Gospel Story Finder

In a recent message of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir’s Music and the Spoken Word, a story was told about an elderly man and woman who had been married for many decades. Because the wife was slowly losing her sight, she could no longer take care of herself the way she had done for so many years. Without being asked, the husband began to paint her fingernails for her.
“He knew that she could see her fingernails when she held them close to her eyes, at just the right angle, and they made her smile. He liked to see her happy, so he kept painting her nails for more than five years before she passed away.”14

When I was young, we moved to the city of Cartagena. Many boys there were smoking marijuana. I feel that I was blessed because I was never invited to do it. When I was ten or eleven, I became a Boy Scout. I was the only Scout in my public school, so I was chosen to be the leader for many things. I wore my uniform in parades. I collected things for the poor people in the city. I experienced the joy of giving.

One day Toshiro Yoshizawa, who served in the army during the war, encountered two young Americans holding a meeting in the street; they were among the first LDS missionaries called to serve in Japan after the war. One of them, Elder Ray Price, spoke with respect of the service Japanese soldiers had given their country and talked of how all men and women are brothers and sisters and ought to treat each other with love. This message drew Toshiro to gospel study and eventually to conversion. He and his wife, Midori, baptized in 1953, are among Japanese pioneers whose service helped sustain the Church after its postwar establishment. Brother Yoshizawa went on to become a branch president, district president, counselor to four mission presidents, stake president, and mission president. He was called as patriarch of the Fukuoka stake in 1986. Sister Yoshizawa has served as a teacher in the Sunday School and in numerous Relief Society teaching and leadership callings, often holding several callings at the same time in the early years.

Besides helping her overcome challenges, Haylee knows that Heavenly Father protects her. “One time my mom and I went hiking in Kodachrome State Park,” she says, “but as we started up the trail, I didn’t feel good about it. I asked my mom if we should turn back, and she didn’t think so. I asked if we could say a prayer, so we did.” A few minutes later, they heard a strange rattling noise. Haylee had nearly stepped on a coiled rattlesnake! She knew that Heavenly Father had answered her prayer.

Sister Lucile Johnson of the Timpanogos Park First Ward, Orem Utah North Stake, now in her 80s, learned early in life to don her spiritual “armor” at the beginning of each day. She remembers “arising early in the morning, before my husband and children were up. I found that kneeling in the stillness of my living room, I could begin pleading with our Father for my needs for that day. This brought me great peace, and I learned that He was my helper and protector. Then I would open my scriptures and partake of their inspiration and guidance. Before I got off my knees each morning to begin whatever I had to do, alone or with little children or with teenagers or with my husband in the military and off to war, I knew I would be equal to it.

“That is why I believe in taking the time in the quiet of the early morning hours to study and pray. You will begin your day with a renewing of your spirit. Then you will be truly ready for whatever might come that day.”

I served my mission in Finland from 1959 to 1962. I loved the service, and I loved my companions. I had wonderful mission presidents. I loved the Finnish people and their language. I loved my mission. To this day, I hold my mission experiences as sacred and wonderful, and I often refer to them.
After this wonderful mission in Finland, I returned home and my bishop called me in for an interview. I loved my bishop, and I expected him to say: “We are so proud of you! You have represented the ward well, and we are sure you represented the Lord well.”
But instead, he looked at me and said, “Well, Dennis, are you converted?” It was a question I did not expect.
While I was thinking about this, the bishop helped me understand why he had asked me that question. He told me that we had wonderful people in our ward, but some of them would not accept a calling or pay their tithing or keep the Sabbath day holy.
My bishop wanted me to answer the question about being converted because that would determine how I lived my life. I told the bishop that I was indeed converted.
This question burned itself into my mind and into my heart. We must do the little things in our lives every day. They not only bring conversion, but they keep us converted.
I’m pleased with the small things in my life. And I’m grateful for my bishop. Every time I see him, I thank him for asking me that question.

“Five, six, seven, eight.” The music started, then stopped again. We had been practicing all morning!
“Sally!* Turn out more! Anne, your kicks are too low! Bethany, it’s a triple pirouette. Get it right! Give me 50, and do it again!” We sighed. We still had half an hour more of this.
It was my junior year and my first year on the school drill team. Being on drill team had always been my dream. We performed at basketball and football games, and everyone knew who we were! Being on the drill team would make my life fun.
From day one our coach informed us that we would call her “Mrs. Smith” because first names were too personal. Dancing was strictly business. I put everything I had into the practices. I was always on time and ready to work.
When Mrs. Smith passed out competition costumes, I felt sick. “What is that? It’s like a skimpy piece of fabric!” This was going against everything I had learned in Young Women. Life was crazy. During the week, it was school and drill team. On weekends it was competition. I had no time for church or family.
My older brother received his mission call, and we were all so excited for him. He told me when he would report to the Provo Missionary Training Center, and my heart dropped. It was the week before regional drill competition. I knew if I wanted to see him off, Mrs. Smith would cut me. I talked with her and hoped she would understand, but she threatened to take me out of all the routines. I was sorry, yet I didn’t let it shake my decision. I went to the MTC with my brother and family. I also danced at region and state competition, where our team took second both times.
At the end of the school year talk of tryouts began. Everyone expected me to try out again, and I assumed I would.
One night, as I was lying on my bed doing some scripture study, I felt strongly impressed to read my patriarchal blessing. As I read, I thought about the past year. What kind of person had I become in the past year? I was wearing immodest clothing for performances. I wasn’t going to church anymore. My relationships with my family had deteriorated. I had forgotten who I was. Where was my testimony? What were my priorities?
I went to my mom’s room and flopped onto her bed. We talked about what I had just discovered. We made a list of pros and cons, but she told me the decision was up to me.
That night many thoughts swirled inside my head. I knew what the right decision was, but I didn’t want to give up the popularity, the status, and the prestige of drill team. Did family and church mean enough to me to change?
I didn’t go to tryouts the next day. Never had I felt such relief and comfort about a decision. Although Mrs. Smith and my team accused me of abandoning them, I didn’t regret my decision. I had abandoned myself for too long and was ready to straighten out my priorities.

“Hey, wake up,” someone says, poking you.
Groggily, you look at the clock next to your bed. It’s 6:30 a.m.? What’s going on? Wait, that’s not your clock. And this isn’t your bed. Where are you?
“Hey,” the voice says, “you’re the one who wanted to follow us around. It’s time to get the day started.”
As you peer up at the missionary standing over your bed, you finally remember what’s going on. Church magazines offered you the opportunity to follow a missionary companionship around for a day, and you jumped at the chance to see what missionary life is really like.
You just didn’t realize it would start this early.
“Hi, I’m Elder Jesse Ward, from Utah,” the tall missionary says as you sit up. “Welcome to Spain. This is my companion, Elder Pierrick Triplet.”
Elder Triplet is from France, and he isn’t learning just Spanish but English too. Despite the challenge of having to learn two languages at once, Elder Triplet is grateful to be on a mission.
“I’m a convert,” he says. “I’ve had a great change in my life, and I’d like others to have it too. A mission can be hard work, but seeing someone change his or her life is worth it.”
They’ve got your attention. You’ve always heard that a mission can be the best two years of your life. Today you get a chance to find out why.
6:41 a.m. After taking time to pray, the missionaries spend some time working out. Push-ups, sit-ups, even a little light weight lifting are the usual for Elder Ward. Breakfast follows a shower and shave. Cold cereal is a favorite.
8:07 a.m. Missionaries spend a good deal of time studying individually and as a companionship so they can obtain the word before declaring it (see D&C 11:21). After language study and personal scripture study, it’s time for companionship study using Preach My Gospel.
9:55 a.m. Missionaries dedicate a lot of time to planning, at the beginning of the day, throughout the day, and at the end of the day. They talk not just about what they’re going to do but about what each investigator needs.
Today the elders are talking about a man from France, an investigator they’re going to invite to be baptized.
“He’s worried,” Elder Triplet says. “He doesn’t feel worthy.”
“Let’s talk about repentance and how God remembers sins no more,” Elder Ward suggests after the companions think it over. “Why don’t you teach it in French to make sure he understands?”
The last thing the elders do before leaving is pray—again. This is one of many prayers they’ll offer today. Missionary work requires a lot of heavenly help. Then it’s out the door and off to the bus stop in a hurry.
11:09 a.m. Missionaries talk to anyone anywhere anytime about the gospel, because they never know who is going to be interested. While waiting for the bus, the missionaries chat with a young man and give him a pamphlet with their phone number on it.
11:21 a.m. A 10-minute bus ride and a short walk later, the missionaries arrive at a rented meetinghouse at the same time as their investigator. The meeting begins well, but the investigator’s concerns push the 45-minute lesson they had planned on to more than an hour.
“That was the most frustrating lesson I’ve ever been in,” Elder Triplet says afterward. “He likes the Church. He thinks it’s true. He wants to pay tithing. But he doesn’t believe he needs to be baptized again. He was a little argumentative.”
“He’s a great guy,” Elder Ward says, shaking his head. “Maybe he’ll be ready to talk about baptism next time.”
2:06 p.m. The missionaries jump on another bus, this time to El Casco, the historic quarter of Toledo, Spain. They stop by an investigator’s business to invite him to an activity that night.
“You can get lost in here really quick if you aren’t paying attention,” Elder Ward says of the maze of narrow streets lined with buildings that seem to lean over those walking below.
2:24 p.m. While navigating the tight streets, the missionaries stop to offer help to a woman carrying a heavy load. They spend a moment explaining who they are and what they do, but the woman isn’t interested.
2:47 p.m. It’s siesta time in Spain, so the missionaries catch a bus back to their apartment, or piso, for lunch. “Everything shuts down between 2:00 and 4:00 p.m.,” Elder Ward explains. “Some people get mad if you knock on their doors.”
“This is chorizo, or sausage,” Elder Triplet says poking at lunch. “It’s typical food. We eat a lot of noodles and chorizo because it’s cheap and easy to make.”
“The mission is great preparation for marriage,” Elder Ward laughs as he mixes his Kool-Aid. “You have to learn to get along, cook, clean, do laundry, budget, and take care of yourself.”
4:24 p.m. Back in El Casco, the missionaries meet with a counselor in the mission presidency about current activation efforts.
“This is a great area,” says Elder Ward, who explains that Church attendance has gone from about 15 to 80 members each week because one family set the example of fellowshipping.
4:59 p.m. The elders end up with a little unexpected free time on their hands, but missionaries are used to doing some planning on the fly. Their backup plan was to do some tracting.
5:42 p.m. In El Casco, where so many people live above street level, knocking on doors often means carrying on conversations with people on their balconies. And even in historic tourist towns, a missionary has to look out for dogs.
The elders have some success: “We found some great people,” Elder Ward says. “There were some youth from Paraguay. They invited us back tomorrow.” And some failure: “We had a half-hour conversation with one man,” Elder Triplet says. “It was like talking to a wall.”
7:45 p.m. Two buses later the elders make it to the activity they had planned with the sister missionaries who work in the same city, Sister Kathleen Bonifay and Sister Brittany Hofman.
The people they were expecting to come didn’t. “That’s the way it goes sometimes,” Elder Ward says. But after a little footwork, the missionaries are able to gather a handful of other investigators living nearby. After a hymn and a video, you can feel the influence of the Holy Ghost as the missionaries bear testimony of the Book of Mormon as another witness of Jesus Christ. The activity is a success.
“The Lord takes care of you when you put forth your best planning and best effort,” says Sister Bonifay.
9:13 p.m. After a hike to the bus stop, the elders and sisters have made it back to their respective apartments, where they’ll call their leaders, review the day and their long-range plans, and make plans for the next day.
“Well, this is what we do,” Elder Ward tells you. “It doesn’t change much.”
Elder Triplet laughs. “We are the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow.”
Things didn’t go exactly as the elders had planned, but the day went well anyway. They made some good contacts, pulled off a powerful activity, bore testimony of Christ, and did their best to follow the promptings of the Holy Ghost.
“I’ve heard people say these are the best two years of their lives,” Elder Triplet says. “The two years are great, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re the best 730 days of my life. There are some days I thought would never end. But I have loved being a missionary.”
Elder Ward agrees. He has mixed emotions about leaving. “I always thought I’d be excited to go home,” he says. “But I see life differently now. I love my life. I’m a missionary. I’m speaking to people about Christ every day. Leaving will be bittersweet.”
You’ve enjoyed getting a taste of missionary work as well. As exciting as it is, missionary work can be exhausting. Now it’s time to get some rest and prepare yourself for your day as a missionary. It has a way of coming faster than you think.
Preach My Gospel is a part of every missionary’s day. You can get a copy at a distribution center or at www.ldscatalog.com.

My first year as a member of the Church was a long and difficult one, but also full of rewards. Being the only member in your family isn’t the easiest thing, and I also received much persecution from old friends. In May of 2004, I received the Melchizedek Priesthood and a call to serve in the Virginia Richmond Mission, speaking Spanish. I left my nonmember family in July of 2004, not knowing exactly what I was getting myself into or just what it was that I was leaving behind.

During the beginning months of my mission, I heard many things from many friends about the progress of my parents in the Church. They had been attending church off and on and had allowed the missionaries to come by every so often. I was always excited to hear news. Then one Saturday morning my mission president told me he had just spoken with my stake president about my parents. My parents had decided to join the Church. The gospel had now changed their lives for the better, just as it had mine only two years before.

I am so grateful for my Savior Jesus Christ and for the opportunity I had to serve Him as a missionary. I now understand more fully the plan of salvation. I know that this is the gospel and Church of Jesus Christ. Upon returning from my mission in July of 2006 I was overjoyed to enter the Mesa temple with my parents, where we were sealed as a family for time and all eternity. It’s a day I could hardly have imagined just a few years earlier.

On Easter weekend in 2004, when I lived in Utah, a very special person in my ward passed away. It was Sister Marjorie Hinckley, President Hinckley’s wife. My mom was asked to make a dessert to take to the family dinner after the funeral. We decided to make my two favorite cookie recipes. I wanted to help my mom make the cookies, so we worked hard. While we were making them, I had a wonderful, warm, happy feeling inside. It was the Spirit letting me know that what I was doing was right. My mom and I talked about how Jesus taught that when we serve others, we are really serving God.
The next morning we put all the cookies on a platter to take to the dinner. I put on my white shirt and tie to deliver the cookies. I hope they helped make the Hinckley family feel better.

Ada was cold. Sleepily she snuggled closer to Roy and wished that the wind wouldn’t whip through the canvas of the wagon.
“Where’s Papa?” her little brother mumbled.
“Mama said he’d come for us soon,” Ada answered, sliding her arms around his middle.
“Are we going to go down the hole, too,” Roy wanted to know, “like all the other wagons?”
Ada thought of the hole in the rock that Papa and the other men on the mission had worked on for six weeks. Papa said that going down the cliff to the river was the only way to the San Juan mission, and since Heavenly Father and the prophet wanted them to go, they would do it, even if it meant sliding 1,800 feet (550 m) down a steep road. “Papa said so,” she said.
“Ada? Roy?”
“Papa!” Ada ran and threw her arms around her papa’s neck. “Are we going down the hole?”
“Yes, we are, and by ourselves, too,” Papa said, letting them go and stepping back. Ada could hear him muttering as he moved around the wagon, hitching up the horses. “There I was helping them across the river and not one of them came back to help bring my wagon down!”
“I can help!” Roy called out from his bed.
“Just hang on,” Mama told him. She scrambled into the wagon with the baby.
Ada listened to the horses’ feet, sharp on the bare rock where the snow had blown clear or had been worn away by the other wagons.
“Easy, boy, easy.” The wagon lurched to a stop.
Ada heard the chains rattle. Papa was chaining the back wheels so that they could not roll. That would help keep the wagon from going too fast. Even so, a funny, scary tickle started in her belly. The road down the cliff was as steep as the roof of a house. Skinny, too. Part of it was only a place where holes had been drilled into the rock, wooden stakes pounded in, and brush and dirt piled on top. If it didn’t work, the wagon might slip off and tumble to the river that was only a silver thread at the bottom of the gorge.
None of the other 82 wagons had fallen, but each had been held back by as many as 10 men. Ada had seen them straining with all their might, grunting and panting white steam into the cold air.
“Come on, Ada,” Mama called. She gathered a pile of quilts and lifted the three children from the wagon bed. “I am going to help Papa get the wagon down.”
“All by yourself?”
Mama nodded.
Ada shivered. Out in the wind, the cold was worse. This was the rockiest, driest, coldest place Ada had ever seen. Since October, when they had left Cedar City, she had been dirty and thirsty. Now it was almost the end of January. She wondered if they would ever get to Montezuma, the new town.
Papa was looking down the hole-in-the-rock. He kept shaking his head. Ada couldn’t hear what he and Mama were talking about, but Mama had on her “stubborn look,” which meant that Mama would do whatever she decided was best.
Ada hugged her shawl tighter around her. Pretty soon Mama came back to where the children waited and spread the quilts right on the snow.
“Sit here, Roy,” she said. Roy sat, and Mama put the baby in his arms. Even if he was only three years old, Roy was good at holding Baby George. “Hold little brother till Papa comes for you. Now, Ada, sit by your brothers and say a little prayer.”
Ada wanted to be brave, but she felt like crying and hanging onto Mama’s skirts. But she was five, a big girl, and so she sat and let Mama tuck the quilt over her legs.
“Don’t move, dears,” Mama told them. “Don’t even stand up. As soon as we get the wagon down, Papa will come back for you!”
The scary tickle in Ada’s belly got worse. She tilted her head back and stared up at Papa, his face red from the cold and his blue eyes crinkled at the corners. “Will you come back, Papa?”
He nodded and turned his head aside. But she saw that he was crying. Papa crying! But he said that he’d come back, so Ada knew he would.
“Then I’m not afraid!” she said. “We’ll stay here with God till you and Mama get the wagon down.” Ada bowed her head. “Father in heaven, bless me and Roy and Baby George until our father comes back.”
When Ada looked up again, Papa was on the wagon seat. Mama stood behind the wagon with Old Ned, the spare horse, who was tied to the back of the wagon to help slow it down. She wrapped Ned’s reins round and round her hands.
“Giddap!” Papa clucked. The horses lunged forward, and the wagon lurched through the hole. Mama ran behind, dragging on the reins so hard that she was leaning backward. Then the wagon, Old Ned, and Mama dropped out of sight.
Faintly Ada heard rattling. Then it was so quiet that her ears buzzed, and when she swallowed, it sounded loud.
“Ada?” Roy whispered. “Where’d they go?”
“Down to the river, I guess.”
“Oh.”
A gust of wind swirled the powdery snow and whipped it across the children, stinging their faces. Roy stuck out his bottom lip and snuffed.
Ada thought hard. Mama had told them to stay still, but if Roy started crying, then Baby George might, too, and Ada didn’t know what to do. Yes, she did!
“It will be all right,” she said to Roy. “Papa said he would be back. And we said a prayer, didn’t we? Heavenly Father and Jesus know that we are in the snow, and They will keep us safe.”
They waited a long time. Ada wiggled her toes to keep them warm. Roy rubbed his red nose on his shoulder and sniffed. They waited some more.
Finally Ada couldn’t wait anymore. She didn’t stand up, but she tilted her head back and called, “Papa! Papa!”
From far away she heard Papa yelling, “Coming, Ada!”
“He’s coming! Listen!” She told Roy.
He nodded happily. “Papa!”
“Ada!” Papa’s voice was louder now. And then she saw his hat through the hole-in-the-rock, and then his face, and then all of him striding through the snow to where they waited.
“God stayed with us,” Ada told him when he knelt on one knee next to them.
Roy piped up. “The baby’s gone to sleep, and my arm feels like it’s ‘most broke.”
Papa smiled a little, then scooped up Baby George in one arm and Roy in his other.
“Come on, Ada,” he said. “Hang on to my pockets while we walk down.”
Ada stood and hooked her hands in Papa’s back pockets. She had to take long steps to keep up, but it was fun bouncing along behind him. “Where’s Mama?”
“Down with the wagon. Old Ned fell, and so did Mama. The wagon dragged them part of the way down, but I think they will both be all right.” He stopped to adjust the boys in his arms. Ada peered around him at the slanted, rocky path. She shivered and closed her eyes.
The first part, they sat down and slid. Then they walked as close to the wall of the canyon as they could. It made Ada dizzy to look down, so she concentrated on Papa’s back. Where the road was filled in, the ground felt spongy. Papa said that the horses didn’t like walking on it, either. The very end of the road was sandy. Ada’s feet slid and sank in. At last the ground evened out.
“We made it,” Papa told her. “My wife and children are the bravest pioneers in the Church.”
Letting go of Papa’s pockets, she turned and looked back up to the hole-in-the-rock at the edge of the sky. How had they gotten down safely? Ada knew. “God helped us.”

Roger had lost his construction business a few years earlier and was working as a taxi driver in Antananarivo, Madagascar.
From a temporal perspective, Roger credits Heavenly Father with helping him rebuild his business. After two years of driving a taxi and doing whatever he could to provide for his family, he started receiving construction contracts. “I believe that God always blesses me when I decide to follow Him,” he said.

I prayed regularly for an increase in love toward my husband. The Lord answered in unusual, but practical ways. I sought opportunities to give of myself, knowing those we serve become those we love. I didn’t have to look far, as my husband was hurt in three minor accidents within a year. During his short convalescent periods at home I provided emotional care and concern. I was rewarded many times over with greater love and appreciation for him.

Somehow I knew that Melissa’s surprise would be chocolate chip cookies. We took them down to Mrs. Palmer’s because she invited us for dinner. She’s our landlady and lives on the main floor, under our apartment. She’s not a member of the Church, even though missionaries have lived in her apartment for many years. She invited Will to come to dinner, too, and we waited and waited, but he never showed up. It was very disappointing, and we felt sorry for Mrs. Palmer because we waited so long that the dinner was cold before we started eating. But Mrs. Palmer felt sorry for us, too, so she let us show her the video that we were going to show to Will. Then the three of us ate all Melissa’s cookies. They were delicious! Please give Melissa a big thank-you hug for me.

Dave Kelly is a remarkable young man. He works as a receptionist for the Salt Lake County Inspections Division and, in his spare time, performs as a clown. What makes him different from the other clowns in and around Salt Lake City, Utah? Dave is a victim of spina bifida, a disease of the spinal cord in which one or more vertebrae fail to close properly. As a result of this disease, Dave Kelly is permanently confined to a wheelchair.
Apart from performing as “Wheeler, the Clown,” Dave is active in a number of other areas. He’s a member of the Rose Park Eighth Ward, Salt Lake Rose Park North Stake, and is president of the elders quorum at the Salt Lake Veterans Administration Hospital. He is taking classes in business and is working toward a degree in data processing. Yet, despite all these other activities, his first love is clowning.
“I spent a lot of time in the hospital when I was a child,” Dave recalls, “and I remember some of the best times I ever had were when clowns would come to visit us. I guess I decided then and there to pay back some of the happiness and kindness I had received.”
And pay back he has. Dave has a special fondness for working with handicapped children. Dave is reluctant to set himself up as an example for other handicapped people, but it is difficult not to imagine him as an inspiration to those who look on their wheelchairs as a type of prison. He has the ability to get out on stage and show others that clowning is something that is not the exclusive domain of the unimpaired. His magic tricks are just as amazing, his balloon animals are just as creative, and his jokes are just as corny as any clown on two good legs.
“I believe a clown can communicate to others through his hands, his eyes, and most importantly, through his personality. My wheelchair is something I cannot deny; it is a part of me and I accept that. But it does not have to keep me from enjoying being around others, especially children, and I know that the magical bond between me and my audience is there no matter what.”
With that attitude, all we can do is step out of his way and watch a pro in action.

The seminary students in the Phoenix Park Ward of the Dublin Ireland Stake were a little worried. Their stake president and their bishop had approached them about something new. Would they be the first seminary class in all of Ireland to try meeting every day—early every day?
Elaine O’Farrell, age 15, remembers her first reaction: “I thought, if we see each other every day, we’ll get on each other’s nerves.” And there was that other obvious worry. Pamela Fagan, age 15, explains, “No way would they get me out of bed that early.” Farris Bukhatwa, age 17, and Louise Byrne, age 17, lived the farthest distance away. It was not going to be easy.
But not everyone was worried. Jenna Gallagher, age 15, was a little bit excited about the idea. “I had heard about early-morning seminary in other countries,” she says. “I always dreamed of going to seminary that way. I was really pleased that we were going to do it. I knew if I made a sacrifice, the Lord would bless me.”
Then things started to work out. Farris was able to use the family car in the mornings and could pick up Louise. Pamela agreed to get up extra early so she could leave on time with her brother Derek. Elaine changed her mind and said she liked seeing these people every morning. Jenna was happy just to be in seminary. Brett Crowther, age 18, and his brother Brandt, age 16, the mission president’s sons, were thrilled to be with other Church youth every day. And best of all, their teacher, Rosemary Richmond, was terrific.
All students in Ireland are required to take religion class. Even though they go to early-morning seminary, these Latter-day Saint students are not excused from their school religion requirement. But their study of the scriptures has paid off. Louise explains, “Franciscan friars visited our school. When they were asking questions, they would point to me and put their fingers to their lips as if to say, ‘Shhh, don’t answer the questions.’ They knew I could answer them.”
Elaine tells a similar story about religion class. “If my teacher asked what a word means, like covenant, I would answer,” she says. “He knew I would know the answer no matter what he asked.”
Derek Fagan, age 17, has excelled in both school and seminary, and he credits an experience he had just before he received his patriarchal blessing: “We had been talking about patriarchal blessings in seminary. I prayed and asked if I should get mine. Our stake did not have a patriarch at that time, but three days later, our new patriarch was called. I felt it was my answer. That’s when I decided for myself that the Church is true and that I would try harder to do well and choose the right. My patriarchal blessing was amazing. I carry it with me everywhere. Since early-morning seminary started, everything has been clearer. Even in school, I learn very quickly now.”
Derek became the first seminary student in Ireland to memorize all the scripture mastery scriptures. As an extra challenge, he memorized the account of the First Vision as found in Joseph Smith—History.
Brandt Crowther remembers an experience he had a few months after he and his family arrived in Ireland: “I had prayed almost every night of my life, but one night, I prayed with sincerity and asked the Lord what He wanted me to do here in Ireland. I needed to know in my heart that the Church is true. I found out that God does live and He loves me. I gained an understanding of what He wanted me to do. Since then, I’ve been happy being here. I’ve loved it. I’m closer to the Savior now.”
Brandt explains some of the things the Lord told him he needed to do: “I needed to read the scriptures every day and pray every night and keep the commandments. That night the Spirit was with me. I didn’t want to go to bed.”
Seminary class often helped Farris find answers: “I received a testimony of prayer and of tithing. I would pray about things I really needed to find out about—and then it would click in seminary. I would understand things better. What is it like when the Spirit gives you an answer? You’re calm, and you understand things. You’re not nervous. You know it’s true. You feel it in your heart.”
The students in this seminary class enjoy being together. And now every weekday morning isn’t enough. They get together every Saturday night, too.
It all started when Louise’s mother told Brett that Louise’s friends always ask her to go to the pub with them on Saturdays, but she never goes. “We decided to get the whole class together and go out and have some fun,” says Brett. “We’ve been getting together every Saturday night. It’s good fun.”
What do they do? The first week they went to the cinema, but that quickly became too expensive. So they started going to each other’s houses to play games or watch videos or just talk and talk and talk. Elaine explains, “We used to have nothing to talk about; now we don’t have enough time to talk.”
For Louise, having something else to do on Saturdays has strengthened her resolve to stay strong in the Church. “It’s a reason for me not to go with my friends from work every weekend,” she explains. “Sometimes I used to go along. I didn’t do anything I shouldn’t, but just being there didn’t feel good. It eventually wears out your spirit. I got so tired of trying to speak up for myself. But when I go with the seminary class, I can just be me. I feel accepted.”
And most of all, “Saturday nights are fun,” says Pamela. “My other friends’ standards are completely different from mine. I feel much better going to the seminary activity. We have great fun.”
Derek adds, “Early-morning seminary and our activities on Saturday evenings have brought us closer, and we’re better friends. I’ve gotten a lot closer to everyone in the class, even Pamela, my sister. I wouldn’t even consider going out and getting drunk and breaking the Word of Wisdom.”
Most of all, this year of seminary has taught these students the meaning of faith. Their teacher, Rosemary Richmond, helps them learn from Church history about the faith of the early prophets and members. Her husband, Brendan, suffers from an extremely rare and damaging lung disorder and is confined to a wheelchair. Although she has the constant worry of her husband’s care and health, she is eager to prepare lessons and have the seminary class come each morning.
“Members here are very faithful, especially Rosemary, with all the trials she’s been through,” Louise says. “It makes you realize how lucky you are. In seminary we read about the Prophet Joseph Smith and the pioneers. Joseph Smith is a great man. I love him. The testimony he had never faltered. Can you imagine living back in those days? The pioneers had to walk halfway across North America just to practice what they believed. I want that sort of faith because I love the Church.”
Louise is developing that kind of faith. Every day she stands up for her beliefs. And with her small group of valiant seminary friends, she doesn’t have to stand alone. None of them do. They have found a way to strengthen each other. And that has made all the difference.

As a young boy living on a small farm in Fielding, Utah, I always wanted a horse. When I was old enough to take care of one, my dad bought me a big black horse, and I named him Smokey.
I loved Smokey and took care of him the best I could. One morning when I went out to feed him, he was not in his corral. I hunted around and found him in the haystack, which was fenced off from the corral. He had been making a mess—tromping on the hay and ruining it. All the gates were closed; Smokey had obviously jumped over the fence. His manger had hay in it, so there was no reason for him to go into the haystack.
A few days later Smokey was gone again. This time I found him out in the pasture. Soon he started jumping out of both the corral and the pasture. I had to ride my bike all over town looking for him. Sometimes Dad and I drove for miles before finding him and bringing him back.
Dad decided to buy some hobbles for Smokey. Hobbles are like handcuffs for horses to keep them from running away. “That will fix old Smokey,” Dad said.
It didn’t even slow him down. Jumping fences became a game to him, and he wasn’t much fun anymore. He was wild. I couldn’t catch him, and I couldn’t ride him very much. Finally Dad said, “We’ll teach old Smokey a lesson.” We tied a heavy log-chain to Smokey’s hobbles so that wherever he went he would have to drag an eight-foot (2.5-m) log-chain between his legs. We thought surely this would stop him.
But that night Smokey tried to jump the fence again. The chain caught and tripped him. He fell into the fence and got cut up in the barbed wire. We got him out and called the veterinarian, who came and patched him up.
My home teacher, whom I called Uncle Claude, was a real horseman. He had an idea for Smokey, so he traded a gray horse to me for Smokey. Uncle Claude raced chariots, and he thought that if he could team Smokey with a horse that was a good chariot racer, he could break Smokey’s bad habits and they could win some races. So Uncle Claude hooked Smokey up to the chariot, and they practiced a few times. Smokey seemed to be doing just fine—until the race. All of a sudden he veered off to the right and tried to jump over the fence that ran alongside the track. It almost killed Uncle Claude, and Smokey hurt himself so badly that he had to be put to sleep.
I’ve thought about my old horse many times since then. He had no good reason to jump over the fence that first time he got into the haystack. He was like some young people who decide that they want to be disobedient. Once we jump that first fence, it becomes easier to jump other fences—breaking the commandments and the principles of the gospel—and before long we can destroy our lives through disobedience.

Some time ago I received a letter from Brother Rafael Pérez Cisneros of Galicia, Spain, telling me about his conversion. Part of his letter said the following:
“I had no concept of the purpose of life or what the family really is. When I finally allowed the missionaries to come into my home, I told them, ‘Give me your message, but I warn you that nothing is going to make me change religions.’ On this first occasion my children and my wife were listening attentively. I felt separated from the group. I felt afraid, and without thinking I went to my bedroom. I closed the door and began to pray from the depths of my soul like I had never prayed before. ‘Father, if it is true that these young men are Your disciples and have come to help us, please make it known to me.’ It was in that very moment that I began to cry like a small child. My tears were abundant, and I felt happiness like I had never before experienced. I was absorbed in a sphere full of joy and happiness that penetrated my soul. I understood that God was answering my prayer.
“All of my family was baptized, and we had the blessing of being sealed in the Swiss Temple, making me the happiest man in the world.”

Jahmin Tengu of New Zealand nearly took his own life. Wanting to know of the Lord’s love for him, he felt prompted to get on his knees.

He recalls, “As I began to pray, I felt the Spirit of the Lord comfort me. I asked the Lord to bring truth into my life.” A few weeks later, Jahmin met a returned missionary who yelled out to him and asked, “Would you like to meet the missionaries?”

This led to meeting the missionaries and receiving a copy of The Book of Mormon. “I had no desire to read it at all, but I had this feeling when I read it. I felt as if the Spirit was saying, ‘I have given you what you asked for, I have answered your prayers.’”

Now, a missionary himself, Elder Tengu says, “I can truly testify that The Book of Mormon saved my life. . . . It is the word of God and is solely focused on bringing people closer to Jesus Christ.”

Some of you may be familiar with Thornton Wilder’s classic drama Our Town. If you are, you will remember the town of Grover’s Corners, where the story takes place. In the play, Emily Webb dies in childbirth, and we read of the lonely grief of her young husband, George, left with their four-year-old son. Emily does not wish to rest in peace; she wants to experience again the joys of her life. She is granted the privilege of returning to earth and reliving her 12th birthday. At first it is exciting to be young again, but the excitement wears off quickly. The day holds no joy now that Emily knows what is in store for the future. It is unbearably painful to realize how unaware she had been of the meaning and wonder of life while she was alive. Before returning to her resting place, Emily laments, “Do … human beings ever realize life while they live it—every, every minute?”