Gospel Story Finder

My family and I were introduced to the Church in May 1979, and I knew immediately that this was where we belonged. We were baptized in June, and at first we were all active, but it wasn’t long before I stopped attending and returned to old habits. I never really had any doubt about the truthfulness of the gospel and the Restoration, but I did not think I had what it took to be a good member of the Church.

In 1982, because of my continued alcohol abuse, my wife, who had never failed in her faith, filed for divorce. At the time my family was living in Oklahoma, USA, but I had returned to Illinois, USA, where I had been raised. I had reached the point where I was about to lose the only thing that truly mattered to me: my family.

I began praying on my knees morning and evening to a God who I was no longer sure existed or, if He did, I figured He had long ago forgotten me. Yet for three months I prayed faithfully. Early one morning, while I was deep in prayer, a feeling of great relief came upon me and I knew that God lived, that He knew me, and that He loved me. I also knew I would never touch another drop of alcohol.

That very evening I received a call from my wife to let me know she was going to mail me the divorce papers to sign. During that conversation she suddenly said, “There is something very different about you. I don’t believe you are ever going to drink again, and I am going to tear up these papers.” We reunited, and two years later she gave birth to our third son.

One would assume that I would have returned to full activity in the Church, but I am a stubborn man. I returned for a time and even received a calling as an elders quorum instructor. But I soon began to feel inadequate to teach and again became inactive.

In 1991 we moved into a small branch. Several months before our youngest son’s eighth birthday, my wife, the Primary president, asked him who he wanted to perform his baptism. Of course he wanted his father to perform the ordinance. My wife told him that probably was not going to happen. He did not accept that answer and set about the task of activating his father. He was quite relentless, and in short order I found myself serving as the Scoutmaster, and I later baptized and confirmed my son.

The eight months following my activation were eventful. We were sealed as a family in the Chicago Illinois Temple, and I was again called to serve as an elders quorum instructor, only this time I didn’t quit. I was then called as a counselor in the branch presidency, and five months later I was called to serve as the branch president. A month or so after my call, I remember thinking, “I’m the branch president?”

I have told many struggling Saints over the years that if I can progress in the gospel, anyone can. It is just a matter of understanding the true power of the Savior and His Atonement and taking the steps to come unto Him.

I will be eternally grateful to my wife and children and all the faithful home teachers, quorum leaders, bishops, and other faithful Saints who set such a marvelous example for me. It has been a privilege to serve the Lord and the Saints these past 20 years. My life has been blessed beyond anything I could have imagined.

What do you do when you run into pornography? One day Christian Monzón of Asunción, Paraguay, borrowed a cell phone from a friend at school to play games on it. He discovered that the phone had pornography stored in it.
There was no doubt in Christian’s mind what his friend should do about that, so Christian helped him see the need to get rid of the offensive pictures. Christian calmly explained how damaging material like that can be. He said, “If you were a father, you wouldn’t want your son looking at that.”
Part of what Christian told his friend came from For the Strength of Youth. Christian says the pamphlet helps him in every phase of his life. “I wouldn’t be where I am without it,” he says. He has also given copies to a couple of friends at school. They told him it gave them guidance they needed with specific problems.

One spring a young, lanky cowboy named Rick Errington came to work for the Kanes. At first he was quiet and took a background role in the events at camp. But Sister Kane sensed something about him that persuaded her to introduce him to the gospel. The twins confess that they are sometimes embarrassed to take the first step in inviting a new cowboy to church. After their mother breaks the ice, they are right behind her working just as hard to get to know him and talk about the gospel.
“I remember the first time Rick came to church,” says Salli. “Here is this new guy, and he’s really young, and Mom invited him to church.”
“We were wondering what he was thinking,” says Syndi. “Then he started coming to church in our trailer. We take a little trailer out to the cowboy camps and hold sacrament meeting in it. It’s really crowded with the seven of our family and two or three cowboys. There is a little bench and one chair and a little cabinet to put the sacrament on.”
Salli interrupts, “And the Spirit is always there. We have one hymnbook and try to keep in tune.”
“The sacrament means the same,” says Syndi, “even though it’s on an old pie plate with different kinds of cups.”
The meeting is a comfortable one for those trying to learn more about the gospel. Scripture study is combined with the talks. No one is afraid to comment or ask questions, even in the middle of a talk.
To get to know Rick a little better, Sister Kane asked him to help her sons with their Cub Scout projects. They had a great time building a scooter from old barn wood and used roller skate wheels.
At camp Rick came to meetings regularly and started giving talks. “At first,” says Rick, “I saw the Kanes as a very special family that loved each other and showed this love to everyone. After a while I learned that it was the gospel that pulled them together like that.”
Rick helped with family home evening and encouraged the other cowboys to participate. “At first, some of the men didn’t want anything to do with it, but then they started to come and liked it. Every family home evening, we were fed just a little more of the gospel.”
The time Rick spent riding the range after cattle became a time for reflection, growth, and prayer. He was profoundly affected by experiences he had while by himself in the sagebrush hills. And at the church meetings, “I heard what I needed to hear,” he says.
After the roundup, Rick attended branch meetings held in the Kane home on their ranch. Soon the missionaries from Elko were making the 60-mile drive to teach him. He was baptized, and his first calling was to be the Sunday School teacher to Salli and Syndi. “He was really good,” says Syndi. “Those lessons were really hard for him at first. He would study and study.”
But Salli and Syndi lost their Sunday School teacher. Syndi explains, “One day after Rick was baptized, Mom told him, ‘You know the next step after being baptized is to get prepared for a mission.’ He had a real desire to go. He saved up his money for a year after being baptized. Now he’s in Oklahoma serving his mission.”

One day while I was playing a computer game, I felt that I should stop and go upstairs. It was a small whispered feeling, but it was strong. I went upstairs right away. Our living room was on fire!
I ran to my mom, yelling, “Come quick! There’s a fire!”
My mother told my cousin and me to go outside to safety. My older brother called 911. I could see that the flames were almost to the ceiling, but my mom was able to put the fire out just before the firefighters arrived. Mom says that if I hadn’t come when I did, the fire would have gotten bigger and might have burned our house down, or worse, hurt someone. I told her about the feeling.
When I first came upstairs and saw the fire, I was a little bit afraid, but then I felt that still small voice tell me that I just needed to get my mom. I know that the Holy Ghost helped our family that day and helped me to know what to do.Reed Mergens, age 8Freeland, Washington

Kristi Purdy of the Moberly Ward, Columbia Missouri Stake, had a truly original idea for her American Literature project. The class was assigned to make a learning box, in which you put different things like pictures, charts, objects or family history articles relating to a prominent person in American Literature. Kristi decided to do Joseph Smith, someone who had never before been featured.
“I was a bit reluctant at first,” she said, “being one of the few Mormons at Moberly High School, but it seemed the perfect project to do.”
She made her box look like the golden plates, and constructed a very elaborate presentation.
“When I turned my project in, I had so many good comments, and friends wanted to know all about Joseph Smith. I felt so good inside sharing this magnificent man with everyone and having the opportunity to educate my teacher as well.”

Tanning and tooling raw cowhide into a handsome, functional, well-balanced saddle is an almost-lost art. Although the trade flourished in the last century, it is today a rare craft. Yet Rich Pearce was fascinated. He came by his interest quite naturally because of the historic western town he comes from—Show Low, Arizona. There wasn’t a saddlery in Show Low, however, so Rich took two summer vacations and spent them in Vernal, Utah, as an apprentice in a saddle company. Rich can now make a saddle any pioneer, sheriff, outlaw, or city dude would be comfortable in and proud to use.

On June 6, 1994, the day after Howard W. Hunter (1907–1995) was set apart as President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, he extended two invitations to the members of the Church. Speaking with a tone of gentle encouragement, he said: “First of all, I would invite all members of the Church to live with ever more attention to the life and example of the Lord Jesus Christ, especially the love and hope and compassion He displayed. …
“I also invite the members of the Church to establish the temple of the Lord as the great symbol of their membership and the supernal setting for their most sacred covenants. It would be the deepest desire of my heart to have every member of the Church be temple worthy.”1
From that moment on, all my thoughts turned to the house of the Lord. At that time, I had been in the Church for three years and it was the first time to watch a living prophet on television. This event has remained engraved in me to this day. Fifteen years later, in 2009, I entered the temple for the first time with my wife for our endowment and sealing. It was then that I had a deeper testimony of the truthfulness of the Church of the Lord Jesus Christ—for Joseph Smith the Prophet could not have devised all of this when he himself was a man with very little formal education. Rather, that there is a Supreme Being who revealed to him all these things.

When I was a young child, our family was anxious for the return of Uncle Orson. My mother had deep feelings about the matter, which she implanted in her children. For some reason I always watched for Uncle Orson to come to the back door of our home. I remember on a number of occasions when a peddler would come to the back door. I would pull on my mother’s dress to get her attention and ask, “Is this Uncle Orson, huh?” But the answer was always no.
It was many years later that mother shared the story with me of her younger brother. Uncle Orson was born in 1881. Fourteen months later his father died, leaving him without the guidance of a father during those critical early years. When he was 17 years old, he, with a group of other boys his own age, went to Saltair, a dance pavilion on the shores of the Great Salt Lake. Before the evening was over, they became drunk and ended up in the county jail.
The following morning, parents and family members came to the jail house and obtained their sons’ releases. Many of them put their arms around their sons and built them into pillars in the community. But unknown to my grandmother, Uncle Orson was released from jail, given a one-way ticket to the Northwest, and told never to return.
Mother said that on occasions she would hear her mother sobbing in her bedroom during the night. When she went to her mother’s side, her mother would say, “I wonder where my wandering boy is tonight.”
Uncle Orson likely worked in the lumber camps of the Northwest in an atmosphere that was not conducive to living the principles of the gospel, If he were living today, he would be very old. It is most likely that he has gone to the world of spirits by now. I’ve been searching the scriptures to find out what happened to Uncle Orson.
Isaiah wrote, “And they shall be gathered together, as prisoners are gathered in the pit, and shall be shut up in the prison, and after many days shall they be visited” (Isa. 24:22). Between the crucifixion and the resurrection of the Savior, he “organized his forces and appointed messengers, clothed with power and authority, and commissioned them to go forth and carry the light of the gospel to them that were in darkness” (D&C 138:30).
This, too, is a prototype and applies in a like manner to those who died after Christ’s resurrection.
My good friend, Joseph S. Nelson, died a few months ago at age 86. He was a great missionary during his life. He served four missions. He was called to the last at 80 years of age. I’ve been searching the scriptures to find him—and here he is:
“I beheld that the faithful elders of this dispensation, when they depart from mortal life, continue their labors in the preaching of the gospel of repentance and redemption, through the sacrifice of the Only Begotten Son of God, among those who are in darkness and under the bondage of sin in the great world of the spirits of the dead” (D&C 138:57).
I have come to love my great-grandmother, Ursula Wise Derrick. She must have been a most remarkable person. She was obviously “faithful in the testimony of Jesus while [she] lived in mortality” (D&C 138:12). But she had no opportunity to receive the saving ordinances that would assure her “redemption from the bands of death” (D&C 138:16).
I have loved Uncle Orson from childhood because I inherited a longing for him. I want so much to buy him a return ticket home to his eternal family.
I wonder if my good friend Joe Nelson might find my great-grandmother and ensure that she has been taught the wonderful truths of the gospel of Jesus Christ so that she can take advantage of the saving ordinances we have performed in her behalf.
I wonder if my good friend Joe Nelson might find Uncle Orson and teach him the gospel truths that his father would have taught him in mortality had he been here to do so. I hope that he might now have the opportunity to hear the gospel truths that he might have heard except for the one-way ticket he was given away from those who might have helped him.
Please, dear friend Joseph, find them and teach them these precious truths of salvation so that our family might be a forever family. If you do, I will be more grateful than mortals can express.

Lucy took the box of valentines out of the sack. Tomorrow was Valentine Day, and she still hadn’t decided whether to give a card to Carla, the girl next door.
Lucy sighed. Nothing had been the same since Carla had moved in at the first of the year. Lucy and her mother had taken homemade cookies over to Carla and her family, but Carla hadn’t even said hello.
“She’s just shy,” Carla’s mother had explained.
Lucy quickly decided that Carla wasn’t shy—she was just a bad-tempered girl who loved to make life miserable for everybody around her. The first week after Carla had moved in, she had thrown rocks at Lucy’s dog, Jumper, and now he was afraid to go outside.
At school Carla bullied the smaller children on the playground. She was in the principal’s office at least twice a week. Lucy and her friends were embarrassed to be around her because she was loud and rough.
And now Lucy’s mother had said that she should give Carla a valentine.
“But, Mom,” Lucy argued, “valentines are supposed to be for people you like. And I don’t like Carla Bentley!”
“Carla has a lot of problems, Lucy. Maybe if she had some friends, she wouldn’t be the way she is,” Mother explained. “Sometimes people need attention so badly that they’ll do anything to get it, even things that they shouldn’t.”
Lucy sat on the floor of her room, her valentines spread out before her. She was putting two candy hearts in each one. As she wrote each name on an envelope, she checked it off her list. In class they had passed out a list with all the students’ names on it so that no one would be missed. Lucy popped a candy heart into her mouth. Only seven more, and she still hadn’t decided about Carla.
Finally Lucy checked the last name off the list. She stacked the cards carefully and put them into a bag. Then she realized that all her valentines were used up! “Mom!” she called, running into the kitchen. “Guess what! I can’t give Carla a valentine.”
“Why not?” Mother asked.
“Because I don’t have any more. Remember, we bought a box of thirty cards? Well, that was just enough for my class, so now they’re all gone.”
“Oh, that doesn’t matter,” her mother said. “If you decide to give a valentine to Carla, we have lots of things you can make a card with.”
“Make a card?”
“Sure. Lots of people make cards instead of buying them. It’s fun to do,” Mother said, going over to her desk and pulling out a drawer. “See, we have pink and red construction paper, and I remember some white doilies in with the napkins.”
Lucy shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not sure that I want to, though.”
“Well, I’ll just leave the things here in case you need them. I’ll be back in a while. I have to pick up your brother at soccer practice.”
Lucy thought, If I give Carla a valentine, maybe she won’t be so mean. I could make a really cute one with some of the stickers I have.
Lucy went to her bedroom to get her sticker collection. Some stickers were funny, others were pretty, and some smelled like root beer or peanut butter or strawberry when she rubbed them. She picked out three: a heart in different shades of pink, a furry kitten, and a cluster of sweet-smelling strawberries.
Hurrying down to the kitchen table, Lucy folded a sheet of white paper in half, drew half a heart along the fold, and cut it out. When she unfolded it, she had a pattern to trace around on the construction paper.
Lucy folded a sheet of pale pink construction paper in half, then cut out two red hearts and placed them and the strawberry sticker on the front of the card. She put the kitten and heart stickers on the inside. Then she signed her name at the bottom.
Holding the card up, Lucy thought, It’s pretty, but it’s not really a valentine if there aren’t any words except my name. But I can’t write a fancy poem to a girl I don’t even like. Finally, after trying out a number of ideas on scratch paper, Lucy wrote in red ink:
“Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
I’d rather be friends
Than fight with you.”
The sun was shining on Valentine Day morning. Lucy got up early and dressed quickly so that she could run over to Carla’s without being seen. As she hurried around Carla’s front porch, the Bentley house was quiet. Lucy propped the card up against the front door, rang the doorbell, and ran. She hid behind the bushes separating the yards and watched for someone to answer the door.
Mr. Bentley opened it and looked first to the left and then to the right. Lucy could see him smile when he finally looked down and saw the card. He picked it up and closed the door.
Lucy let her breath out. That’s that, she thought. She hurried home to eat so that she could meet Kim, her best friend, before school.
The morning passed quickly. After Lucy’s class exchanged their valentines, the room mothers came in and they had a party. For treats they had red punch and cupcakes with white frosting and red gumdrop hearts on them.
Lucy didn’t see Carla until lunchtime. Carla was walking toward Lucy and Kim with a funny look on her face.
“I don’t believe it,” Kim whispered. “Why is she coming over?”
“I gave her a valentine,” Lucy whispered back.
Kim looked at her quickly. “You did? Maybe she’s going to beat you up.”
“I don’t think so,” Lucy said, smiling shyly at Carla.
“Hi,” Carla said.
“Hi,” said Lucy and Kim together.
Carla looked down at her tennis shoes. “I—I want to thank you for the valentine, Lucy.” She held out a card to Lucy.
“You’re welcome,” Lucy said, taking the card. “Thank you.“
“I didn’t have time to make one.” Carla stood awkwardly.
“Oh, that’s OK. Would you like to eat lunch with us?” She heard Kim’s sharp gasp but ignored her.
Carla’s face lit up. “OK!” Then Carla looked at Kim and added, “If you don’t mind.”
Kim looked from Carla to Lucy then back again. “Of course not. Come on, let’s get over to the tree before somebody else does.”
As the girls sat on the bench beneath the old cottonwood tree, four boys walked past.
“Hey! Happy Valentine Day!” Carla yelled happily at them.

Some years ago a priests quorum decided to gather food for the needy as a service project. Jim, one of the priests, was excited to participate and was determined to collect more food than anyone else. The time arrived when the priests met at the chapel. They all went out at the same time and returned at a specified time later in the evening. To everyone’s surprise, Jim’s cart was empty. He seemed rather quiet, and some of the young men made fun of him. Seeing this and knowing that Jim had an interest in cars, the adviser said, “Come outside, Jim. I want you to look at my car. It’s giving me some trouble.”
When they got outside, the adviser asked Jim if he was upset. Jim said, “No, not really. But when I went out to collect the food, I really got a lot. My cart was full. As I was returning to the chapel, I stopped at the home of a nonmember woman who is divorced and lives within our ward boundaries. I knocked on the door and explained what we were doing, and she invited me in. She began to look for something to give me. She opened the refrigerator, and I could see there was hardly anything in it. The cupboards were bare. Finally, she found a small can of peaches.
“I could hardly believe it. There were all these little kids running around that needed to be fed, and she handed me this can of peaches. I took it and put it in my cart and went on up the street. I got about halfway up the block when I just felt warm all over and knew I needed to go back to that house. I gave her all the food.”
The adviser said, “Jim, don’t you ever forget the way you feel tonight, because that’s what it is all about.” Jim had tasted the nutrient of selfless service.

When his grandpa had a mild heart attack, Chris gave up his bedroom to his grandpa and grandma so that they could stay at his house. He did this and many other things without complaint. He helped Grandpa with his IV (medicine that Grandpa had to carry around with him), got him something to drink when he was thirsty, brought him his supper, and did anything else he needed when he couldn’t get around very well. Chris even helped Grandma in the kitchen. A happy, loving child, Chris always has a smile on his face and a song in his heart. He is active in the ward Primary and has borne his strong testimony in fast and testimony meeting at church.

Consider the experience of Elder Dallin H. Oaks of the Quorum of the Twelve. Some years ago, Elder Oaks was living in Chicago when one night he was confronted by a young robber with a gun. Elder Oaks had no money to give him, no watch, nothing of value except his car—and his wife was in the car. Both Elder Oaks and his wife were at great risk. During the encounter, Elder Oaks had an opportunity to grab the gun without the likelihood of being shot. “I was taller and heavier than this young man,” Elder Oaks explains, “and at that time of my life was somewhat athletic. I had no doubt that I could prevail in a quick wrestling match if I could get his gun out of the contest.
“Just as I was about to make my move, I had a unique experience. I did not see anything or hear anything, but I knew something. I knew what would happen if I grabbed that gun. We would struggle, and I would turn the gun into that young man’s chest. It would fire, and he would die. I also knew that I must not have the blood of that young man on my conscience for the rest of my life.” (See New Era, Mar. 1994, 4.)
How should you react in a similar situation? Who knows? It would be a different time, a different robber, a different place. The point is that Elder Oaks had not conditioned himself to automatically react violently. But he had conditioned himself to listening to the still, small voice. So when the idea of grabbing the gun came to him, he was willing and able to be guided by the Spirit.
It’s also important to note that Elder Oaks had ended up in a dangerous area because he and his wife were taking another sister home from a Church activity. He certainly wasn’t looking for trouble. He had taken reasonable precautions, such as leaving Sister Oaks in a locked car and later making sure the street was clear before going back out to the car.

“How many pies are we baking?” Jared asked. He pulled a chair up to the counter to help his mother make the pies.
“A lot—one for Grandpa, one for your baby-sitter, one for Mr. Gomez next door, and pies for lots of other people. It’s my way of thanking them for all they do to help us.”
“And we’re going to deliver them tomorrow, on Thanksgiving?”
“First thing in the morning.”
Jared helped his mother roll out crusts, mix and pour fillings, and pinch the crust edges. Soon the kitchen smelled like pumpkin pies.
“There’s someone else I want to make a thank-you pie for,” Jared said.
“Who?”
“It’s a surprise. Can we make an extra pie?”
“Sure.”
Jared rolled out the crust for another pie while his mother mixed the filling.
In the morning, Jared and his mother carried the pies to the car. She drove very carefully to each house.
“Thank you for everything you do,” Mother said to each person as they delivered the pies.
Finally, there was only one pie left.
“Where do we take your pie, Jared?” Mother asked.
“To the fire station.”
Mother looked surprised, but she turned onto the street that led to the fire station.
“I want to thank the firefighters for being there to help us,” he explained. “They work even on holidays, when most people get to be home with their families.”
“That’s a great idea, Jared.”
He carried the pie into the fire station. The firefighters looked up from polishing their trucks.
“What’s this?” the nearest firefighter asked.
“It’s for you.” Jared handed the pie to the firefighter. “I want to thank all of you for being here on a holiday, ready to help everybody.”
“No one’s ever done this for us before,” the firefighter said. “Thank you. We’ll really enjoy it.”
“I think they liked the pie,” Jared told his mother as they returned to their car.
“Yes, but I think that they liked your idea of thanking them best of all.” Mother hugged him. “And so did I.”
“Let’s go home and bake another pie for us,” Jared suggested.
“I think that’s another great idea!”

“I forgot my sash!”
Erin looked across the dressing room to where a dark-haired girl named Dinah was frantically searching through her bag of dance costumes.
“I think I forgot to put it in,” Dinah moaned.
“Too bad,” Erin thought, pulling out her own carefully folded blue-satin sash—her favorite part of the costume. Mom had said that it brought out the blue of Erin’s eyes.
“What am I going to do?” Dinah was on the verge of tears. “There’s no time to go home and get it.”
Erin didn’t know Dinah very well. They lived in different towns and went to different wards and schools. But Erin could imagine how embarrassing it would feel to be the only dancer in the recital missing part of the costume. It would be hard to remember the dance steps if you thought everyone in the audience was staring at you and wondering why your costume was different.
Then Erin had an idea. She knew what she could do to help Dinah, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to do it. Erin silently prayed for strength to do the right thing. Then, with a sigh, she put the lovely blue sash back in her bag. “This is a group dance, not a solo,” she told herself.
Erin quickly explained her idea to the other dancers. She was relieved when they all agreed happily.
As the music began and they took the stage, their dance teacher, Mrs. Davis, gave them a quizzical look from the audience. The girls simply smiled at her and moved to the music. They performed the routine flawlessly.
Afterward, Mrs. Davis came backstage. “What happened to your costumes, girls?” she asked. “Weren’t you all supposed to be wearing blue sashes?”
“Well,” Dinah said, looking gratefully at Erin, “we decided we’d do better if we didn’t wear our sashes tonight.”
“I’m not sure why it made such a difference, but you were right,” Mrs. Davis said. “That was the best performance you’ve ever given. You girls were really together tonight, just like real dancers.”
“Just like real friends,” Dinah said.
The girls grinned, throwing their arms around each other’s shoulders in a group bow. Erin’s smile was the brightest of all. She had discovered that sometimes when you give something up, you find something better.

Jared walked home from church in the hot sunshine with Mom and Dad. He thought about his Primary lesson. Since he couldn’t hear very well, Jared had to pay close attention to the pictures his teacher showed and the words she wrote on the board.
That day they had learned that Jesus asked the disciples to be missionaries. Jared wondered what he could do to share the gospel, like Jesus asked. He knew he couldn’t serve a mission yet. Then he had a great idea. Maybe he could start saving money for it!
When he got home, Jared ran right past Umber, his pet goat, and into the house. He got a big plastic jar and carefully cut a hole in the top. He wrote “Mission Fund” on the side. Then he went to his room and got his money from under his bed. One by one he dropped in each coin. But all his coins barely covered the bottom of the jar. How could he earn more money?
Jared thought and thought. He looked out the window at the bright sun. It was so hot in the Philippines. Jared and his friends ate coconut ice candy almost every afternoon after school. “That’s it!” he thought. Maybe he could make ice candy and sell it to other people who wanted to cool down.
Jared ran to find Mom. “Can you show me how to make ice candy?” Jared signed. They used sign language, a language where you talk with your hands. Mom smiled and nodded.
The next day, Jared and Mom walked to the big outdoor market and bought all the supplies. When they got home, Jared took out a big bowl and mixed coconut milk, condensed milk, vanilla, and shredded coconut. Mom and Jared used a funnel to pour the mix into small bags. They put all the bags in the freezer. “Great job!” Mom signed.
The ice candy took a long time to freeze. But the next day after school, it was finally ready! Jared climbed on a chair and got the white cooler off the top of the fridge. He put some towels in the bottom of the cooler and layered the ice candy on top. He couldn’t wait to sell it.
Jared ran outside into the dusty street. His friends were playing with homemade kites and throwing their flip-flops at a tin can to knock it over.
At the side of the road, he set up a table with a big sign that said, “Ice Candy, 5 pesos.” His friend Jhonell ran over and pointed at the cooler. He gave Jared a five-peso coin, and Jared gave him some ice candy. They high-fived.
Soon more of Jared’s friends came to buy ice candy too. A few hours later when Mom called Jared for dinner, there were only a few ice candies left.
Jared picked up the almost-empty cooler and the coins. In one of his pockets, he put some of the coins for his tithing. He put the rest of the coins into his other pocket. He couldn’t wait to see his mission-fund bank fill up.
At home he dropped his mission-fund coins onto the pile at the bottom of the jar. There was still so much more space! But Jared felt warm inside as he thought about serving a mission someday. He decided that he would sell ice candy every day until his jar was full. It felt so good to earn money so he could be a missionary as Jesus asked him to do.

My wife, Jacqui, and I were called to serve in Africa in 2016. Before coming, I asked for advice from Elder Carl B. Cook who had just completed his assignment as the Africa Southeast Area President. He said something very wise that I have since found to be absolutely true: “You think that you will teach the Saints, but actually they will teach you.”
You have taught us how to forgive. In countries such as South Africa and Rwanda, brutal past experiences could have forever filled future generations with hate and bitterness. Yet time and time again, we have witnessed extraordinary examples of converts who are living the Lord’s teachings that we are to “forgive all men”,1 even those who “hate you . . . despitefully use you, and persecute you”.2
You have taught us the essence of ministering. And how caring for each other in a time of need is an integral part of the African culture. I recall being in a leadership meeting in Gaborone, Botswana where the new higher and holier form of home teaching was being introduced and would be called ministering. Afterwards I was talking with a brother who said with a puzzled look, “This should be easy for us, as ministering is what we already naturally do in Africa.”
You have taught us of true riches. Some of you live in prosperous circumstances yet remain humble and serve faithfully. Others we have met might be judged by the world to be poor. Yet as I think of many cherished and sacred memories visiting members in their homes and places of worship, I feel like Paul in describing this latter group “as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, and yet possessing all things.”3
You have taught us about the connection between happiness and giving of ourselves. The following quote from Elder Dunstan G. Chadambuka, whilst serving as president of the Botswana/Namibia Mission, captures this connection:
“I have had multiple opportunities to visit members and investigators in our mission, along with senior missionary couples. One observation I have made from visiting these homes, and also my experience from being a local and having a deeper understanding of the cultures and ways of living of our people is [this]: their circumstances may appear to be dire in terms of basic temporal possessions, but I have never seen a happier people who are thankful and content with what the Lord has blessed them with. Even in their supposed poverty they are willing to share the little they have.
“I have witnessed (foreign) senior couples especially, break down in tears [out of sympathy for the dire temporal circumstances of some of our members] and I am often left wondering why they feel so much pity for these brave, happy and content people . . . in fact, a person with a million dollars in his pocket could not be happier.”4
You have taught us about pure testimony. On our first Sunday in Africa, we attended a sacrament meeting in the Protea Glen ward in the Soweto Stake. Every talk we heard from the pulpit that day was Christ-centered and included pure testimony of the Saviour and His atoning sacrifice. We have found this to be the case over and over in sacrament meetings throughout Africa. As with the Nephites, it can be said of you; “we talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, we preach of Christ . . . that our children may know to what source they may look for a remission of their sins.”5
You have taught us unity. We feel strength in diversity, and we feel true unity as brothers and sisters of many backgrounds and races serving side by side in the Lord’s kingdom. The Book of Mormon clearly teaches that “all are alike unto God.”6
The first doctrine taught by the missionaries is that we are all children of a Heavenly Father which quite simply means we are literally brothers and sisters in the family of God. The Apostle Paul described what happens as we embrace the gospel of Jesus Christ by saying: “Therefore ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God.”7 And so it is that Sister Palmer and I have never felt like strangers or foreigners while amongst the Saints, even though we are from foreign lands. We know new converts of different nationalities and races feel the same acceptance and sense of belonging as we worship together and minister to one another in love.
You have taught us about JOY. We shall never forget the overwhelming joy of the Saints at the Kinshasa and Durban temple dedications. The pure joy of those who gathered in Harare and Nairobi to hear from our newly sustained prophet, President Russell M. Nelson, along with Sister Wendy Nelson and Elder Jeffrey R. and Sister Patricia Holland. The joy of over 7,000 Saints in Johannesburg who heard Elder Holland proclaim that “the answer to every problem in Africa can be found in the gospel of Jesus Christ.” And in smaller settings, the joy we feel from new converts and from those going to the temple for the very first time as they bind themselves to Christ in sacred covenants. President Nelson gave a landmark talk in 2016 titled “Joy and Spiritual Survival.” In that talk he made a statement that pierced my soul as I pondered the challenging circumstances so many members find themselves facing in Africa. “The joy we feel has little to do with the circumstances of our lives and everything to do with the focus of our lives.
When the focus . . . is on . . . Jesus Christ and His gospel, we can feel joy regardless of what is happening—or not happening—in our lives.”8

Perhaps a personal experience will help to illustrate this loving, watchful care that we are to extend to one another.

My husband and I have been blessed with ten wonderful children. Seven of them are living, which means, of course, that three of them are not. During the times that I was pregnant I had to stay in bed much of the time, and it was always a great worry that I carry those precious babies until they were big enough to survive. During many weeks, my visiting teachers came with lunch for me or dinner for my family. They tended our toddlers and sent library books for me to read.

When our twins were born, we were totally surprised by having two babies! How wonderful to have two little people with only one pregnancy! It was not to be for long, however—at least in this life. Our baby boy lived two days; our baby girl lived three. The sisters were there again, not only with food, but with a beautiful rose bush called “Duet” which flourished and grew. It was a sweet reminder of a tender time. The lovely blossoms helped us to remember our little ones, our friends, our gratitude for the gospel and for the Church.

“I started coming to church when I was 16,” he explained. “I met the missionaries on the street. I thought they were lawyers or executives by the way they were dressed. Then I realized they were foreigners. I was curious about them, so I started hanging around them, asking questions.
“In my first discussion, they told me about the Book of Mormon and about Joseph Smith, and I thought, What a great experience to have. I believed it all.”
“Mom didn’t like that and didn’t want me to come to church at first, but she finally said it was all right. Still, when I asked her if I could get baptized, she said no way. So I continued going to church for about seven months, not being a member.”
“What finally changed her mind?” I asked.
“Well, I fasted and prayed, of course, and my birthday was coming up, so I told her that the best gift she could give me would be permission to be baptized. I guess I bugged her so much about it, she finally said to go ahead. You know the rest of the story.”

Class was starting, and I felt as nervous as a cat in a thunderstorm.
After roll call we would be starting with Kenneth’s speech. That would give me about fifteen to twenty minutes. Why do I have to give my speech today? I thought. Why did I choose Joseph Smith as my “famous American”?
The majority of the class were Baptist, including the teacher. I was the only Mormon in the whole group. I must have felt brave the day I chose this topic.
Kenneth was almost finished. No one had any questions about his speech on President Dwight D. Eisenhower.
It was my turn.
“My ‘famous American’ is Joseph Smith,” I began. “He was born in. …” My speech lasted about ten minutes—not bad.
“Any questions?” the teacher asked.
It was so silent you could have heard a pin drop.
“Well, I have one,” my teacher replied. “What is the name of the church that Joseph started?”
I knew I had left out something and it would be the most important part. I answered, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, more commonly known as the Mormons.”
That started the questions: Where did the plates come from? Who was Moroni? How did he get the plates? And oh, yes, the usual question—What about polygamy? By this time I was feeling pretty good. I answered all of the questions that I could, and then one student, who I’ll always be thankful to, asked, “How do you know it’s true?”
This question touched me. I truly felt the Spirit in my heart and in the room.
I looked at my questioner and said, “Bill, have you ever felt so right about something that no matter what anybody else says, you know it’s true? You know in your heart, and no one can persuade you otherwise?”
A hush came over the class. Even the teacher didn’t have a reply.
I’ll always be thankful to Bill for helping me realize that I do have a testimony and that I shouldn’t keep it inside.
I had been in front of the class answering questions for over thirty minutes. We even missed part of our break. And I felt radiant the rest of the day.
This experience helped me realize that people want to know about the gospel. I also realized that I have a duty to share my knowledge with others.

This story took place in Kiribati.
Timeon climbed up onto the log above him. Then he put his legs over it and hung upside down.
“This place is awesome!” Natieta said from below.
Timeon and his friends had found the empty tree hut earlier that week. It was a great place to play! The beams holding up the roof were perfect to swing from.
“I bet I can jump all the way across—just like a monkey,” Timeon said.
“I’ll meet you halfway!” Toani said.
Timeon used his arms to swing his body forward. Then he leaped out toward the beam by his friend. He reached his hands out, ready to grab on.
But his fingers slipped! Timeon fell to the ground.
“Ouch!” Timeon said. His friends ran to help him.
“Are you all right?” Natieta asked.
Timeon tried to get up, but he felt a sharp pain in his arm.
“I don’t know if I can move,” he said. He tried not to cry, but tears rolled down his cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Timeon,” Natieta said. “We’ll help take you home.”
Timeon’s friends helped him across the island. The sun had nearly set by the time they got back to his home.
“What happened?” Mom asked.
“We were playing in the empty hut,” Toani said. “Timeon slipped from a beam he was swinging on.”
Timeon couldn’t even straighten his arm. It hurt so much!
Mom thanked Timeon’s friends for bringing him safely home. She helped him lie down on the mat and put soft pillows all around him.
Timeon was still in pain. But there were no doctors close enough to visit in the dark. What if it kept hurting all night?
Timeon heard a voice call a greeting from outside the house. “Mauri!” It was the missionaries.
“It’s good to see you, elders,” Mom said. “Could you please give my son a priesthood blessing? He hurt his arm and is in a lot of pain.”
“Of course.” Elder Aitu smiled at Timeon. “Would you like a priesthood blessing, Timeon?”
Timeon knew that priesthood blessings invited power from God to help and heal people. He had faith that Heavenly Father would help him. He nodded. “Yes, please.”
The missionaries placed their hands on Timeon’s head. They said his full name and blessed him by the power of Jesus Christ to feel better.
Soon Timeon’s arm didn’t hurt so much. He felt calm and peaceful. He was even able to fall asleep.
When he woke up, it was already morning. His arm still hurt, but not nearly as much as before.
“How do you feel?” Mom asked.
“Much better,” he said. “I think priesthood power is real.”
“I’m glad the blessing helped you!” Mom gave Timeon a hug, careful not to bump his arm. “Now let’s go get some help for your arm to make sure it heals.”
Mom helped Timeon get on a bike. Then she got on behind him. She took them to their neighbor, who could help.
Timeon smiled while their neighbor treated his arm. Priesthood power was a real power from God. And he was so grateful!
The name Timeon is pronounced “Si-me-on.” The island where he lives, Kiribati, is pronounced “Ki-ri-bas.”
Illustrations by Melissa Kashiwagi