaches children to speak in public at an early age and sing in a group. You think sacrament meeting is good because you feel fellowship there. You think the Book of Mormon has some interesting stories in it. You think we’re introducing you to a club. You take out your accounting pads and start adding and subtracting. When you total the benefits of the club against the costs, the club comes up short.”
Elder Jepson has kept his voice even and soft. Brother Frost keeps the emotion out of his face, except for a hint of a smile. Sister Frost looks at her husband now, worried. I decide to stay on the wing of this, for a moment longer, not sure why.
Calmly, Brother Frost says, “You have a lot to learn, Elder Jepson. Life always involves totaling columns of benefits and burdens. But you’re right. Your club, if you will, doesn’t do as much for us as our present club. I’m sorry. That’s how we see it. I’m glad your church works for you. But the programs, as nice as they are, don’t offset the difficulties joining your church would bring us.”
Brother Frost is being gracious. I’ll talk to Elder Jepson later about leaving people with a positive feeling, even if they don’t join. At least some of his shyness is leaving. There’s hope.
Elder Jepson leans forward again. “Brother Frost, you’ve misunderstood. Those programs—Primary, Sunday School, youth activities—those aren’t what this church is about. And it’s not about not smoking or not drinking or paying tithing and fast offerings either. It’s not even about friendship and fellowship. Not only have you added the wrong columns, you’re in the wrong ledger.” I remember now that Elder Jepson took an accounting class the semester before he came on his mission.
Brother Frost responds, “Then why do you try to convince people that your church is so wonderful because of those things?”
“I didn’t come here to tell you you need those things. I came to invite you to know the Savior. If Elder Simpson and I leave tonight, and we leave you believing that you can put this church on a ledger sheet, then we have failed.
“Brother Frost, this is the Savior’s church. Next week the programs might change or disappear, but the Savior won’t. He’s waiting for us to ask for help in our lives. We didn’t come to change your life; we came to teach you that your life will change from the choices you make and that you can choose with heavenly guidance. We came to tell you that Heavenly Father listens to every cry for help from a sincere heart. This church is about Him and His love for you and for me. This church is where the fullness of His gospel and its saving ordinances are found. The rules we live by and the programs are only helps so we may return to Him. We didn’t come here to ask you to join us; we came to ask you to join Him.”
I am moved. I am amazed. I’m not prepared for this from my shy, red-haired companion. I didn’t dream he had that in him. I feel a burning within me. I sense a fire in the room and imagine the hint of a distant melody. Elder Jepson’s speech is eloquent, powerful. I should have been the one to do this. I am the senior companion. I have the experience. I am the leader here. I see the Frosts are touched and I want to be the one that has done it.

I hear the voice in my mind say “I” again, with pity and selfishness in its tone. This time, with effort, I stop it with a memory of a chill wind, wild geese, and my father pointing skyward at dusk.
The Frosts look at one another. Brother Frost says, “Dear, what do you think?”
Eloquently, she tells us all what she sees. She speaks about a new feeling, new courage, a desire to move forward. Brother Frost keeps nodding his head, smiling, agreeing. The music hints around us, again.
I know I will soon move beyond the feeling and the sounds of tonight, but not the memory of it. It will sustain me. I will beat against many head winds as I journey back to my Maker, but I will not fly without the music of this night playing somewhere in my heart. I understand it is time for me to move over, and I make room for Elder Jepson.

Some years ago our family encountered a major challenge. I went to the temple and there prayed earnestly for help. I was given a moment of truth. I received a clear impression of my weaknesses, and I was shocked. In that spiritually instructive moment, I saw a prideful woman doing things her own way, not necessarily the Lord’s way, and privately taking credit for any so-called accomplishment. I knew I was looking at myself. I cried out in my heart to Heavenly Father and said, “I don’t want to be that woman, but how do I change?”

Through the pure spirit of revelation in the temple, I was taught of my utter need for a Redeemer. I turned immediately to the Savior Jesus Christ in my thoughts and felt my anguish melt away and a great hope spring up in my heart. He was my only hope, and I longed to cling only to Him. It was clear to me that a self-absorbed natural woman “is an enemy to God” and to people in her sphere of influence. In the temple that day I learned it was only through the Atonement of Jesus Christ that my prideful nature could change and that I would be enabled to do good. I felt His love keenly, and I knew He would teach me by the Spirit and change me if I gave my heart to Him, holding back nothing.

I still fight my weaknesses, but I trust in the divine help of the Atonement. This pure instruction came because I entered the holy temple, seeking relief and answers. I entered the temple burdened, and I left knowing I had an all-powerful and all-loving Savior. I was lighter and joyful because I had received His light and accepted His plan for me.

He served a full-time mission in the Texas South Mission. His testimony was further strengthened during his mission when he met a minister of another religion who told the young missionary that the only people who were to go to heaven were the members of his small church in Texas.
“I couldn’t imagine our Heavenly Father being that unkind to the rest of us. That night as I prayed to my Heavenly Father, He bore witness to my spirit that His plan and His love were for everyone. I knew then our message to the world was true.”

Looking back, darkness to light, my life in the ghetto was difficult, and a person could make it harder by making wrong choices. There was little opportunity for progression. But I wanted something worth living for. When the opportunity came to leave the ghetto with part of my family, I decided this was my chance.
Many of the girls I grew up with never left the ghetto. I could not have made it without following the desires of my heart and trusting in my Father above to lead me. At times, while walking around Ricks College in Idaho, I realize all that I have been blessed with. I was blessed with the chance to leave the ghetto, be baptized a member of this church, gain an education, and fulfill a mission in Utah. I know Heavenly Father loves us all and is mindful of our circumstances no matter where we are. He desires above all things our happiness.

One of the best ways to make friends is to invite them over, right? That’s what the Montreal Ward of the Montreal Mount Royal Quebec Stake did. Their new chapel created so much interest in the surrounding neighborhood of La Salle that ward leaders decided to open it up for tours.
And when they did, the youth of this English-speaking ward played a major role. The Latter-day Saint teens were ushers, served refreshments, directed parking, and greeted guests at the door.
“It was a good experience because it gave other people in the community an opportunity to know more about us, what we believe, and what we do,” explains Melissa Poirier, 15. More than 300 non–Latter-day Saints toured the building.

Three siblings in another family in the same stake have also joined in a community Patenschaft.
“The family we’re mentoring is from Afghanistan,” says Vinzenz C., 17. “They fled because bombs were falling around them and they were afraid they wouldn’t survive. They crossed the sea in a rickety boat, traveled through several countries, and lived in camps for a long time before they were placed in our community.”
Like Elisa, Vini (as his friends call him) had also previously prepared materials for refugees. He was one of about 50 youth who sorted donated clothing and toys. “I was carrying boxes around for about six hours,” he recalls. “It was exhausting, but it helped me to understand how much they need simple things we often take for granted.”
Meeting a refugee family in person deepened his desire to be of service, and the same is true for his brother Philip, 15, and his sister Ida, 12.
“I helped the elders quorum assemble bicycles that a company donated,” Philip says. “We attached the wheels and the pedals. You don’t need to do huge things, just do simple things and you can make a difference in refugees’ lives.”
“It’s difficult to be in a completely new environment, with new customs, foods, and languages,” Ida says. “If I had to go through what they’re going through, I’d be eager to just have a friend.” She says she has also learned from their example of sticking together as a family, even during desperate trials.
So, if you want to get to know refugees, where do you start?
“You can communicate in a lot of ways,” Ida says. “You can point, nod your head, or smile. Besides words, remember you can also communicate with feelings and emotions.”
There are, in fact, many “languages” everyone speaks—music, kindness, laughter, and love, for example. “You already speak many ‘languages’ that they understand,” Ida says. “Like Fußball. Start with those. Show that you care for them and that you want to help them.”
“It’s about understanding them,” Vini says. For example, refugees are often deeply religious and have faith and traditions of their own. “Reaching out to them is not about bringing them into the Church. It’s about treating them as brothers and sisters of our Heavenly Father, with respect and love.”

After finishing his service in the Brazil São Paulo North Mission in 2002, Ricardo Aurélio da Silva Fiusa used a PEF loan to earn a four-year degree in business administration.
“The fund has helped me grow up, prepare for work and marriage, and serve better in the Church,” says Ricardo. Like many PEF recipients, he was offered employment before he even finished his degree. “The fund has been a blessing in my life. I’m grateful to make monthly payments on my loan so that other people can use the fund as well.”
On his mission Ricardo learned to talk to people, study hard, and obey—qualities that have made him a good student and employee.
“A lot of my professors said there was something different about me that they couldn’t explain,” says Ricardo, who works in logistics for a company at Port Suape, south of Recife. “I told them it was because of my religious principles.” That answer has led to opportunities for Ricardo to talk with his professors and others about the Church.

“Who are the teachers?” I asked my friend as we were walking down the street on a Saturday morning in February 2000. We were 14 then.
“They are my friends and are here on something like a mission,” she said. We had never talked about religion before, even though we were best friends. She told me we were going to attend English classes that her friends were teaching for free. She knew I would be interested because I was going to an English high school.
When we entered the building, my eyes riveted on the pictures on the walls. Was this a church? It didn’t look like a Bulgarian Orthodox Church, the only one I had visited before. Most people consider any other church a cult. Also, when Bulgaria was under communism until 1989, religious beliefs were condemned, and many people still look at religion as something not right.
My friend asked me whether I wanted to come to church the next day. I answered yes, more out of curiosity than piety. I knew that if she was going, there wasn’t anything wrong with it.
I started going to church regularly. I wanted to know more about its teachings. I wanted to know why those young people with the name tags had left their country to come to Bulgaria and plunged themselves into the hostile religious atmosphere here. Even though I wasn’t religious at that time, something made me keep going to Church activities. I loved the friendly spirit of the missionaries and the warm smiles of the members.
I became friends with the young women in the branch. I was amazed by their faith and great desire to serve others. I remember when I said my first prayer at a Young Women class. I had never prayed before, and I didn’t know how powerful a prayer could be. I hadn’t felt the strong connection with our Heavenly Father that a prayer brings. I hadn’t known I was His daughter. I never quit praying after that. Every time I had to overcome a hardship, I knew I could ask my Heavenly Father for guidance. Often, those prayers would bring tears to my eyes because I could feel the assurance of the Holy Spirit that God loves me. I started trusting the Lord.
When the temptations of the teen years came along, I already had firm faith in Jesus Christ, which gave me strength to overcome these temptations. I could see how Satan tempted my peers with worldly things and how small compromises led to bigger ones. It was hard to stand for my principles, but the connection I had with my Father in Heaven through prayer helped me stay away from temptations. I had decided to live by the principles of the plan of salvation. I knew without a doubt that one day I was going to be blessed.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t join the Church at that time. My parents strongly objected, especially my father. But I could understand him. His parents never took him to church; he was brought up when the country was under communist rule. Nevertheless, I knew the Lord had prepared a way for me to join the Church someday. I already knew that way would be very hard. But I had learned from the scriptures that tribulations can be for our good.
I went to seminary and later to institute, I attended Church activities, and I even started my own Personal Progress. I couldn’t wait to go to Young Women activities. I will never forget the hours we spent cooking, making postcards or bookmarks, decorating our classroom, or playing games, as well as the wonderful spirit of friendship between us. Each activity helped me understand my divine nature and role in life.
One of the most difficult Personal Progress projects was memorizing “The Living Christ.” When I looked at the text, I thought it would be a great challenge to memorize it. After a couple of weeks, I already knew why that project was in the Faith value. It was a test of faith and patience, a test with rewarding consequences. The testimony of the Apostles helped strengthen my faith and testimony. By remembering their inspiring words of Christ’s divine life and ministry, I got the courage to testify of Him myself.
When I was about 16, we had an activity about being a full-time missionary. We divided into pairs and lived like missionaries for a week. That was the first time I learned how important it is to share our testimonies with others. This activity helped me realize not only how hard it is to serve the Lord, but also the joy we feel by sharing the gospel and seeing how Christ’s teachings change someone’s life. It helped me understand what it is like to “stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places” (Mosiah 18:9).
As an “active nonmember,” as everyone called me, I learned to have patience and hope that one day I would become a member of the Church. I knew it was a test of my faith and patience. I wondered how long it would take to be cleansed and start a new life.
That day came almost seven years after my friend took me to church on that cold February morning in 2000. I was baptized at 21 at the mission home in Sofia. My baptism day was one of the happiest days of my life. At that moment I felt the great redeeming love Heavenly Father has for me. I felt that even more when I partook of the sacrament the next day. I couldn’t hold back the tears. The Spirit burning inside me was telling me it was worth waiting for. I could finally enjoy the gift of the Holy Ghost and other blessings of being a member of the Church.
I’m grateful to be blessed with knowledge of the restored gospel. I know we can overcome the tribulations of life through faith and patience. We have no greater and more rewarding privilege than being a member of the only true Church on earth. Nothing brings greater happiness than the knowledge we have that as worthy members of the Church, we can live with God again.

When the missionary discussions were completed, Brother Kim was not only ready to join the Church, but he wanted to be baptized at the same site as were Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery. On 29 July 1951, in the Susquehanna River near the marker commemorating the first baptisms in the restored Church, Seneca Branch President Joseph A. Dye baptized the first Korean Latter-day Saint. As he arose from the water, Brother Kim said he heard a voice saying, “Feed my sheep, feed my sheep.” He later recorded the event at the front of his scriptures, writing below the date of his baptism: “Words given—Feed my sheep.”

All this turning began when the Dalton Gardens Ward youth took Malachi’s prophecy to heart and became excited about family history work (see Mal. 4:5–6).
They did this by filling out pedigree charts, having classes on the importance of genealogy, visiting with their ward’s senior citizens, and organizing a ward activity in which they acted out episodes from the lives of the grandparents in their ward family.
And what’s been the outcome of all this excitement? For one thing, the ward’s generation gap has narrowed.
“Now when you go to church, you see a lot of the young people going up to the older people in the ward and saying hi and maybe walking them to class,” says Russell Isaacson, a 16-year-old priest. “Before we might have just walked by them because we didn’t really know them at all, but now we see them as our friends.”

The old pickup truck sat hunched like a tired soldier in the tall yellow weeds by the side of the house as if waiting dutifully for its next order to spring into action. It had seen a lot of service in its long association with Grandpa Virgil. As he gazed out at the old vehicle from his bedroom window, Nathan Daniels was remembering Grandpa Virgil. In fact, Nathan rarely thought of his grandfather without thinking of the battered green pickup. Why, it was as much a part of Grandpa Virgil as his worn, weathered smile.
Nathan rubbed the sleep from his eyes and gazed harder out his window at the truck that sparked so many joyous memories of his grandfather, who had died in his sleep the week before. He had been eighty-seven years old.
To Nathan, the old pickup was like a part of his grandpa’s journal—filled with stories, happy times, sad times. All those times that come out of being alive.
The night before, Nathan had overheard his father talking about selling the truck to Thomas Finch up the road. Mr. Finch had long expressed an interest in it. Nathan’s father already had a big, new ’57 pickup—and a dependable family car. The money Mr. Finch offered father for Grandpa Virgil’s pickup would buy two more milk cows to add to the eight that Nathan’s family already had.
He pulled on his trousers, tucked his nightshirt into his pants, and went outside and climbed into Grandpa Virgil’s truck. The old seat springs squeaked beneath his slight weight. The door closed him inside with a whine and a bang—it hadn’t shut quite right ever since Thaddeus, the farm bull, had plowed into it at an angry run.
Grandpa Virgil had helped to deliver a calf in the fields that day, and the ornery bull took a disliking for the intrusion of man and machine. Grandpa Virgil had grabbed Nathan and stuffed him through the window of the truck, then leaped into the back of it. Grandpa saved my life that day, he recalled, reaching outside the open truck window beside him and running his hand along the rusted tear in the door made by one of Thaddeus’s slashing horns.
Nathan sniffed the musty insides of the truck. It smelled warm and wonderful and alive, somehow. He looked at the worn seat where he always sat beside his grandfather whenever he went on his local errands.
Nathan couldn’t remember a time when Grandpa Virgil went anywhere for his own sake. It always seemed to be to help someone else—like the countless times the elderly man took groceries to Widow Farley, whose health was failing. Or the winter he helped Bishop Kelsay repair his barn roof after the big wind. Or the time Nathan rode with him to Grandma’s funeral at Potter’s Crossing. Instead of being concerned with his own grief, Grandpa Virgil had placed his free hand around his grandson’s shoulder and explained to him about the Savior’s Atonement and overcoming of death for all.
“Because of him, we will not only live again but can gain eternal life if we do all he asks of us,” Grandpa Virgil explained, his eyes bright with insight and tears.
Nathan’s eyes shifted now to the rearview mirror. The reflection in it of the back of the truck prompted his memory of the time he rode in it the day of his baptism. His father’s car had broken down, so the family piled into the old truck. Nathan sat in the open bed with his brother, Frank, and his little sister, Ashley. His father and mother rode up in the cab with Grandpa Virgil.
Nathan liked the feel of the breeze on his face. Grandpa had said that maybe it was the same easy wind that had cooled the brows of the early handcarters as, seeking peace, they trudged across the plains with their families to their new beginnings in these very valleys.
Peace! Nathan thought, his eyes filling with hot, stinging tears at the reality of his grandfather’s absence. Peace is what I need now to help me deal with Grandpa Virgil’s being gone. He pushed his face out the open window into a breeze that had arisen with the dawn. Maybe it was the same wind, he speculated, that cooled the tears of the handcart pioneers who had to bury their dead in shallow graves and continue on their way. That’s what Grandpa would want of me now—to continue on my way and be the best I can be. “I will, Grandpa,” he whispered out loud. “I will.”
Later that morning as everyone gathered around the breakfast table, Nathan’s father asked Frank, Nathan, and Ashley what one thing they would each like to have that had belonged to Grandpa Virgil, as a remembrance of him. Frank chose Grandpa’s fishing pole. “It’s yours,” Father agreed with a kindly smile. “And all his tackle. I know how you cherished your time with him under that old willow by the fishing hole.” He turned his smile toward Nathan’s sister. “What about you, Ash?”
“Grandpa’s scriptures,” she said after a moment’s thought, “the ones he always took to church.”
Father patted the small girl’s hand and nodded. “I think Grandpa especially wanted you to have them because he knew you’d really study them like he did.” He then turned toward his firstborn. “And you, Nathan? What would you like, son?”
Nathan hesitated, knowing how much his father needed the extra milk cows. His eyes fell, and he poked at his food. Then, mustering a smile, he looked up and said, “I really can’t think of anything, Dad.”
Father and Mother exchanged glances. They knew different. “It’s Grandpa Virgil’s old pickup, isn’t it, Nathan?”
He nodded. “But the extra milk cows—you need the money you’ll get from Mr. Finch for Grandpa’s truck to buy them.”
“I made all of you kids an offer, Nathan,” Father reminded him. “You’d like to have his old pickup, and we want you to have it. Besides—” he glanced away quickly to blink back a tear— “I saw you outside, sitting in Grandpa’s truck, and I could tell that to you that old pickup is as priceless an earthly treasure as a boy or man could ever hope for.” He leaned forward and spoke with warm finality: “The old pickup is yours.”
Before Nathan could protest, Father added, “The extra cows can wait, Nathan. We have managed without them this long, haven’t we? And if this year’s harvest is good, I just might be able to buy them then—OK?”
That night Nathan sat by his bedroom window, staring out at the green pickup in the tall weeds. It was as alive in his mind as it was in the yard—as alive as Grandpa Virgil would always be, for memories were eternal, his grandfather once said, “and things eternal never die.” Nathan had been wrestling in his mind with something ever since supper. Now a look of peace and contentment washed over him. He regarded the battered machine in the soft glow of moonlight a final moment, then went to bed.
Early the next morning, he approached his father with a determined look on his face. “I have something to say, Dad.”
“Sure,” his father answered. “What is it, son?”
“It’s something I want to do. I just feel it. It’s what Grandpa would do if he were here.”
“OK,” Father said slowly, waiting to hear his son out.
“I called Mr. Finch about the pickup—I’m selling it to him.”
“You’re what?”
“I want to be like Grandpa, Dad. I want to help.”
“I told you, Nathan, you don’t have to—”
“I want to, Dad,” Nathan interrupted. “I really want to.”
Nathan went with his father for the last ride in the pickup. Mother drove the other family truck, Frank and Ashley riding with her. After they dropped off Grandpa Virgil’s pickup at Mr. Finch’s, they would head for Mr. Anderson’s farm to purchase two more milk cows. It was hot enough that Nathan could roll down the truck window and let the wind rush across his face. He seemed to hear in his mind Grandpa Virgil saying that maybe it was the same easy wind that had cooled the brows of the early handcart pioneers as they trudged across the plains.
Nathan smiled and gazed affectionately around the old truck, which was still alive with memories—the kind of memories that go on forever. Just like Grandpa Virgil.

In late fall 1838, Hyrum and Mary Fielding Smith awaited the birth of their first child in the midst of escalating conflict between old Missouri settlers and large numbers of newly arrived Latter-day Saints. When violence erupted, the governor ordered the Latter-day Saints to leave the state or face “extermination.” Hundreds of Church members lost their property, and a number lost their lives. Several Church leaders—Hyrum, his brother the Prophet Joseph Smith, and others—were unjustly jailed. Years later President Smith would begin a sketch of his life with these words: “I was born in Far West, Caldwell Co. Missouri, 13 days after my Father was taken a prisoner by the mob.”4

During four long months, Hyrum and Joseph and others suffered in Liberty Jail. Mary Fielding Smith, who had just given birth to her “dear little Joseph F.,” struggled to care for her newborn and the five surviving children from Hyrum’s first marriage to Jerusha Barden Smith, who had died in 1837.

While Mary lay bedridden, ruffians attacked the Smith home, ransacking the family’s belongings and nearly smothering the infant Joseph F. with bedding they tossed aside. Mary and the children, aided by Mary’s sister Mercy Fielding Thompson, joined the Saints’ forced exodus from Missouri. Hyrum was finally reunited with his family on 22 April 1839 at Quincy, Illinois, and in June, the family moved up the Mississippi River to settle with other Saints in Nauvoo, Illinois.

A small note on the keyboard read, “This computer is reserved for Samuel at 5:00 a.m.” In response to his stake president’s challenge for the stake to index one million names, 14-year-old Samuel B. of Utah started getting up at 5:00 a.m. so that he could index before school. With one computer in the home and seven siblings with homework to do, Samuel had to sacrifice some sleep in order to get time on the computer.
But Samuel’s enthusiasm spread to the rest of his family. Soon his brother Nathan sacrificed basketball time and his sister Ivyllyn sacrificed reading time in order to index. “I’ve never been challenged as much by my children,” Samuel’s father says. “Until they got involved, I thought indexing was hard. They taught me that it could be easy and fun.” The following New Year’s Eve, the children were rushing to finish their yearly indexing goals before midnight.

Often our Church assignments place us in ideal situations for developing charity toward others. My father had the same home teaching assignments and the same companion for many years. He and his companion grew to love deeply the families they served, and the families came to rely on their friendship. What had started as a priesthood assignment became a great bond of love.
In his old age, my father had severe arthritis and great difficulty walking. Yet he and his companion, who by then had trouble seeing and could no longer drive, still got together to visit their old friends. The companions would joke that the two of them combined made up a whole person. My father drove and made the phone calls; his companion helped everyone when a more steady step was required.
One evening they stopped the car at the house of a sister, but my father could not get out. He said to his companion, “Why don’t you walk up and have her come out to the door, and then I can wave to her.”
His companion slowly made his way up the steps and asked the sister to come to the door and wave to my father. Although she was disabled and could not walk easily, she said, “I should say not. After all the years you two have been visiting me, this time I will walk down to the car to visit with you.”
The two of them helped each other out the door and down the steps to the car to visit my father. My father opened the door, and the three of them talked together in the twilight until it was too dark to see.
That was the last time my father and his companion went home teaching. By the next month my father had died, followed shortly by his companion and then that sister.
As my father committed himself to serving others, befriending them, respecting them, and staying with them literally to the end, he provided me with a wonderful example of how charity develops through dedicated home teaching.