Gospel Story Finder

Recently I learned of a fearless young Laurel. She was invited to participate in a statewide competition for her high school on the same evening she had committed to participate in a stake Relief Society meeting. When she realized the conflict and explained to competition officials that she would need to leave the competition early to attend an important meeting, she was told she would be disqualified if she did so.

What did this latter-day Laurel do? She kept her commitment to participate in the Relief Society meeting. As promised, she was disqualified from the statewide competition. When asked about her decision, she replied simply, “Well, the Church is more important, isn’t it?”

A new president was installed that morning, and there were many who were proud and happy concerning him; but most proud and most happy was a man who sat at the stake clerk’s table, a rural mail carrier by profession. He it was, who twelve years earlier, had with quiet, patient labor persuaded his totally inactive neighbor to come back into activity.

It would have been so much easier to have let that indifferent neighbor go his own way, and it would have been so much easier for the mail carrier to have lived his own quiet life. But he had put aside his personal interest in the interest of another; and that other person became that Sunday the honored and respected leader of a great stake of Zion. As the people sustained their new president, the man at the clerk’s table wept tears of gratitude. In living beyond himself, he had brought to life the man sustained that morning as stake president.

The following example illustrates how ministering is part of the soul of the African people. In June 1989 the government in Ghana decided that the LDS Church was a threat to the security of Ghana. They ordered the Church to be shut down. They confiscated our chapels and even arrested some of the leaders, one of whom was the president of the Koforidua Branch, Brother Richard Ahadjie.
Brother Ahadjie was arrested and put in jail for eight days. When released, he was required to report to the police station every day for a month.
During this period, Brother Ahadjie sought direction from the mission president as to how to take care of the branch members as they could no longer congregate as a church. The mission president instructed him to simply watch over, to minister, to the members.
Determined to follow the counsel of his leader and guided by the Spirit, Brother Ahadjie, with some of the branch leaders, devised a plan to take care of the members, to truly minister to them. Every Sunday for the next 17 months, they visited each member of their branch. Departing each Sunday morning at 4:00 a.m., they gathered at the home of a brother who lived on his farm in the bush. They administered the sacrament together and read from the Book of Mormon. They then paired themselves after the meeting and moved out to visit every family and minister to them.
Each Sunday they conducted these ministering visits arriving home around midnight. For 17 months they repeated this pattern. For 17 months they ministered as the Savior would to the members of the Koforidua Branch. Finally, the ban was lifted. The government realized that the Church was not a threat to the security of Ghana. On the contrary, the Church was a blessing to its people.
Shortly after the ban was lifted, a sacrament meeting was held. It was a fast and testimony Sunday. What was done by Brother Ahadjie in his branch was done in various forms by other branch presidents. No doubt the mission president was concerned by how many members would have been lost during this period known as “The Freeze,” even though he was not in Ghana. To everyone’s delight, the attendance at the fast and testimony meeting was 120%. Not only did the members return, but many nonmembers came, wanting to understand what kind of church would be so dedicated to its members.

It had been a perfect day of exploring a narrow sandstone canyon and basking in the rugged beauty of southern Utah. I was a little worried that we hadn’t come across any signs of previous hikers in the canyon, but we had researched the route and had a good map, so we knew what lay ahead: a spectacular 150-foot rope descent through a waterfall into a picturesque canyon, leading out to the main road. As Dustin, Roland, and I neared what we expected to be the end of our adventure, we stopped to eat the last of our food and grinned at each other in anticipation.
Half an hour later, the canyon opened up to the sunlight, and in front of us the riverbed curved in a different direction than the map indicated. Our spirit of adventure overcame our better judgment, so we followed this new course. The soft sand quickly turned to rock, and we scrambled over boulders and potholes. We successfully negotiated a 40-foot drop, turned a corner—and stared in disbelief. There in front of us the ground melted away, dropping hundreds of feet to the Virgin River below.
It dawned on us that we had messed up somehow. There was no turning back; the slick canyon walls made ascension impossible. My two friends scouted the narrow ledge for a possible route down while I pored over the map. After awhile, my eye spotted another canyon on the map, and this one definitely matched the canyon we were in. Scanning the map, I could see that the cliff we were on was over 400 feet high. Dustin and Roland returned, and we talked about the possibility of trying to descend the cliff with the rope we had. Roland suggested we pray about it, and we quickly agreed.
It was a simple, sincere prayer. We thanked the Lord for keeping us safe and admitted that we had made mistakes. We told Him we were now trying our best to correct ourselves and return to safety. Laying before Him our problem and the possible solution of descending the cliff, we asked for a confirmation. And the Lord truly responded, touching each of us with a quiet feeling in our hearts that we should not try to go down the cliff.
As darkness fell, we realized our only way out was rescue. Our cellular phone received no signal, and we couldn’t go forward or back. When the sun sank behind the opposite mountains, the temperature dropped sharply, and we spent a sleepless night shivering together, hungry and thirsty, a few steps from a 400-foot cliff. Before trying to sleep, we again offered up a prayer of sincere thanks for protection, and a blessing of peace for our families, who had certainly figured out, by now, that something had gone wrong.
The next morning, by the time it was light enough to safely walk around the cliff’s edge, we had decided on several courses of action. We burned leaves to send up white smoke and scattered our equipment around the ledge to make us easier to spot from the air. After we split a granola bar, Dustin climbed up to higher ground to try to get reception for the phone, while Roland and I set about purifying water from a pool. We had made mistakes, and now we could only do everything in our power to be rescued, trusting that the Lord would comfort our families and lead rescuers to us. The day wore on, and our situation worsened. The fire melted our water container, Dustin had no luck with his phone, and we made plans for surviving another night. In that helpless state, I realized like never before my utter dependence on the Lord. I’d never felt so close to Heavenly Father when I prayed.
We thought we heard planes throughout the day, but neither the fire nor our yells brought them any closer. Around noon we heard the thumping sound of an engine grow and saw a helicopter in the distance, but our hopes faded when it flew out of sight. Then, quite suddenly, the search and rescue helicopter burst over the far canyon wall. It spotted Dustin above us and circled, looking for a place to land. Not long after, a rope dropped down to us, quickly followed by the search and rescue team with food, water, and our way home.
As we flew over canyon and mountain to our waiting families, I offered a silent prayer of thanks. The Lord had helped us make wise judgments and had helped our rescuers find us. He had also answered our plea to comfort our families. While they had spent a sleepless night, they had felt the Spirit whisper that we were OK. The Savior’s promise in 3 Nephi 18:21 is true: “Pray in your families unto the Father, always in my name, that your wives and your children may be blessed.” I learned that on the edge of a 400-foot cliff, waiting to be rescued.

Wisdom, courage, and faith are exemplified in the life of another young woman from another country. She had achieved outstanding success in her profession. She was slightly older than what is usually considered the marriageable age. She had made the decision at a tender age that if she were to marry, she would marry only in the temple. In her area single young men who were members of the Church were almost nonexistent. I suppose she despaired of ever being married. However, one day she met a young man. Although he was not a member of the Church, she dated him. They fell in love. He proposed. She told him she would marry him but would do it only in the temple. He agreed to take the missionary lessons and was converted and baptized. They waited a year and kept themselves worthy for temple marriage. I met her on her wedding day. I think I have never seen a more lovely, happy bride. She had determined years before the eternal blessings she was willing to live for and on this day realized the wonderful feeling of having achieved this most important, eternal goal, notwithstanding almost impossible obstacles.

Jennifer sat up sleepily in her bed and pushed the flowered curtains away from the frosty window. Rubbing a small spot clear with her fist, she peeked out and saw the drifting snowflakes. “It’s finally snowing!” she declared. “Now it seems like Christmas.”
She climbed out of bed, rushed to the closet, and pulled out her velvet dress. Mother had said that just this once she could wear it to school for the Christmas party. As she tugged the beautiful dress over her head, Jennifer’s thoughts skipped ahead to school and the party. First there would be a whole morning of spelling, arithmetic, and reading. How can I stand it until one o’clock? she wondered. She shivered with anticipation as she adjusted the lacy collar and sleeves on her dress.
“You look like you’re ready for a party,” Mother said when Jennifer came into the kitchen.
“I am,” she agreed. “The Christmas party!”
“You look lovely, Jenny, but you’d better hurry now and eat your breakfast. The bus will be here soon.”
The school bus rumbled to a stop in front of Jennifer’s house. She climbed aboard and sat next to Sally.
“What do you think we’ll do at the party this afternoon?” Sally asked. “Do you think there will be games and prizes?”
“Oh, I hope so. I just can’t wait!” Jennifer bubbled.
The girls entered their classroom just as the clanging bell signaled nine o’clock. Four more hours until the party!
Every few minutes throughout the morning, Jennifer glanced up at the round clock above the chalkboard—ten o’clock, eleven-thirty; at last it was time for lunch.
When the children returned to their classroom, red and green crepe paper streamed down from the ceiling, and bright signs proclaimed MERRY CHRISTMAS and HAPPY HOLIDAYS. At the back of the room a table was loaded with candy, cupcakes, and punch.
“First we’ll play pin the star on the Christmas tree,” Miss Brewster announced. Blindfolded and equipped with a paper star and pin, each of the children tried to place his star at the very top of the green paper tree. Next they played musical chairs to the tune of Christmas carols.
“Now we’re going to play a word game,” Miss Brewster said. Jennifer glanced over at Jeff who was sitting in the next row. She and Jeff were the best spellers in their class—one of them was sure to win the word game.
“When I say ‘go’ write as many words as you can think of that can be made from the letters in MERRY CHRISTMAS,” Miss Brewster explained as she handed out sheets of paper. “These drawing pencils and this sketch pad will go to the person who has the longest list.”
Jennifer gazed longingly at the rainbow of pencils and the creamy colored sketch pad Miss Brewster was holding. What fun it would be to take the pencils and pad out into the woods and draw the brown squirrels. The green pencil is just the color of the spruce trees and the red would be perfect for drawing poinsettias. I just have to win! she thought determinedly.
“Miss Brewster, what if there’s a tie?” Sally asked.
“Then both winners will receive a box of pencils and a sketch pad. Now it’s time to begin. You have fifteen minutes. Ready? Go!”
Jennifer began writing: sit, sat, miss, rim, tear, and on down the page. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Jeff writing furiously, never pausing. Jennifer forced her thoughts back to her own list. She had twenty-four words now—mist, hat, hit, ham, tire. A slight noise attracted her attention. Jeff had turned his paper over and was writing on the back! She had to hurry. Yam, ram, mast, hi, tie—forty-nine words. How many does Jeff have? she wondered. Looking up, their eyes met. Jeff’s confident grin spurred her on. Sir, him, tam, rite, cast, tar, she scribbled, her mind racing. Sixty-two words. Surely I’ll win, she thought with assurance.
“Time’s up,” Miss Brewster said. “Put your papers on by desk. You may help yourselves to punch and cupcakes while I find out who our winner is.”
Jennifer nibbled nervously at her cupcake as she watched Miss Brewster check the lists. “All right, boys and girls. We have a winner!” she announced. “Our grand champion word maker for today is …”
The moment’s pause seemed to stretch on for hours as Jennifer waited to hear her name.
“Jeff Mason! Congratulations, Jeff. I hope you’ll enjoy the prize.”
Jennifer turned away, blinking back the tears that flooded her eyes.
“Jennifer,” Miss Brewster called gently.
Jennifer turned around, her head down, her face hidden.
“I’m sorry you couldn’t have been a winner too,” Miss Brewster said, “for you and Jeff almost tied. He had just one more word than you did.”
“Only one more?” Jennifer asked in disbelief. “Then I could have tied with him. I could have won the other set of pencils except, except—” she broke off, her voice faltering.
“Except what, Jennifer?”
Jennifer looked up, a wistful smile brightening her face.
“I thought of one more word, but I just couldn’t use it. Christmas is such a happy season, so full of love. I just couldn’t make hate out of MERRY CHRISTMAS!”

When I was six years old, my parents divorced. Though I continued to live with my mom, my dad was still present in my life after the separation. I stayed at his house on weekends and for one day in the middle of the week.
Despite his efforts to be a good father, when I was seven, he betrayed my trust in a very serious way. This breach of trust marked the beginning of a growing distance between us. When he called the house, I would avoid answering the phone. When I was older, I demanded that I be able to choose when I went to stay at my dad’s house, rather than be forced to go when the custody order mandated me.
When I was in high school, visits gradually became a lot less frequent. I saw him only two or three times a month. When I went to college, the space between calls grew, until I would talk to him about once a semester. My relationship with my dad had become more of a formality than a true parent-child connection.
During my second year of college, I decided to talk to him about the incident from my childhood that I felt had damaged our relationship so many years ago. I hoped for closure, forgiveness, and a chance to start over. I e-mailed him my thoughts and waited for a reply.
Some time later I received his e-mail in reply. Before I read my father’s response, I prayed and asked Heavenly Father that His Spirit be with me as I read the e-mail. This was such an important moment in my life—I was about to see what my dad had to say and what direction our relationship would take. I was scared and felt very alone.
Indeed I was alone, sitting in my room with my computer. I needed support. I continued to pray to Heavenly Father and felt His Spirit. At last I had the courage to read.
My dad replied with a very short e-mail in which he denied any memory of what I was saying and said that it was a really bad time for him to discuss our past.
The way he dismissed something that was so important to me and didn’t seem to want any sort of reconciliation hurt me deeply. I felt deserted by my father, racked with grief over the troubled relationship we had had for more than a decade.
As I sat in my chair sobbing, I felt the Spirit around me. I had never felt my Heavenly Father’s presence so strongly. I literally felt “encircled about eternally in the arms of his love” (2 Nephi 1:15). I felt reassured and loved as I sat crying.
My relationship with my earthly father may have been lacking, but my Heavenly Father was with me. His presence is strong in my life. I know He loves me, cares for me, and will always want a relationship with me. I know that He is my Father. And He is not going anywhere.

February 5Dear Elder Green,
My Primary teacher said that we should write to a missionary twice a month—that you need letters, and we’ll get blessings. She also said that she’d have an ice-cream party for anyone who wrote.
My name’s Jeffrey. I’m eleven. I don’t have any brothers or sisters. Mom thinks that writing to you is good, but my dad thinks that it’s dumb. He doesn’t belong to the Church, and he can’t understand why anybody would give up two years to knock on doors and bother people. Two years is a long time. I know that you’re coming home in a few months. What do you think?
Write back soon.
Sincerely,Jeffrey
February 19Dear Elder Green,
Wow! I never thought you’d write back so fast! Thanks for the cool stamp too. I’m starting a stamp collection with it.
I showed Dad your letter. At first he laughed as he read it, but he stopped laughing after a while. I especially liked what you said about Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon.
Now Dad wants to know why we need more scriptures when we already have the Bible. I tried explaining, but got mixed up.
School is OK. I made an ashtray for Dad in art.
Sincerely,Jeffrey
March 5Dear Elder Green,
Thanks for the letter and stamps.
Your answer to Dad’s question was interesting. You’re right—how else were the ancient people in America going to get the gospel? And of course they’d write down what their prophets said!
Dad frowned when I showed him your letter, but when I asked him if it made sense, he nodded. Then he said it would make more sense if you could be sure the Book of Mormon was true. Otherwise, it is just a good story. I offered to lend him my Book of Mormon, but he said no.
School is still OK. I got an A in math, but social studies is awful! Who cares about the exports of some strange country, anyway?
Love,Jeffrey
March 19Dear Elder Green,
I couldn’t believe your package arrived with cool stamps and wasn’t for me! I thought it wasn’t fair for you to send something to Dad, but he gave me the stamps and was happy you sent him the Book of Mormon.
I was really surprised. Mom’s tried to give him one lots of times. He always said, “Don’t pressure me,” before—but this time he smiled! He read what you wrote on the inside cover. I wish I had a testimony like that. Dad didn’t know what you meant by saying Moroni 10:4 was the answer to how he could know that it was true, so I showed him where it was. When he read it, he got a funny look on his face and said something about “giving it a try.”
Social studies is still a pain. I work hard and don’t get anywhere. What’s the point?
Love,Jeffrey
April 2Dear Elder Green,
Don’t you get discouraged? You’ve been doing missionary work for almost two years and still haven’t had a single baptism? That’s hard! Why aren’t you sad?
I guess I’ll keep on trying, too, to work on social studies.
Dad says that’s what Nephi did—he kept trying even when it was hard. He read that last week and really liked it. I gave him your list of other scriptures to read in the Book of Mormon. He said that you were “pushy,” but he folded it up and is using it as a bookmark.
Love,Jeffrey
April 16Dear Elder Green,
Was it hard being transferred?
I don’t like changes much. I told Dad that. He said that change is hard sometimes, but that the four sons of Mosiah had to go different places in their mission, too, and the Lord stuck by them.
He also said some changes are really good, even if they’re hard. He didn’t say why he said that, though.
Love,Jeffrey
May 7Dear Elder Green,
Mom’s started planting the garden. I wanted to plant stuff too. When I showed my dad what I wanted to grow, he poured the seeds out into his hand, then said Alma had talked about planting seeds, and if they grew, they were good seeds.
I asked Dad if he was going to plant something too. He got a funny look on his face again and said he just might—but he didn’t even help us with the garden!
Love,Jeffrey
May 21Dear Elder Green,
I laughed at your letter. Dad smiled at the part where you said that good seeds are important but so is preparing the ground. Mom’s been rototilling and fertilizing to beat the band. You don’t just stick seeds into any old dirt and expect them to grow, she said.
I don’t understand what you meant about church meetings being a good soil-preparer. We don’t do gardening at church. We just listen to talks and sing songs and stuff. Dad nodded when he read it, though. He said he’s going to meetings with us next week!
Love,Jeffrey
June 4Dear Elder Green,
Two missionaries stopped by our house! Dad asked if Mom had sent them. They told him you did!
Dad let them in! They were really nice. They didn’t feel like strangers at all. They’ve been here three times already; once was for dinner. I can’t believe how much they ate!
They laugh sometimes, but other times they’re really serious. I told Dad that I want to be a missionary when I grow up. He said I’m doing a pretty good job already, and he went to church with us last week. It was great!
On his birthday, I gave Dad the ashtray I’d made him at school. He said he’d give it a place of honor on his desk—and store paperclips in it!
I know you’re coming home soon. I can’t wait to meet you!
Love,Jeffrey
June 18Dear Elder Green,
You’re coming home on the 27th, so this is the last letter I’ll write to you.
You sent Dad a letter, too, but I don’t know what it said. Dad took it upstairs to his bedroom and didn’t come down for a long time.
I know that you didn’t get to baptize anyone on your mission, but you taught lots of people, and that’s important too. See you soon.
Love,Jeffrey
June 20Dear Elder Green,
I’m glad that you’re returning from your mission on the 27th. Would you be available on the evening of June 29th? I’ve spoken to the bishop here, and I’d like you to be the one to perform my baptism.
Love,Jeffrey’s dad
P.S. Thank you.

The sun began to set behind the baseball diamond. Brent squinted, focusing on the pitcher in front of him.
Brent shifted his weight back and forth, waiting for the next pitch. As the pitcher started his windup, everything seemed to slow down. Brent watched the ball sail from the pitcher’s hand and arc toward him.
Brent swung his arms and watched his bat smack the baseball with a mighty crack! The next thing he knew, Brent was watching the ball sail over the head of the outfielder.
“Great job, Brent!” Coach said. “All right, guys. Practice is over. I’ll see you all in a couple of days for our big game against the Tigers.”
Brent had a lot of fun playing baseball, and he was glad to be on his new team. Usually he walked home with teammates who lived in his neighborhood, but tonight he decided to walk home alone. After all, he was 11 years old and an all-star. Getting home couldn’t be too hard.
After walking for a few minutes, Brent realized that nothing really looked familiar. He didn’t recognize any of the houses or the people he passed by. Still, he wasn’t too concerned—until he noticed that the once-bright orange sky was now turning gray.
Brent felt relieved when he crossed the railroad tracks. He knew that his neighborhood was somewhere on the other side of these tracks. But as the evening light faded into darkness, his confidence faded into panic and fear.
Brent didn’t know how long or far he had walked, but he could definitely tell that he was not near his home.
Trembling with cold and fear, Brent did the only thing he could think to do. He knelt down in the tall weeds of a vacant lot and prayed more sincerely than he had ever prayed before.
Then something wonderful happened. Brent’s fear and panic disappeared. A feeling of peace and joy washed over him. Brent was still lost, but he knew that Heavenly Father had heard his prayer.
Brent wiped tears from his eyes and stood up. He knew everything would be OK.
As Brent looked around, wondering which way to walk, he had a new idea.
“The temple,” Brent thought. “Of course!” Brent lived only a few blocks from the temple. He knew that if he could just find the temple, he would be able to find his way home.
Brent walked up the hill that was just ahead of him. When he reached the top, he could clearly see the spire of the temple illuminating the night sky.
Brent had seen the temple many times before, but seeing the temple standing as a beacon in front of him now felt especially meaningful.
Brent changed his direction and continued to walk, always keeping his eyes on the temple. Finally, he reached his home.
Brent felt grateful that Heavenly Father had heard his prayer. And he was especially thankful that he had the gift of the temple to help him find his way home.

Illustrations by Sal Velluto and Eugenio Mattozzi
One day, just after it had rained in beautiful Nauvoo, Margarette McIntire and her older brother Wallace were walking to school.
Hurry up, Wallace, or we’ll be late.
I’m coming.
My boots are stuck, Margarette!
Mine are too. There’s too much mud.
The children found they couldn’t get out, so they started to cry, thinking they would have to stay there.
What’s this?
Brother Joseph!
We’re stuck.
Joseph pulled the two children out of the mud.
He cleaned the mud off their boots.
You look very pretty today, Margarette. Don’t worry about the mud—it will come off.
He dried their tears.
Cheer up, young man. You’re a very good older brother. Keep taking good care of your sister.
Margarette later recalled the experience: “Was it any wonder that I loved that great, good, and noble man of God?”
Off to school, now.
Thank you, Brother Joseph.
Good-bye!

When my husband was serving his mission in Switzerland, he and his companion felt like they should walk down a road they hadn’t tried before and saw a lady sitting on a bench. They didn’t know yet, but she had been baptised when she was around 20 years old and had left the church not long after. A few years later she had a son, who was now 9 years old. While she was waiting for him to come out of school that day she had started thinking about the church. She remembered the missionaries and the songs she used to sing. She looked up the church and found a video about missionaries on her phone and was watching that video when she looked up and saw two missionaries were standing there. She realised an unspoken prayer had been answered.

When Elder Rasband got his mission call to the Eastern States Mission, he was disappointed. He had wanted to go to Germany, like his father and brother had. He prayed to feel OK about his mission call. After his prayer, he opened his scriptures and started reading. The scriptures he read (D&C 100:2–3, 5) let him know that his mission was exactly where Heavenly Father wanted him to go. After that, he was excited to serve a mission! He also learned that the scriptures could answer his questions.

One night when Zina started to get ready for bed, she found some unexpected “friends” underneath it. Joseph Smith had purchased four Egyptian mummies and some Egyptian papyri from which the Book of Abraham was translated. To keep these important relics safe from some of the enemies of the Church, the Prophet had asked the Huntingtons to hide them, which they did—underneath Zina’s bed! Unperturbed, Zina finished undressing and went to bed as usual.

Ever since their father’s remarkable experience when writing the family’s first musical, the Howards have had deep-rooted feelings about family ties spanning generations. Brother Howard never set foot on a stage as a young man and knew nothing about writing scripts. It was years later, when his children were growing, that he wrote the amazing script that started their performing.
Sixteen-year-old Celese tells the story. “Dad kept getting these promptings to write a play. He thought it was a crazy idea and kept pushing it away. Besides, he was always too busy.”
Brother Howard adds, “It wasn’t until I was traveling to Salt Lake City one day at five in the morning, surrounded by peace and quiet, that the promptings came again—so strong that I couldn’t ignore them. I finally gave in and asked, ‘But what am I supposed to write about?’”
Annicka, 15, joins in. “I can hardly believe what happened next,” she says. “Thoughts kept coming into Dad’s mind. He was supposed to write a play about our ancestors who crossed the plains—the Jonathan Harriman Hale family.
“But the words came at such speed that he could hardly write fast enough to keep up. And then …” she smiles. “Then came the awesome part. A few months later, we were at my uncle’s house for Thanksgiving. This uncle has a lot of family history books. Dad wasn’t feeling too well that day, so he asked for something to read. Uncle Mark offered him a book he hadn’t noticed in his collection before. It was the story of the Jonathan Harriman Hale family. All the things Dad had been writing in the play really did happen all those years ago. Even the names my dad thought he’d invented for the play were actually real people!”
“I know the show was inspired,” says Celese. “It’s called ‘Lilacs in the Valley,’ and the audience laughs and cries in the same minute. It helped one young man decide to go on a mission and has changed many lives.”
“And the music,” adds Annicka, “that’s awesome, too. My mother wrote it, and she’d never had any direction on how to do that. It turned out really good and made you feel everything that was happening in the show.”
Twelve-year-old Scott says, “I think that the way the Lord inspired them is amazing.”

Upholding the standards of the Church is a daily goal for Sister Hermin of the Djakarta Selatan Branch, who has had to support her three boys alone. She was an inactive member of a Protestant church when a Latter-day Saint relative asked her if she would like to hear the gospel message.

“Her question reminded me of something that had happened ten years earlier when I was twenty years old,” says Sister Hermin. “I had asked my mother then where I could learn of the gospel of Jesus Christ. My mother had told me to be patient because the day would come, she said, when one or two people would come to my home to teach me the gospel.

“I was baptized a member of the Church in December 1985, three months after I first met the missionaries. I was married by then and had one son, Mindo. He and my husband later joined the Church.”

Eventually, a second son, Nando, was born, who joined the Church when he was old enough. Their third child, a daughter, died when she was a year old.

Losing a struggle with alcohol, Sister Hermin’s husband was unable to support his family and fell away from the Church. Sister Hermin became the family provider by selling watermelon from a street cart—something she still does. Her husband died in 1989, while she was expecting their third son, Martin.

With her three boys, she lives in a small, two-room shack sandwiched between some dilapidated shops at the edge of a busy road. She supplements her income by renting out her small home in another part of the neighborhood.

Striving to make the shack livable and a haven from the noisy world outside is a challenge. Once, a section of the shack collapsed, but her branch president helped her make repairs.

“The branch members are always available to help me if I need it,” she says. “But my greatest help comes from being active in the Church. I enjoy the lesson material, and I appreciate the spiritual education that the boys receive. My boys have been through some hard times, but their attitude toward life is good because of our activity in the Church. And family home evening isn’t just one day a week with us. We get together almost every night and read the scriptures and sing together.

“I know from experience that whenever I feel sad or troubled, if I read the scriptures and sing some hymns, my burden will be lifted, and I will be happy again.”

On his return, Enoch taught at the Accra Missionary Training Centre for a couple of years as he contemplated his future. He had loved accounting in high school and had studied it with the intent of entering that profession. But about three years after his mission, he completed a data analytics certificate program from Coursera, offered by Google. That experience allowed him to see the critical role data plays in today’s economy in anticipating and solving problems. That vision motivated him to begin thinking of attending university to pursue a degree in data science. He applied for and got the sponsorship necessary to pursue a university education. Unfortunately, the global COVID-19 pandemic interrupted his plans, and he lost his sponsorship. Again, he endured his disappointment by casting his burdens upon the Lord.
Without the ability to continue his education at that time, Enoch pursued other interests. From the time he had mastered the piano, he had wanted to teach it, so he began doing so. In addition, he resumed his service to the Lord by working for FamilySearch out of the offices of the Africa West Area in Accra, Ghana. While working there, he met a senior sister missionary who was teaching a ukulele class. He had become acquainted and enamoured with the ukulele on his mission where his general love of music had drawn him towards it, so he joined with the class. Through his association with members of the class, they became aware of his desire to continue his education, so they helped him find new sponsors for attending university. Again, his love of music and his service to, and trust in, the Lord had brought him to the next step in his personal progress. With his sponsorship now secure, Enoch applied to, and was accepted at, BYU-Idaho where he is now studying data science.
Enoch reflects on his personal journey of perseverance and growth, and he gratefully acknowledges the value of that difficult period of his life when he struggled with questions that challenged his faith. Just as his ability to play his musical instruments came through perseverance, hard work, and struggles, learning here a little and there a little, so did his testimony grow line upon line, precept on precept. It was by persevering through his struggles that he discovered the joy of a personal relationship with his Saviour, and it is that relationship that has helped Enoch get to where he is today.

One item that is always on the agenda of every class or quorum presidency each month is the members they don’t see very often or at all. The deacons have only a couple of members they don’t see regularly. In the presidency meeting, Mark Jones asks, “Have any of you seen Francisco?”
Royden answers, “Not recently. I think the last time I saw him was two weeks ago.”
Mark says, “I’ll talk to the bishop about it. I think he has a problem getting a ride to church.”
Royden then brings up a project he’s trying to work out. Their ward is so spread out that long-distance telephone calls are required to reach from one area to another. Royden is trying to figure out who can make calls to whom without using long-distance telephone service.
“It’s like the food chain,” explains Royden. The others look at him blankly.
“It’s like bears and deer and grass,” continues Royden. “Something eats something that eats something else, and so on.”
“Oh,” says Jay Venable, first counselor, “like a phone web. That’s a good idea.” And they are soon figuring out a plan to contact the other quorum members without running up phone bills.

My seminary teacher used the article “Extra Strength” (Jan. ’02) in one of her lessons. That very day, a friend from school was asking me questions about the Church while we were in the weight room. I tried to answer him the best I could but didn’t feel my words were very influential. But I felt impressed to do as the young woman in the article did. The following day I gave my friend the new For the Strength of Youth and told him it contained the guidelines written for teenagers to follow. It felt good to have done this small missionary effort.
Marek de SavignyDunrobin, Ontario, Canada

We started the research on Leone Jacobs by reading Leone’s obituary, which included the names of her children, and I immediately felt that I should call Geraldine, Leone’s daughter. The results were extraordinary.

At the outbreak of World War II in Europe, Leone lived in the Palestine-Syrian Mission with her two children and her husband, Joseph, who was mission president. The mission encompassed Palestine, Lebanon, and Syria. She kept two diaries while she lived there and wrote articles about the mission for the Deseret News when she returned.

Geraldine was generous. She let us borrow and scan these priceless documents, so now digital copies are available for visitors to study at the Church History Library. Reading the diaries gave me a more intimate sense for who Leone was and what it felt like to help run the mission, and I tried to bring that to the introduction that I wrote.

When I read Leone’s promises that we can change our lives, “One of the most glorious principles of life is that we can always rise above our present level,” I imagined her in Beirut, helping with a program at her children’s school, teaching a young woman to play the organ, greeting Church members at the mission Christmas party that she planned.

Coming to know Leone through her diaries felt sacred.

“There was a boy named Ike,” Grandpa began. “He took delight in pushing people around. He wasn’t much bigger than me, but he had a meanness that made him scary. If he had put notches in the hitching post in front of the mercantile store for every kid he beat up, he would have needed a second post for want of room!
“I didn’t know at the time that he was being mistreated at home. All I knew was that he had it in for me. Like you, I tried to stay clear of him. But the harder I tried, the more he singled me out.”
Grandpa reached into his overalls and pulled out a pocket watch. “Your great-grandpa gave this to me,” he said, “and I treasured it. Then one day Ike stole it from me at school. He told me about it that afternoon when he saw me in the mercantile buying a candy stick—which he also took and ate right in front of me.”
Melody’s eyes were big. “How did you get the watch back, Grandpa?”
“Ike said that he had left it in the hills, just inside an abandoned mine called Yellow Spur. He said that he was curious to see if I wanted it badly enough to go up there after it. What he didn’t tell me was that at night the place crawled with scorpions.”
Melody grew tense as Grandpa continued. “I didn’t want to tell your great-grandpa about the missing watch—he had prized it so. Besides, I often hiked in the hills. But never after dark. Anyway, to make a long story short, I found the watch just inside the mine. It was right at my feet—along with a dozen scorpions! I didn’t know yet that Ike was hiding on a rock just outside and above the cave. I guess he was going to wait for me to get stung by one of those scorpions, and then take the watch back.”
“What happened, Grandpa?”
“I heard a yell, and the next thing I knew, Ike came tumbling off the rock and landed at my feet. He had been stung by a scorpion himself. And before I could help him up, he was stung by another one.”
“You tried to help him? Weren’t you afraid of getting stung too?”
“I was indeed, Pumpkin, but I remembered what my father said about our deeds being recorded in heaven. Besides, I felt sorry for him. So I helped him down the hill to our place, and my folks doctored him up. He was pretty sick from those bites, but he was back on his feet by morning.”
Grandpa leaned forward, his eyes shining. “The next day after school it rained, and I was getting soaked clear through. To my surprise, I felt something warm being dropped over my head.” Grandpa touched the poncho he was wearing. “It was this poncho, Melody. And to my total disbelief, it was Ike who was placing it on me. He gave me his poncho, the one he always wore as if it was his most treasured possession. He didn’t say anything. He just stared at me awhile and then went on his way. I never saw him again. His family moved somewhere after that. But I’ll never forget the look he gave me. And to this day I don’t know if the wetness on his face was all rainwater.”