Gospel Story Finder

Once I received 5 cents in behalf of the Church from the poor, eight-year-old Navajo girl whom I baptized in 1954. After her confirmation, she approached me with her little fist clenched tightly around that 5 cents. Then she held it out to me and said, “Here is my tithing, elder. It is a full tithing.”
That little Navajo girl had paid as much tithing as the wealthiest member of the Church ever paid—a full tithe.

Bertha came into my life when I was 13 and just beginning junior high school. How well I remember that first day of school. The building was large and sprawling with endless halls and rows and rows of lockers. It seemed like a huge transit mall compared to the security of grade school. Most of the students had come on school buses from small farms and neighborhoods. This was certainly not a big city group, but we were still anxious to be popular and accepted. There were so many of us that we were going to be using the old grade school across the street for additional classrooms. I alternated between excitement and panic at the thought of finding my way around.
I had worked hard all summer babysitting and getting up at 5:00 A.M. to pick strawberries and cherries so I could earn enough money to buy nice school clothes. But even in all my fine new clothes, I felt awkward and uneasy.
My friends and I huddled together, trying to act nonchalant to hide the fear we felt but didn’t dare admit. We stood in awe as the eighth and ninth graders moved confidently through the halls laughing and teasing each other. It was a relief when the bell finally rang and we all headed to the big gym where it was announced that each seventh grader was to be assigned to an eighth grade “big brother or sister” to show them around. Each seventh grader was called, along with the name of his buddy for the day.
When my name was called along with Bertha Brown, I heard several of my friends gasp. I had no idea who Bertha Brown was, but it was obvious that some of them did. As soon as we were excused to go meet our big sisters, I was surrounded by girls telling me to hide quickly before Bertha could find me. It was clear that to be assigned to Bertha was the worst possible fate. I was so confused. Part of me said not to hide—that would be mean. But another part of me wanted to be popular, and that’s the side that won.
So the game began—the hiding, the giggling, and the running from imagined danger. We managed to escape from Bertha for the moment, but not before I caught a glimpse of her. It was true that she was not pretty. She was even a little scary to look at with her wild, dry hair. Her clothes looked like something a grandmother would wear, and her shoes were brown and ugly.
All day the big story was how poor little Sheron had to hide from Bertha. The one time that I really saw Bertha’s face she looked so sad. How could we be so mean to her? I thought. She hadn’t done anything to deserve it. There we were, a whole group of girls, running away from one lonely person. I knew that what we were doing was wrong. I didn’t want to play that awful game. What I really wanted was to talk to Bertha and tell her I was sorry. I knew that she must be embarrassed. But I wasn’t brave enough, so I let everyone else lead me. But oh, I was miserable!
Later that day I forgot about Bertha when I was called to Mrs. Jensen’s office. She had been my very favorite teacher in grade school, and now she was a counselor at the junior high. I could hardly wait to see her. All the way to her office I imagined all kinds of wonderful things. Maybe she wanted me to be her special assistant. Maybe she had something important that she wanted me to do. I almost ran through the halls in my eagerness to see Mrs. Jensen. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for her.
When I walked into her office, I could see tears in her eyes, and my heart nearly broke when she looked straight at me and said, “Of all the girls coming into seventh grade, I assigned Bertha to you because I thought that you were the one girl who would be kind to her!”
All the misery of the day came crashing down on me, and I sobbed as I realized that Mrs. Jensen did have an important assignment for me and I had failed her. I had failed Bertha. But, most of all, I had betrayed myself. The next day everyone else forgot about the game—and Bertha. I never did. I rarely saw her after that day. When I did catch a glimpse of her all alone, I wanted desperately to tell her how sorry I was. But I was too ashamed and too young in my understanding of compassion to know how much it would mean to her.
I never saw Bertha again after junior high, and yet she has been a very important part of my life. Even today I wish that I had found the courage to be her friend. How do you say you are sorry to someone that you have never spoken to and yet hurt so deeply that more than 30 years later you cannot forget?

I grew up in Krasnodar, Russia. As a young girl, I was baptized in a Christian church that was part of my culture. I knew that Jesus Christ was real, but I wasn’t very active in my religion.
A few years later, I met missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I gained a testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel and entered into a covenant with God through baptism—a covenant to serve God, keep His commandments, and be willing to take the name of Jesus Christ upon me and always remember Him.
When I was first baptized, my life was going well! I loved God, Jesus Christ, and the Church. I loved the gospel so much that I wanted to share my feelings with my classmates. But when I did, I was met with opposition. Because of how others treated me for my faith, I had to switch schools. And I had to travel the path as a disciple of Christ mostly alone.
I was able to manage this for a while. I spent time with my few friends and the missionaries. My testimony was strong, but after I graduated and moved to a new city, I was a bit more cautious about sharing my faith because of my past negative experiences.
I started to focus less and less on the gospel. During this time, even though I didn’t prioritize the gospel much, I still expected God to give me a helping hand with my struggles. But when those blessings I expected didn’t come, I decided I didn’t want to wait for His direction anymore.
One missed church meeting turned into three, which turned into months of not going. This led to me making small decisions that went against gospel standards, which eventually turned into a series of bigger choices. Before I knew it, I had been living outside the Church for five years and had never felt so distant from God.
In the back of my mind, I knew I had made covenants, and I still had a fragment of a testimony. But I pushed those thoughts away because it was uncomfortable to acknowledge that I was not living in line with the gospel.
Eventually, I reached a breaking point, where I was experiencing a spiritual famine. I knew I had to return to God—nothing was bringing me true happiness or fulfillment. However, the journey back to Him seemed too overwhelming to start. I wanted to be the person I was five years ago, the one who had such strong faith, but I felt lost.
I wondered if there was even a way back.
Finally, I worked up the courage to act. The path back seemed so difficult to take alone, but I remembered that I wasn’t alone. As Deuteronomy 31:6 says, “Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid … : for the Lord thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.”
As soon as I decided to turn toward Jesus Christ again, miracles continued to guide me back to the covenant path. Because of the covenants we make with God, if we choose to return to Him and repent with an honest heart, He will honor and renew those covenants with us.
My small but intentional acts of repentance helped me find renewal through Jesus Christ. And by studying the words of my patriarchal blessing, praying to my Father in Heaven, and doing those simple things that bring us closer to Christ, I gained confidence that the Savior was changing me for the better.
As Elder Dale G. Renlund of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles recently shared, “As you walk the covenant path, from baptism to the temple and throughout life, I promise you power to go against the natural worldly flow—power to learn, power to repent and be sanctified, and power to find hope, comfort, and even joy as you face life’s challenges.”
As someone who fell away from the covenant path and later returned, I can testify that this is true.
If you feel like you are too far away from the gospel to return, you are not! I felt lost too, but as you remain focused on Jesus Christ, He will guide you.
All you need to do is trust Him.

Linda and Robbie came poking down the stairway of the old farmhouse where Grandma and Grandpa lived. They always dawdled when it was time to go home.
“Hurry up!” Mom called out. And Dad’s voice came from outside, urging them to get a move on.
The children hurried a little faster, but not much. They hugged Grandma and Grandpa good-bye and then got into the back of the car. When Dad turned the ignition key, there was a strange whirring noise. When he tried to start the car again—nothing.
“Oh, no!” he cried.
Grandpa walked over to the car. “What is it, Ben?”
Dad shook his head. “The starting motor’s on the hummer.”
“Won’t the car go?” Robbie asked.
“No, it won’t,” Dad replied.
“Then I guess we’ll just have to stay here for Thanksgiving,” Linda said, a note of hope in her voice.
“I have to get home for that business meeting tomorrow,” Dad agonized. “But how can I?”
“Well,” Grandpa suggested, “you could take my car.”
Dad looked surprised. “You mean Lisbeth? That old Model T?”
“Only car I have,” Grandpa replied.
“I wouldn’t dare,” Dad said. “I’ve never driven a Model T. Besides, it—it might break down!”
“It’s easy to drive,” Grandpa persuaded, “and it’s been running for over fifty years. Don’t think it’ll break down now.”
“Oh, let’s!” Linda said. “I love Lisbeth.”
Grandpa and Dad went out to the barn, and Linda and Robbie trailed along behind. Grandpa opened the barn door, and there waited Lisbeth—shiny and black. Her top was folded down for nice weather, and there were side curtains to snap in place when the top was up during bad weather.
There were two little levers on the steering wheel, and Grandpa adjusted them just so, then he went around in front of Lisbeth and took hold of the crank. He turned it a couple of times and Lisbeth started. The children climbed in back, with Grandpa and Dad in front. Grandpa told Dad what to do. Dad drove Lisbeth around the barnyard and between the chicken coops a couple of times to get the feel of it. When he felt confident that he could drive it, he parked the Model T beside his own car. After they had loaded everything and everyone into Lisbeth, Dad released the hand brake, then pushed one of the foot pedals, adjusted the throttle lever, and they were on their way down the lane.
Lisbeth’s engine was noisy. Her body rattled, and the ride was not very smooth. Dad frowned. But Mom hid a grin, while Linda and Robbie squealed and bounced up and down on the back seat. At the end of the lane they pulled up onto a blacktop road. Lisbeth ran more smoothly and rattled less, but she was slow. “It’ll take a week to get home at this rate,” Dad muttered.
“Pull her ears down,” Robbie said, pointing to the little levers on the steering column. “That’s what Grandpa does.”
Dad pulled the little levers all the way down and Lisbeth ran faster, but not much.
Dad pulled into the first service station they came to. The station man looked at the old car and frowned. “That’s Mr. Jackson’s car,” he said. “What are you doing with it?”
“He’s my grandpa,” Linda piped up. “We had to borrow it.”
“I’d like the tank filled,” said Dad, getting out of the car and removing the front seat cushion that covered the gas tank. “And please check the oil and tires too.”
Soon they were on their way again, rolling along a superhighway.
The newer cars whooshed past. Horns honked, and people laughed and waved. Linda and Robbie waved back, and Dad hunched down lower in the seat.
Then Robbie said, “Uh, oh. There’s a police car right behind us with its red light flashing.”
Dad pulled onto the shoulder of the road and stopped. The policeman parked behind their car and came up to them.
“What’s wrong, officer?” Dad inquired.
“See that sign just ahead?” the officer asked, pointing. “It says you have to drive at least forty-five miles an hour on this freeway.”
Dad nodded. “I’d be glad to, officer, but Lisbeth—this car—just can’t quite go forty-five miles an hour.”
“Then you’ll have to leave the freeway at the next off ramp,” the officer said. “Sorry.”
Dad drove down the off ramp to an older, rougher road. “I don’t think we’ll make it home today,” Dad said. “I’m sure Lisbeth doesn’t have very powerful lights. If dark catches us, we’ll have to stop at a motel.”
“Like a vacation!” Linda shouted. “That’ll be fun, huh, Robbie?”
Lisbeth bounced and clattered along, and the sun dropped lower and lower in the sky. Dad turned the lights on, but they weren’t very bright. A little later Dad pulled into a motel, and they rented a big room for the night. The family played games, watched TV, and then went to bed.
Early the next morning Dad got everyone up. Linda and Robbie grumbled, but Dad paid no attention. “I have to get to my business meeting before noon,” he said, “and Mother needs to do some shopping for Thanksgiving tomorrow.”
Lisbeth didn’t much want to start, and Dad had to crank and crank, but finally the old engine came to life and the family was on its way. They watched the sun come up, then they saw their town just ahead.
Linda sighed. “We’re almost home. I wish we were just starting. Lisbeth is lots more fun than our car.”
Dad grunted. They started down Main Street but soon came to an intersection where a policeman came toward them, waving his arms.
He gave them a big smile and motioned for them to go right on down Main Street, although he was directing other cars onto a side street. Dad drove on, then had to slow down to keep from running over a clown riding a motorcycle. Another clown rode up behind them, then both clowns began riding their motorcycles round and round Lisbeth.
Linda looked on down the street where there was a band, horses, more clowns, and big floating balloons. She looked back and saw more of the same.
“Whoopie!” Robbie called out suddenly. “We’re in a parade!”
And they were—in a big Thanksgiving parade. At first Dad frowned, then he looked at Linda and Robbie and laughed. “Guess I’ll just have to be a little later for that meeting than I thought,” he said. “But I’ll be thankful if I get to it at all.”
Mom gave him a hug. “I’m glad that you can see how much fun the kids are having.”
Linda took a deep breath and looked back and forth as they drove slowly down the street between the crowds of people.
“I’m thankful for Grandma, Grandpa, and Lisbeth,” she said. “This is the most fun ever.”
Lisbeth chugged along to the end of the parade, then on home. Dad turned off the engine. “Whooee!” he sighed. “We’re all glad that’s over, aren’t we?” he asked with a sly grin.
“Oh, Dad, that was fun,” Linda said. “It isn’t every day we get to ride in a parade!”

From Dream to Reality: A Young Leader’s Culinary Journey
Meet Yazé Aristophane Guy-Landry, a dynamic young single adult leader in the Grand-Bassam Côte d’Ivoire Stake, whose journey of self-reliance began at the Gathering Place. It was there, in a simple pâtisserie class, that Yazé discovered a passion for baking and a newfound confidence in his talents.
That spark ignited a bold step forward—he enrolled at the École Hôtelière de Grand-Bassam, where he is now thriving in his culinary studies. As he builds his skills, Yazé is also gaining valuable experience by working at the hotel. His goal is clear: to eventually launch his own restaurant.
Reflecting on this journey, he shared, “This experience is changing the way I viewed life some time ago. I am convinced that if I work well, with God’s help, I will be financially good and self-sufficient.”
Yazé credits the Gathering Place not just for his career direction but also for deep personal and spiritual growth. “I can truly attest to the authenticity of this program called Gathering Place,” he said. “I believe it is a gift from heaven and carried out by our leaders to bring together the youth of the Church and their friends in an enchanted place, allowing them to learn more, whether it be skills training or the importance of human values, helping us to keep our covenants and stay on the right path.”
For Yazé, the Gathering Place is more than a classroom—it’s a community. “I had the opportunity to get to know several members and friends. I even believe that my marriage will come from the Gathering Place. I invite all my young single adult friends to give this program the utmost importance.”
Yazé’s story is a powerful example of how the Gathering Place is transforming lives, helping young adults turn hope into action and dreams into achievement.

“Sarah, your father needs my help with the planting for a few hours this morning. Would you please take care of John and Laura for me? It would be a big help to us. I would like you to finish washing the breakfast dishes for me, too, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Ten-year-old Sarah was annoyed and frustrated by her mother’s request. She had wanted some time by herself today so she could finish the poem she had started last week. Sarah had gotten the idea for the poem when she had seen a mother robin feeding her tiny babies in the nest outside her bedroom window. She had just started on the poem that day when she had had to stop and help her mother.
Sarah could see, however, that her mother really needed her help again today, so she answered, “All right, Mama, I’ll help you. But do I always have to be the one to take care of the children? Isn’t there anyone else who can do it? John’s almost six. Isn’t he old enough to help out with some of the work?”
Mother smiled and replied, “John and Laura really do need someone older to take care of them. We don’t want to take advantage of your good nature, dear, but I always have a calm, secure feeling when I know you are home taking care of things. We love you and appreciate your help.” Mother kissed the children and quickly left the house.
“Sarah, why don’t you like to watch us?” asked Laura, her dark eyes flashing. “John and I are always good.”
Sarah looked at her four-year-old sister and tried to smile. “I know you’re good, Laura. It’s just that I wanted to finish writing a poem I started. I want to be a writer when I grow up, and I’ll never be any good if I don’t have time to practice. Will you and John go outside and play while I clean up the kitchen, please?”
“We’ll go outside if you tell us a story first. Your stories are always good,” said John.
“Not now. I’m just not in a storytelling mood,” Sarah replied.
The two younger children knew better than to bother Sarah when she had something on her mind, so they went outside. With a sigh Sarah began to wash the breakfast dishes. She watched the soapy water cover the plates in the large dishpan and thought about her life. Here she was, ten years old, and all she really knew how to do was wash dishes and take care of Laura and John. Would she ever have time to learn to be a real writer, like the people who wrote the books and poems she loved to read?
After the last dish was put away, Sarah hurried outside. She found Laura and John and told them a story she had written for a school assignment. Then it was time to fix lunch for the three of them. Just as they finished eating, Mother returned.
“The kitchen is so clean, Sarah! What would we ever do without you? Would you like to walk into Kirtland and meet Mary when she gets out of school? I won’t need you until later this afternoon.”
Sarah was delighted. There were a lot of things she needed to straighten out in her mind, and this would give her a chance to do it. Walking into Kirtland, she was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she hardly noticed the temple. Usually when Sarah walked into town, she gazed at the beautiful temple and admired the sparkly outside walls. Her mother had given some of their best china to the Church building committee. Their dishes, along with those of other members, were ground up and mixed with the plaster for the outside walls so that the temple would always sparkle in the sun.
Not far from the temple was a small building that was used as a school for young ladies. Sarah’s best friend, Mary, attended the school. Mary often talked about her teacher, Sister Snow, and the exciting things she taught. Sarah had seen Sister Snow many times at church and thought she was beautiful with her dark hair and eyes. Sarah hoped that she, too, would someday be taught by this fine lady. She knew that Sister Snow was a great poet, and she wanted to grow up to be just like her. As Sarah waited for Mary to come out of school, she wondered how Sister Snow had ever found the time to learn to write poetry. Girls and women had so much to do around the house every day.
“Sarah, what are you doing here?” Mary asked smilingly, interrupting her friend’s thoughts.
“Mother let me leave the house for a while. May I walk home with you?”
“Oh, you know you may. I want to tell you about our lesson in school today. Sister Snow told us about her early life. Did you know that she had a lot of younger brothers and sisters and that she always had to take care of them? She told us today that no matter how hard she worked, she always made time for her writing because it was important to her. When she was only twenty-two, she was asked to write a poem in tribute to President Thomas Jefferson and President John Adams when they both died on the same day. Her poem was published, and Sister Snow could have been famous if she had wanted to be! But she told us that such things were not important and that she would much rather write for the people she loved.”
Sarah was silent as they continued walking. When they reached Brother Whitney’s store, they went in. Sarah had brought several pennies with her from home, and she bought them some candy.
As they were sitting on the porch of the store eating their candy, Sarah said, “I’m glad you told me about Sister Snow’s life. If she could do all of the things she had to do in a family with younger brothers and sisters and still become a great poet and writer, so can I. If I do everything I’m supposed to do every single day, I can still find a little bit of time to do what I want to do. I’m going to become a great lady and a great poet just like Sister Snow. Come on, Mary. I want to get home. If Mama doesn’t need me, I’m going to work on my poem.”

“Mama, look at this one!” Joshua pointed to the Christmas tree. It was tall and skinny, with perfect green needles.
Mama paused and looked at the price tag. She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”
Joshua sighed and kept walking. The market was crowded with stalls of food and Christmas trees. It was crowded with families buying trees and ingredients to make delicious treats, like bûche de Noël (Yule log cake). Mama had brought Joshua with her to buy some food, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off the Christmas trees. Some of the trees were tall and thin. Others were short and round. Joshua even saw one that was just his height!
Mama said they didn’t have a lot of money this year. They probably wouldn’t be able to buy a tree. That made Joshua a little sad. Whenever he went to the marketplace with Mama, he kept looking for the perfect Christmas tree. Maybe, just maybe, they could find a tree to take home.
Joshua held Mama’s hand as they walked to the next row of trees. Joshua gasped. There it was—the perfect tree!
He ran ahead and put a hand on the tree. It wasn’t very green. It was missing clumps of needles. It wasn’t too tall. In fact, it was bent far over, like an old man leaning on a cane.
“Mama, it’s perfect!” Joshua said. “Can we take it home? Please?”
Mama glanced at the price tag. “Well, it’s not too many euros. And I think we can fit it in the car.”
Joshua could hardly wait. He kept playing with the sleeves of his coat as he waited for Mama to pay for the tree. Then a nice man helped them place the tree in the car. When they were finally home, his stepbrother, Matthieu, and Papa helped take the tree from the car. They carried the tree inside and set it in the corner of their front room.
“First, we need to do the lights,” Matthieu said.
It was hard to hang the lights up since the tree was so bent over. Matthieu put the lights on the top. Joshua put them on the bottom. Next they hung the ornaments. Finally Papa helped Joshua place the star on the top.
Papa plugged in the lights and put an arm around Mama. Joshua smiled at the tree. The tree’s lights made the whole room feel warm and cozy. He sat underneath the tree and looked up at the brightly colored ornaments. The tree didn’t look as bent over and sad now. It was beautiful. It was perfect.
“It’s a perfect Jesus tree,” Joshua said.
“What do you mean?” Mama asked.
“Our tree is just like Jesus,” Joshua said. “Jesus was born in a poor, dirty manger. Our tree was poor and sad in the marketplace. But now the tree is beautiful and grand, just like how Jesus is our glorious King.”
“Our perfect Jesus tree,” Papa said. “I love that.”
Joshua smiled. This was going to be a very special Christmas.
This story took place in France. Turn to page 10 to learn more about that country.

Years ago I served on a stake high council with Emery Wight. For 10 years Emery had served as bishop of rural Harper Ward. His wife, Lucille, became our stake Relief Society president.
Lucille told me that one spring morning a neighbor called at her door and asked for Emery. She told him that he was out plowing. The neighbor then spoke with great concern. Earlier that morning he had passed the field and noticed Emery’s team of horses standing in a half-finished furrow with the reins draped over the plow. Emery was nowhere in sight. The neighbor thought nothing of it until much later when he passed the field again, and the team had not moved. He climbed the fence and crossed the field to the horses. Emery was nowhere to be found. He hurried to the house to check with Lucille.
Lucille calmly replied, “Oh, don’t be alarmed. No doubt someone is in trouble and came to get the bishop.”
The image of that team of horses standing for hours in the field symbolizes the dedication of the bishops in the Church and of the counselors who stand by their side. Every bishop and every counselor, figuratively speaking, leaves his team standing in an unfinished furrow when someone needs help.
I have passed that field many times over the years. It is a reminder of the sacrifice and the service of those called to serve in bishoprics of wards and of their wives and families, without whose help they could not serve.

Eight-year-old Porter Ashby was having a bad day. He wasn’t in the mood to be at the children’s hospital—again. From the time Porter was a baby, he had a very serious hearing loss. He couldn’t hear his mom calling his name or someone banging on pots and pans. The doctors gave Porter hearing aids, but they were uncomfortable and didn’t help him hear much better.
When Porter was three years old, he went to the hospital and had an operation to get a cochlear implant in his left ear. Porter was excited about all the new sounds he could hear.
Since then, Porter has gone back to the hospital many times so the doctors can find out how well his implant is working. Usually this is fun. He gets to see his friends at the hospital and play games while the nurses test his hearing.
But not today. Porter had already been at the hospital for several hours. He had already played the games and answered the questions the nurse asked him. He was tired and ready to go home.
Then the doctor wanted to test how well Porter was pronouncing words. He asked Porter to sing “Happy Birthday.”
Porter said he didn’t feel like singing that song, so the doctor asked him what song he would like to sing.
Porter remembered that he had been learning “Called to Serve” in Primary. It was his favorite song, so he sang both verses.
“That was amazing, Porter,” the doctor said. “What a wonderful song!”
By then Porter was feeling much better. When all the tests were finished, the doctor called one of the nurses in. “Porter just sang an amazing song. Will you sing it again for the nurse, Porter?”
Porter was happy to do it. He sang his favorite song again, smiling from ear to ear.

You may have read the story in the Ensign about the Hibbert family. (See Ensign, June 1980, pp. 41–42.) The husband and father of a large family was diagnosed as having terminal cancer. After the shock and fear were faced, the husband and wife counseled together and decided that the best thing they could do for their joy and peace of mind was to prepare themselves and their family for what was to come.
They chose to create family memories through shared experiences, to complete family histories, to have a year’s supply of food and other necessities to meet the financial emergencies that would come. A will was prepared and all insurance and legal papers were put in order. The children were taught to care for one another and to take responsibility in the home.
Just weeks before the death of Brother Hibbert, their home was destroyed in a fire. With it went much of the food storage, but there was still the togetherness of a family that had learned to work together, to plan and prepare, and to face a difficulty head on. With the death of Brother Hibbert, there was sorrow—but not grief. The family had developed the skills it takes to remain close and loving. They were prepared.

Some years ago while serving as a stake president, I pled with the Lord that He would direct my feet to someone for whom I might turn priesthood keys in inviting them back into the fold. At the time I was traveling rather frequently in my work. One Monday morning I got on the flight that I took regularly to Salt Lake City where I was doing some work for the Church. Only this morning I did something that I had never done before. As I checked in, I felt prompted to change my seat to the back of the plane. I never sit in the back of the plane. I like to get as close to the front as possible so that I can make a quick get away as soon as we touch down. How grateful I am that I followed this prompting. I made my way to the back of the plane and took my seat. As I did so, a man in the row ahead of me asked if I would mind sitting with him. I looked around in surprise and agreed to do so. After exchanging pleasantries about the work that took each of us to Salt Lake, he said that he was a member of the Mormon Church but that he had been highly inactive for years. This confession seemed to open a floodgate of emotion as he began to express details of the many and deep indiscretions that had led him away from the Church. After a few minutes I interrupted him and said, “While I appreciate your openness, before you go any further I should let you know that I am probably your Stake President. He slowed, only ever so slightly, and said, “Yes, I thought that I recognized you as my Stake President. I have seen you get on this flight and sit up front several times in recent months and have just been hoping that we might have the chance to talk. May we continue?” We spoke non-stop for the rest of the flight and many other times in the months that followed. It was easy to develop a deep love for this brother and new friend as we walked together through his repentance process. I asked him often, “What in the world was it that prompted you to make such a dramatic change in lifestyle as you have come back into the Church?” He was always very clear that he felt a burning within his soul that there was something far more meaningful in life than the world’s “high life” that he was then living. He was driven to get back in touch with the real meaning that he had experienced years earlier. He was looking for purpose beyond that which the world can offer.

A few years ago in Australia's Northern Territory, one of the most remote places on earth, I visited the Church's only branch where all of the members are Aboriginees. Because the branch is so isolated-500 miles from its District priesthood leaders-I wanted to know what the members there were learning about the gospel. On impulse, I asked all the children if they could sing, unrehearsed, "I Am a Child of God." I can still feel the assurance I felt then as they gathered and sang every word with earnest smiles, their faces full of light. "Teach me all that I must do, to live with Him someday." I sensed that they were on the homeward spiritual path.

John lingered in the hall before deciding to get it over with. He was sorry he had even come. His mother had talked him into it, saying, “After all he is the bishop, and if he wants to see you the least you can do is go.”
He’s going to say he hasn’t seen me at church lately, John thought as he idly gazed at the bulletin board in the hall, and they’d like me to help on some project, and I’ll tell him I’m too busy right now, and he’ll say they really need me and then I’ll leave, and it’ll be over for another six months.
He knocked on the door and Bishop Warren invited him in.
Now some small talk to loosen me up, John thought.
The bishop asked about his schooling to become an auto mechanic. John answered in two words. Then the bishop asked about his mother and dad, but John curtly reminded him that the man with his mother was his stepfather, not his real father.
“You’re probably wondering why I asked you here,” the bishop said.
Here it comes, John thought.
“God has called you on a mission.”
The silence roared through his ears.
“I don’t want to go on a mission,” John said.
“That’s between you and God. My job is to tell you that you’ve been called.”
He didn’t tell me how much they need me, John thought, stunned and off balance.
“I’m not going.”
“It doesn’t matter that much to me personally if you go or not,” the bishop said, “but I want you to realize that God has called you on a mission.”
“This is just a gimmick to get me to shape up, isn’t it?” John said.
“Is it?” the bishop asked.
“Sure, that’s what it is.”
“Why don’t you pray and ask if it’s a gimmick?”
“I don’t need to pray because I’m not going.”
“Tell that to God then, but not to me. Before you decide though, I have some scriptures on this card I want you to read. Will you do that?”
John avoided the question and took the card. “Is that all you wanted to say?”
As he drove from the church, his mind boiled with anger at the bishop. He wants me to go on a mission so it’ll look good on his report, he thought as he slammed the car into second gear, so he makes up a story about God calling me. Well, he’s not fooling me.
He had his life planned, and it didn’t include a mission. First he’d get a job as a mechanic, then marry Jill and settle down. That’s what he wanted in life, and a mission didn’t fit in. Besides, he wasn’t even going to church or living the way the Church taught. Ever since his father had died and his mother remarried a nonmember, none of them had gone to church.
A few minutes later he parked his car in front of the truck stop cafe where Jill worked and went inside. As he sat down at the empty counter, she brought him a cup of coffee, and then poured herself one.
“Well?” she asked with a grin.
“Well what?”
“What did the bishop say?”
“He said God’s called me on a mission.”
She barely got her coffee swallowed before bursting out with laughter.
“You—on a mission? Boy, that’s a laugh.”
“I’m not going.”
“Did you tell him you were going to marry me?” she asked.
“I don’t have to tell him anything. I just said I wasn’t going.”
“But you are going to marry me in June—right? I mean you’re not inventing this story about a mission just to get out of it, are you?”
“I said I’d marry you,” he snapped. “How many times do I have to say it?”
“You’re so romantic,” she said sarcastically.
Another customer came in, and she left to get the order. In a few minutes she was back again.
“This coffee tastes rotten,” he complained. “What’d you do, make it with dishwater?”
She took a sip. “It tastes okay.”
“It’s not okay—it’s terrible.”
“Don’t drink it then. See if I care.”
Another customer drifted in. While he waited for her to come back, he tried to doctor up his coffee by pouring cream and sugar in it, but no matter what he did, it always tasted like burnt rags soaked in dishwater. Finally he put so much cream in that it ended up a chalky white lukewarm disaster. He reached over and dumped it down the drain.
A few minutes later it was quitting time for Jill. As they walked to the car, he asked, “How about going with me to the Longhorn for a beer?”
“On a Tuesday? What’s the occasion?”
“I just feel like it. Besides they have that western band playing there this week.”
“You never drink on weekdays, so why do you want to now? Trying to prove how bad you are so God will let you off the hook about a mission?”
“Quit talking about that. It’s over and done with.”
“I don’t see why you’re so uptight. They’d never send anyone like you on a mission.”
“What about going with me to the Longhorn?”
“Count me out. If you start drinking on Tuesdays, you’re going to end up an alcoholic.”
“Forget it then. I’ll go without you.”
“Suits me fine. You’re in a bad mood, and I don’t want to be around you anyway.”
He took her home and went to the Longhorn, a small place on the highway that served beer mainly to the just-out-of-high-school crowd.
While he was there, two guys came in. For one of them it was his 18th birthday, and they were celebrating by drinking one beer after another as fast as they could until one got sick and the manager made them clean it up, which made the other sick.
John walked out, saying to the one huddled on his knees pushing a towel over the floor, “That’s so clever the way you did that.”
At home in his bedroom he took off his shirt and found the three-by-five card in the pocket with a large handwritten message, “God has called you on a mission. Pray about it.”
He threw the card into the wastepaper basket, turned off the light, and went to bed.
He couldn’t sleep. After two hours of tossing, he sat up in bed and said out loud, “God, I’m not going. So just forget it. Amen.”
On Friday night there was a party for a group of mechanics and instructors involved in the training program. They met at a place called Al’s Oasis.
About 11 that night, one of the instructors, a man named Wayne, got into a fight with his wife. As it heated up, they said things to each other that shouldn’t have been heard by the group. His wife got mad and called a taxi. Wayne got drunker and more obnoxious. A while later he came and asked Jill to dance, but she said no and that made him furious. John told him to get away from her. Wayne tried to hit him, but he ducked and planted his fist solidly in Wayne’s stomach, causing him to double over and fall down.
Two of Wayne’s friends started to make noises about getting even with John. He thought he could handle them but was worried about Jill’s safety if there was a brawl. He grabbed her hand, and they ran out the back door to the car. As they drove away, John saw another car pull out after them, and he knew there might be trouble.
He had done enough deer hunting in the area to know the back roads, so after a few shortcuts, he lost the car behind them, but he kept going for several miles to make sure they wouldn’t find him.
Half an hour later they ran out of gas on a little-used country road. He knew they would have to walk into town.
It was a beautiful clear night with the stars filling the night sky. It had been a long time since John had looked at the stars.
He didn’t say much for the first few minutes of walking, until she finally asked what he was thinking about.
“Them,” he answered.
“Who?”
“Wayne and his wife—the way they were yelling at each other, the way he was drinking.”
“What about it?”
“That’s the way we’ll be in a few years.”
“Is it?” she asked.
“Sure—we argue now, don’t we? And I drink too much. Sure, we’ll be just like them—if we stay married. But maybe we won’t. Maybe we’ll get a divorce.”
“You are getting cold feet about marrying me, aren’t you?”
“I’m getting cold feet about ending up like them. There must be more to life than that.”
“What do you want, you know, in life?”
“I want to be the best mechanic in town. I’m good at it, and I like it. And I want some sons to take fishing and hunting. And I want a house and a pickup truck.”
“Anything else?”
“If we marry, I want it to last.”
“Me too,” she said. “If we’re married, I want you to be faithful to me. I don’t want my life to run like a soap opera.”
They walked a ways in silence, both of them feeling awkward at being so serious.
“John,” she asked, “suppose we have sons. Will you let them go to Primary?”
“Why not? It can’t hurt’em—at least while they’re small.”
“How about Sunday School?”
“If it doesn’t interfere with me taking them fishing and hunting.”
“You can fish on Saturdays.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” he said.
She waited several seconds before getting courage to ask, “What’d be wrong if we started going to church?”
“What for?”
“For our future sons and daughters, so we can learn. Mormons know how to raise good families, and that’s what we want, isn’t it?”
“I’m not going,” he said bitterly. “If you start, the first thing you know they ask you to do something, and before you know it, your whole life is spent at church. I don’t want to get into that.”
“Can we go for a few times just to see if it’s as bad as we think it is?”
He looked at her, shook his head, and gave in.
“All right, we’ll try it for a couple weeks, but that’s all.”
On Sunday they went to church, and even John had to admit it was okay. While they were there, he studied the missionaries sitting with one of the families they were teaching.
No way, he thought to himself.
On Wednesday he asked Jill if she would go drinking with him on Saturday night.
“I don’t want to go.”
“Why not?”
“I thought we were going back to church,” she said.
“What’s going to church have to do with enjoying a beer now and then?”
“You’re the one who’s always saying people who go to church are hypocrites, so now you want to be one too. Is that the way it is?”
“I agreed to go to church, but that’s all. I’ll drink when I want, and nobody’s going to tell me to stop!”
“I will, John. You better stop drinking.”
On Saturday night he went without her. A little past midnight he got into an argument about religion with the guy next to him, who was an atheist. John tried to convince him about God.
“There’s a God,” John said.
“Prove it.”
“Look at the flowers. You think that just happened?”
“Yeah, that’s what I think.”
“You’re crazy, you know that. Flowers don’t just happen,” John said, slamming down his mug for emphasis.
“What do you know about God anyway? What’s he to you?”
John stared at the empty mug, it’s promise of happiness gone, leaving only an empty froth, full of air with no substance. That’s when he became very depressed.
“What’s wrong with you?” the guy next to him asked.
“God wants me to be a Mormon missionary.”
The guy laughed so hard he fell off the chair.
At three in the morning, John drove to the church parking lot and stumbled onto the lawn in front of the chapel.
“Hey, are you there?” he yelled, looking up at the steeple. “Look at me! I’m drunk! Do you see that? Isn’t that disgusting? That’s why I can’t go on a mission—so quit bugging me about it! Look, I’d like to help you out, but you’ve got the wrong person. I’m not a good person. I’m rotten—rotten to the core.”
He sat down on the lawn and started to cry again. Among the sobs he pleaded, “All I want you to do is tell the bishop you were wrong about a mission for me. Then just let me be me—no good rotten John.”
After that he must have crawled into the car and fallen asleep, because the next thing he remembered was the slamming of a car door next to him. He woke up and looked around. It was early morning. Standing next to him looking into the car was Bishop Warren.
“You’re here early this morning for church,” the bishop said.
John’s mouth felt as if somebody had driven a cattle truck through it all night, and his head ached.
“Bishop, last night I was drinking, and I came here to get a message to God that he made a mistake about calling me on a mission. I’m not good enough to do anything in this church.”
“Do you believe now that God wants you to go on a mission?”
He looked up and said quietly, “I guess I do, but it’s too late. I’ve made too many mistakes.”
“John, you’ve got to learn to repent now. Let’s go to my office, and I’ll give you a thorough interview.”
He was too tired to argue. As he opened the car door, two empty cans rolled onto the parking lot, making a loud noise. He stepped gingerly from the car, picked up the cans, tossed them in the front seat, and stumbled after the bishop.
In the office, he sat rigidly in his chair, feeling that the room was leaning over to one side. The bishop asked him question after question, and it was embarrassing to answer them truthfully, but he wanted the bishop to know everything about himself.
After the last question, the bishop was silent for a moment and then said, “John, you’ve disappointed the Lord.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Before you were born, he called you to serve a mission, and you agreed. But now, unless you repent in a major way, you’ll lose that opportunity. We don’t send young men on missions unless they’re clean.
“The time to start repenting is now. Let me write down the things you need to work on. If you can turn your life around, you can still serve a mission, but it’ll take a while to demonstrate your obedience.”
“How long?” he asked.
“Maybe a year.”
“That’s a long time, bishop.”
“A year’s a year, whether you repent or not. And if you don’t repent, where will you be after a year?” The bishop’s list filled two pages.
“I’ll see you next week at this same time, and we’ll see how you’re doing. Priesthood meeting starts in an hour, so you better get home and change.”
He hurried home and got ready, making it back just in time. After Sunday School, he talked to Jill.
“I was surprised to see you here this morning,” she said.
“Jill, I’m going on a mission.”
“Sure you are,” she laughed.
“No, I mean it.”
She looked at him as if for the first time. “Why?”
“God wants me to go.”
She looked at him for a long time before saying, “I think I’m seeing a part of you I never knew existed—the part you tried to hide from everyone.”
She pursed her lips, closed her eyes for a second, and then tried to smile. “Well, so much for a June wedding—right?”
“It’s just a year and a half, and when we get married, it’ll be in the temple.”
“I can’t believe it,” she said. “You and me—regular church people. Who’d ever have thought it?”
“What will you do while I’m gone?” he asked.
It took courage for her to even say it. “You know what? Nobody in my family ever went to college. What if I went to Ricks College, maybe just for a year, you know, just to say I’ve gone? I think I’d like to do that.”
“Jill, have you talked to the bishop?”
“No, why?”
“You ought to and when you do, ask him for the thorough interview. He writes down a list of things to work on, and you go back in a week to report how you’ve done.”
So for the next few months, they both repented.
Six months later on a Sunday he watched a guy in faded Levi’s and western shirt burst from the bishop’s office laughing as he headed toward the door. John asked him what was so funny and was told that the bishop had said that God had called him on a mission.
“Isn’t that stupid?” the guy howled. “I don’t even go to church.”
So it was a gimmick after all, John angrily thought as he stormed into the bishop’s office.
“How many others have you told God called them on a mission?” he snapped.
“All of them between the ages of 18 and 25.”
“I believed you when you told me! I didn’t know it was just hype to drum up more missionaries!”
“Let’s talk about it, John,” the bishop said in an even tone.
“I’m tired of talking to you!” he said, whirling toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To get drunk!” he yelled, heading outside with the bishop right behind him.
“You can’t go back to the way you were.”
“Why can’t I?”
“Because now you have a testimony. Don’t you?”
He stopped just before reaching his car and thought about the past six months.
The bishop was right. He had a testimony that the Church was true. He couldn’t go back to the way he had been.
Inside the office, the bishop pulled out a worn copy of the New Era and read parts of a talk by President Kimball: “‘Should every young man … fill a mission?’ … The answer the Lord has given [is] ‘Yes, every worthy young man should fill a mission.’ The Lord expects it of him. And if he is not now worthy to fill a mission, then he should start at once to qualify himself.”
The bishop put down the magazine.
“But I thought you meant God wanted me personally to serve a mission.”
“John, I’ve fasted and prayed about what I told you. God does want you to serve a mission. If you doubt it, fast and pray about it too.”
He did pray and fast, and that helped him feel more assured the bishop was right, but the complete answer didn’t come until three months later.
He had continued to drop by the cafe near Jill’s quitting time, where he had his nightly cup of hot chocolate. One night she said, “Why don’t you come with Cindy and me next Saturday? We’re going to get a patriarchal blessing.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m not sure exactly. Cindy’s more says it’s personal revelation to help a person live his life. Will you take us? We have to go out of town to where the patriarch lives, and we were hoping you’d drive us. You could get a blessing too, but first you’ll have to get an interview from the bishop.”
“That’s no problem,” he smiled. “It seems like the past year has been one continuous interview.”
When he went for his interview, he brought the worn pages of repentance goals the bishop gave him on his first thorough interview. One by one, day by day over the months since then, he had checked each item.
After the interview, the bishop gave him a recommend for his patriarchal blessing and said, “John, you’re clean now.”
On Saturday the three of them drove to the stake center, where they met the patriarch who talked with them for a few minutes before giving each of them a blessing.
As the patriarch laid his hands on John’s head and began, it was like a cleansing shower of light and joy washing away the bad opinions he’d had about himself. As a child he was the boy who believed himself to be a bad boy, a mischievous boy, an average boy, a low achiever, a trouble-maker, a bad example. He found out that if you believe that about yourself then your life matches what you believe. Even at first when he tried to repent, underneath it seemed artificial, as if he were only putting on an act of goodness but deep down was still rotten and would be forever. But now as the patriarch gave him a blessing, he felt strongly that God was his Father in Heaven and that as a son in the premortal existence he had once been greatly loved and trusted.
He knew he was crying and that tears were rolling in small rivers down his face, and he knew Jill and Cindy knew it too; but he didn’t care because, for the first time in his life, he knew his true relationship to God.
The patriarch told him that Father in Heaven had called him to serve a mission, which was what the bishop had said, except this time, John knew it was true.
After the blessing, he sat in the chair, wiped his eyes, and, a little embarrassed, asked Jill for a tissue.
That’s how John came to go on a mission, and why Jill saved some money and quit the cafe and went to Ricks. Sometimes she’d be listening to a lecture when she would suddenly realize where she was and she’d think, Look at me! I’m in college and I never thought I’d be, and I’m smart enough to understand what the professor is saying, and I bet there’s a hundred other things I can do that once seemed impossible. I’m going to stay active and live the commandments and be married in the temple. Nobody around here, no bishop or other priesthood leader, has ever said my past mistakes were too great or that it’s too late for me to repent. All that’s important is that we start today and repent and live the commandments, and the Savior will take care of the rest.
John worked harder on his mission than ever before in his life. When he first started out, he thought what a great sacrifice it was to take 18 months to serve the Lord. But as his mission progressed he learned you can’t really sacrifice to the Lord because the more you give, the more he blesses you, and when you finish, you are more indebted to him than ever before.
Sometimes on his mission he and his companion would see an auto repair shop and stop. Inside John always looked for the meanest-looking mechanic there who was about his age, and he would walk up to him and say, “God sent me here to talk to you.” The guy usually swore and went back to his work on a car. John would lean over the other side of the hood, peering into the engine to watch him work, and little by little he would explain the message God had for that mechanic.
During his mission it only happened once that the mechanic ended up joining the Church, but John thought it was great that one did because, as he used to say, Father in Heaven needs all the mechanics he can get.
“Otherwise,” he’d say with a broad grin, “in heaven, who’s going to service all those chariots?”

For her Faith in God Award, Chevon Rayner is working on several activities and keeping a record of them in her journal. For the “Learning and Living the Gospel” category, she created a gospel crossword puzzle with 72 answers. She made it up from notes she took in her Primary class. She is studying the piano to develop her talents and meet the great need for pianists in the branches in Malaysia. Chevon also organized a dinner and made cakes for Valentine’s Day for the eight missionaries in her area. This is part of her “Serving Others” requirement. She also reads the scriptures every day.

A sea journey was the only option for converts in Europe who heeded the call to gather with the Saints in America. Jane Rio Griffiths Baker revealed something of ship life during her emigration from England:
“Sometimes a few musical ones get together and have a few tunes, sometimes [we] get together and gossip, and so … the days pass along. When we have rough weather, we have enough to do to keep on our feet, and [we] laugh at those who are not so clever as ourselves.”

The days of mirth, however, were balanced by days of distress. Jane recorded her grief at the death from illness of one of her young sons. “I did not think his death was so near, though when witnessing his sufferings I prayed that the Lord would shorten them. He has done so, and my much loved child is now in the world of spirits, awaiting the morning of the Resurrection” (Diary, LDS Church Archives, 3–4, 5; spelling and punctuation modernized).

My friends also set a good example for me when they chose to serve missions. Although I faced some opposition, I decided I also wanted to serve a mission. That decision has shaped the rest of my life. When I served in the Samoa Apia Mission, the missionaries carried much of the priesthood leadership responsibilities, and I could see that the Church in the islands needed to be strengthened. I made up my mind to do my part—I would return to Samoa after finishing my mission and my education.

After graduation from college, my wife and I moved to Samoa, where we raised our children and worked to strengthen the Church and the community. My father, not a member of the Church, was actively involved in local business and community affairs. His motto was “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right.” As my siblings and I discovered the gospel and lived it to the best of our abilities, he noticed the changes for good in our lives. In 1999, President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) stayed in my father’s home on his return from the groundbreaking of the Suva Fiji Temple. During that visit, the Spirit touched my father’s heart, and I was privileged to baptize him when he was 80 years old. He found great joy in the gospel and was unashamed and bold in sharing it with others during the last days of his life.

I know the importance of being an example of the believers and the happiness it brings into our lives and the lives of others. Because of my friends’ good examples and the love of a prophet, my family and I have been blessed with the joy the gospel brings.

Every day we influence others by our actions. Let us be sure to reach out to others and share the truth of this scripture that it may bring happiness to their lives too: “Remember, remember that it is upon the rock of our Redeemer, who is Christ, the Son of God, that ye must build your foundation; that when the devil shall send forth his mighty winds, yea, his shafts in the whirlwind, yea, when all his hail and his mighty storm shall beat upon you, it shall have no power over you to drag you down to the gulf of misery and endless wo, because of the rock upon which ye are built, which is a sure foundation, a foundation whereon if men build they cannot fall” (Helaman 5:12).

Illustrations by David Curtis
When I was 16, I attended high school at a technical school in order to earn an associate’s degree in electronics. As a requirement for my degree, I had to complete a 30-day internship at a local business to show my technical skills.
My internship was with a paper goods company. My desire to serve a full-time mission had begun to grow, and this job would help me earn enough money to go. But there were three of us interns, and the company would only select one of us for a full-time position.
The company had a machine that had failed. When the machine was working properly, it could complete as much work as three similar machines. This piece of equipment hadn’t been working for quite some time, and the company had ordered replacement parts from abroad to activate it—but it still didn’t work. I accepted the challenge to try to fix it.
Day after day, I spent hours studying the machine. But it was complicated, and it wouldn’t be easy to determine in just 30 days why it had failed, especially for someone as inexperienced as I was. However, I felt I could do it. Each morning before work, I read articles from the Liahona magazine and prayed to my Father in Heaven. I also struck up a friendship with my boss, an experienced electrical engineer, who obtained permission for me to take home copies of the blueprints on the weekends. I studied them intently.
As the internship drew to an end, my two colleagues finished their assigned projects and I felt the pressure growing. But in spite of negative (and even mocking) comments around me, I never doubted. The Friday that marked the end of our internships arrived quickly. Though I had resolved some of the issues, the machine still wasn’t working. I felt confident that I was close to fixing it, so I told my boss that if I could have permission to work on Saturday, the machine would be fixed by Monday.
My words astonished my boss so much that he personally requested permission from the president of the company. My boss then informed me that the next day, all three of us—the president of the company, my boss, and I—would be working, just until noon. “All three?” I asked. He explained that the company president, an electronics engineer, was interested in my proposal because there had been so many failed efforts to repair the machine that he had given up on repairing it.
The next day, I was very intimidated to be working alongside two adult engineers. I was young and lacked expertise. However, they offered to work as my assistants; I felt uncomfortable and, at the same time, very privileged.
It was just minutes before noon when the president and my boss realized that our efforts had been a waste. I excused myself and went into the bathroom. I knelt down, praying to my Father with great fervor. I felt an unexplainable, marvelous strength. I asked Him to help me get the job because I would need it to help me pay for my mission.
I came out of the bathroom electrified; but by that time, my assistants had already closed up the circuit compartments and gathered up the tools. I opened the machine back up and looked carefully at the 15 circuit cards inside. I noticed that one simple pin among over 4,000 pins in the system was not connected to the card. I connected it, put it in place, and turned on the machine. It worked! It was a miracle.
It was an unforgettable and touching moment. My boss hugged me, and the company president shook my hand and congratulated me energetically.
I was able to work for that company for nearly two years, save up the money I needed, and leave on my long-awaited mission. When I explained the reason for my departure, the president of the company bid me farewell and said, “You already know where to come back to work after you finish your mission. I wish you much success.”
This experience showed me that nothing is impossible for God. If we do not doubt, miracles will be made manifest, but only after the trial of our faith—even at the last moment. Yes, miracles do occur.

When Amy was three, her mother and father brought home her baby brother, Paul. They said Amy was a big sister now. But she didn’t feel any different. She still felt little.
Amy wasn’t sure she liked the baby. He didn’t do anything, even when she smiled at him. Then one day he smiled. “I taught my brother how to smile,” said Amy.
Sometimes Amy liked to shake a rattle in front of Paul. When Paul was three months old, he reached out and took the rattle from Amy and shook it. “I taught my brother how to shake a rattle,” said Amy.
One day Amy’s friend came over to play. They crawled on the floor and pretended they were dogs. Paul watched them. A few months later Amy saw Paul crawl. “I taught my brother how to crawl,” said Amy.
Amy liked to pretend that she was an acrobat on a high wire, walking very slowly, one foot in front of the other. When baby Paul was ten months old, he took his first steps walking very slowly, one step at a time. “I taught my brother how to walk,” said Amy.
Paul was growing big and tall. He didn’t always do what Amy told him to. Sometimes Amy forgot to be nice. She pulled his hair and made him cry. Then she felt bad and gave him a hug.
One day Amy would not share her book with Paul. He grabbed her hair. Amy rubbed her head and said tearfully, “I taught my brother how to pull hair.”
Paul held out his arms in front of Amy. Amy held out her arms, too, and they hugged. “I taught Paul how to hug,” said Amy. “I would rather hug than pull hair. From now on I will be very careful about what I teach my brother.”

I have seen such unity and love in Church congregations around the world. I experienced it when our young family moved to Beijing, China 23 years ago. We were among the 60 Church members in a city of 10 million. Branch members came to Church early to be together and prepare for the sacrament ordinance. After meetings, every visitor was invited to a home for a meal and, if you came to our home, a Sunday family home evening. Starting now and after you leave BYU-Idaho, help shape a ward culture of love and unity.

I thank my wife, Harriet, for her witness and testimony of the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ. May I share with you the conversion story of my wife’s family many years ago?

One Sunday when I was a teenager attending the Frankfurt Branch in Germany, the missionaries brought a young mother and her two beautiful daughters to our Church meetings. I still remember the impressions I had when I saw those two young girls walking into our chapel—especially about the older daughter. She was about 13 years old, and with her large brown eyes and beautiful black hair, she immediately caught my attention. I thought, “These missionaries are doing a really great job!” Little did I know that this young lady would much later bless my life forever.

But I’m getting ahead of the story. Let me go back and start with how this young family met the missionaries.

In the fall of 1954 two missionaries were inside of an apartment house ringing the doorbells in the city of Frankfurt. Gradually they began working their way up the floors without any success. Finally they rang the bell of the last door on the fourth floor. It was opened by young Harriet, who immediately asked her mother to invite them in. Sister Reich initially hesitated, but after some additional pleading by Harriet, Elder Gary Jenkins from California and his companion were invited in.

These two missionaries were truly guided by the Spirit, not only where to go but also what to say. After briefly explaining who they were and what the message was they wanted to share, the missionaries left a Book of Mormon with the mother, asked her to read the marked scriptures, and departed with a prayer and a blessing.

Two days later they returned. This time the missionaries received a friendly welcome and were invited in quickly. When they asked Sister Reich if she had read the marked scriptures in the Book of Mormon, Sister Reich answered without hesitation, “I read the whole book, and I feel that it is true.”

Sister Carmen Reich was only 36 at the time, a widow with two daughters. Only eight months before, she had lost her husband, a renowned musician, to cancer. After his unexpected death, the family struggled with a number of unanswered questions—Is there a purpose in life? Is there anything after death; and if so, what? Why are we born? Did we live before this life?

Let me make it clear that Sister Reich was a religious person. She loved to read, and the Bible was one of her favorite books. She believed firmly that Jesus is the Christ, and as a family they tried to follow His teachings. They were good, honest people, and even the loss of their husband and father could not take away their feeling of family.

However, when Sister Carmen Reich read the Book of Mormon, book-end to book-end, in two days, she felt something she had never before experienced. By her own account, it was “the spirit of revelation.”

She said she could “feel pure intelligence” flowing into her, giving her “sudden strokes of ideas” about the “things of the Spirit of God.” These ideas related to her special circumstances. As the missionaries taught her the plan of salvation and the other doctrines of the Restoration, she continued to “grow into the principle of [personal] revelation” (Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Joseph Smith [2007], 132). All the good things she had learned in her Lutheran faith received a new and deeper meaning, and all of a sudden life itself had a totally different and divine eternal perspective.

It was not that she felt any enmity for what she had believed for so many years. But when she heard the message of the Restoration, a door was opened into a world flooded with light and filled with love and hope. Looking back, she described her experience this way: It was as if something of great importance had been lifeless and inert but was now resurrected to life, beauty, and activity.

Let me finish the story of Sister Reich, my dear mother-in-law. She represents in many ways the multitude of converts who are coming into the Church every day from other religions, both Christian and non-Christian, and even from no religion at all. What characterizes them all is that they are willing and pure enough to believe when God speaks.

Sister Reich was baptized on November 7, 1954. In December, only a few weeks after her baptism, the missionary who baptized her asked that she write her testimony down. Elder Jenkins wanted to use her testimony to help others feel the true spirit of conversion. Fortunately, he kept her handwritten original for more than 40 years and then returned it to my mother-in-law as a very special and loving gift. Carmen Reich, my dear mother-in-law, passed away in 2000 at age 83.

Let me read to you parts of her written testimony. It shows what she, with her background, with her needs and desires at the time she met the missionaries, saw as the key points of the Restoration. This is the English translation of her handwritten testimony:

“Special characteristics of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints that are not present in other religious communities include, above all:

“Modern revelation given through the Prophet Joseph Smith.

“Sacred priesthood authority as in the time of Christ, with a living prophet today.

“Next, the Book of Mormon in its clear and pure language, with all its instructions and promises for the Church of Jesus Christ—truly a second witness with the Bible that Jesus Christ lives.

“Faith in a personal God—that is, God the Father; and God the Son Jesus Christ; and the Holy Ghost, who facilitates prayer and guides us personally.

“Belief in a premortal life, the pre-existence. Knowledge of the purpose of our earthly life, and of our life after death, is extremely valuable for us to have and is especially interesting and informative. The plan of salvation is so clearly laid out in the restored gospel that our lives receive new meaning and direction.

“The Word of Wisdom. The Church has given us the Word of Wisdom as a guide to help us realize our desire to keep our body and spirit healthy and improve them. This is our goal because we know that we will take our body up again after death in the same form.

“Temple work, with its many sacred ordinances enabling families to be together forever. This doctrine, totally new to me, was given through revelation to the Prophet Joseph Smith.”