Gospel Story Finder

It’d be nice to get the chance to do things over again, wouldn’t it? Well, some things. You might like to relive your happiest birthday or avoid your most embarrassing moment, but would you jump at the chance to repeat a project that involved around 100 hours of hard work?
Chanelle Cann of West Jordan, Utah, did. After finishing years of work to earn her Young Womanhood Award, she turned around and did it all over again. The revised Personal Progress book and new medallion were her inspiration.
The General Young Women presidency encouraged young women already working on the old program to transfer their hours and finish up with the new program. They didn’t expect young women to earn both awards. After doing all the work once, what was Chanelle thinking?
Actually, she was thinking ahead. She wanted the chance to grow with the right attitude, so she’d be more prepared for her future.
“When I was younger I worked on the Personal Progress program because it was there. When I got to be a Laurel, I did it because I wanted to,” she said. “I wanted to do the new program because I knew I would be doing it for the right reasons.”
Chanelle was proud of her first award, but she understood that personal progress isn’t something you need a book to do.
When her stake president introduced the changes to the Young Women program, Chanelle picked up a copy of the new Personal Progress book and headed straight home to plan.
Her mom, Evelyn, said Chanelle stayed up well past midnight that night mapping out how she could earn the new award and how many hours per week she could work on it, starting the next day.
“I told her you could just pay and get the other necklace instead,” Chanelle’s mom said, “but she said, ‘No, I want to really earn it.’”
Chanelle didn’t want another necklace, she wanted a chance for growth. She would be graduating from high school soon and wanted to be prepared for the future. But she didn’t need a book to get what she wanted.
“All the things I did were things I needed to learn for the future anyway. I used the new program because I knew something that came from the prophet could give me good direction,” she said.
Her projects included attending the temple several times a week to do baptisms for the dead, volunteering at an elementary school, writing poetry about the Savior, recording songs with her guitar, hand stitching a temple quilt, serving at a rest home, making family home evening files for her future family, and learning to cook.
Chanelle said the cooking project didn’t turn out so well. She made some pies that were more of a learning experience than a gourmet dessert. She’s going to keep trying anyway.
As it turns out, Chanelle makes a better writer than a chef. Her favorite project was writing poetry. She also loved writing about her experiences in her journal because it helped her realize how much she actually learned from doing the projects with the right attitude.
“Putting my feelings down on paper helps me recognize what I believe in and makes me more grateful,” she said.
To earn the second award, Chanelle did 70 hours of projects and completed 42 other value experiences, on top of school and work.
“It took a lot of time, but it was worth it,” she said.
It isn’t her two medallions hanging around her neck on the same gold chain that light up her face, though. Her glittering smile reveals how much she’s grown. She said doing both programs strengthened her testimony, helped her recognize her potential, made her aware of all her blessings, and prepared her for the future.
“I think I try harder now to keep the Spirit with me and recognize what I do in my life really does affect me,” she said.
Chanelle has a lot of goals for the future, including an education, a mission, and getting married in the Salt Lake Temple. She said she’s grateful for the chance she had to earn the Young Womanhood Award—twice, because it prepared her to accomplish those goals.
Perhaps one of Chanelle’s poems said it best:
“The simple things you do
Determine what the future will bring to you.”
Now, Chanelle is always looking for new ways to grow. Earning both awards helped set a pattern of personal progress that will last her a lifetime.

I heard a funny story about a captain of an aircraft carrier who is trying to navigate his ship during a storm at night. He sees a light in the distance that appears to be heading straight toward him. He shouts to his radio operator, “Tell that oncoming vessel to change course by 20 degrees!”
The radio operator does and waits for a response. “Captain,” he says, “they are telling us to change our course 20 degrees.”
The captain shouts, “Explain to that radio operator that I’m not asking—I’m demanding. Change course!”
The radio operator sends the message, waits for a moment, and then looks up. “Captain,” he says, “they insist that we are the ones who must turn.”
The captain grabs the headset and barks into the microphone, “I don’t know who you are or where you are going but there’s something you ought to know. I’m the captain of a navy aircraft carrier group accompanied by three destroyers, three cruisers, and numerous support vessels. We are proceeding directly towards you and will not change course!”
Through the static the captain hears a reply: “Understood, Captain. But there’s something you ought to know. We are a lighthouse.”

“Missionary work?” Sue Ann Yazzie, a 17-year-old Navaho from Shiprock, New Mexico, brushed long, black hair from her shoulders and smiled. Her warm, brown eyes sparkling, she said, “The best way to get someone interested in the Church is to be friends with him.”

A member of the Church for two years, Sue Ann talked about her conversion: “Even before I joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I believed that when we die, we will be able to see friends and relatives who have died before us. I lost faith in the church I was attending when the minister said, ‘If you think you will be able to see your dead ancestors when you die, you’re mistaken.’ It was then that I asked the Lord which church was true. I promised I would keep the commandments if He would help me.”

Sue Ann wanted to attend high school off the reservation. When she was asked to participate in the Indian education program in Richfield, Utah, she accepted. In Richfield, the Indian students live in a dormitory and attend local schools.

When one of the employees in the dormitory invited Sue Ann and several of her friends to a family home evening, she wasn’t really interested. “At the time, I wasn’t sure if I liked the Mormon Church. I didn’t know very much about it. But I went just to keep my friends company. That was when I first became interested in the Church. I liked what I heard.

“Later, when I read the Book of Mormon, many of the parts seemed familiar. When I was younger, my grandmother told me many of the Navaho legends. I first heard the story of the great white god, who will one day return, from her,” she said.

Here is another experience—an experience of President Joseph F. Smith reported by the late President Charles W. Nibley, which you young elders might ponder to your profit:
“Another incident which I have heard him relate,” says Brother Nibley, speaking about President Joseph F. Smith, who was the president of the Church and father of our late president, Joseph Fielding Smith, “which shows his courage and integrity, occurred when he was returning from his mission to the Sandwich Islands, in the fall of 1857. He came home by way of Los Angeles, by what was called the Southern Route. In that year Johnston’s Army was on the move for Utah, and naturally enough there was much excitement and bitterness of feeling concerning the ‘Mormons.’ In southern California, just after the little train of wagons had traveled only a short distance and made their camp, several anti-‘Mormon’ toughs rode into the camp on horseback, cursing and swearing and threatening what they would do to the ‘Mormons.’ Joseph F. was a little distance from the camp gathering wood for the fire, but he saw that the few members of his own party had cautiously gone into the brush down the creek, out of sight. When he saw that, he told me,” says Brother Nibley, “the thought came into his mind, ‘Shall I run from these fellows? Why should I fear them?’ With that he marched up with his arm full of wood to the campfire where one of the ruffians, still with his pistol in his hand, shouting and cursing about the ‘Mormons,’ in a loud voice said to Joseph F.:
“‘Are you a ‘Mormon?’
“And the answer came straight, ‘Yes, siree; dyed in the wool; true blue, through and through.’
“At that the ruffian grasped him by the hand and said:
“‘Well, you are the ---- ---- pleasantest man I ever met! Shake, young fellow, I am glad to see a man that stands up for his convictions.’” (Joseph F. Smith, Gospel Doctrine, Deseret Book Co., 1939 ed., p. 518.)

As a new member of the Church, Soren knew little about the Church or its teachings. For the first month, he did not even attend church meetings. Finally, feeling obligated to learn what the gospel was about, he read a pamphlet about the Book of Mormon. From that small pamphlet he gained a testimony that the Book of Mormon truly is the word of God. That realization forever changed the course of Soren Edsberg’s life.

I knew a wonderful gentleman not too many years ago who helps to illustrate this universal principle of cultural myopia. I first met him in Singapore when I was assigned to be his family’s home teacher. A distinguished professor of Sanskrit and Tamil, he hailed from the south of India. His wonderful wife and two sons were members of the Church, but he had never joined nor listened much to the teachings of the gospel. He was happy with the way his wife and sons were developing and supported them fully in their undertakings and Church responsibilities.
When I offered to teach him the principles of the gospel and share our beliefs with him, he initially balked. It took me a while to figure out why: he felt that by so doing, he would become a traitor to his past, his people, and his history! To his way of thinking, he would be denying everything he was, everything his family had taught him to be, his very Indian heritage. Over the next few months, we were able to talk about these issues. I was awed (though not surprised!) by how the gospel of Jesus Christ was able to open his eyes to a different viewpoint.
So what happened to my friend? Well, he was taught the lessons and joined the Church. His family has since been sealed for time and all eternity in the Sydney Australia Temple. He has given up little—and gained the potential for everything. He discovered that he can still celebrate his history, still be proud of his ancestry, his music and dance and literature, his food, his land and its people. He has found that there is no problem incorporating the best of his local culture into the greatest of all cultures. He discovered that bringing that which is consistent with truth and righteousness from his old life into his new one serves only to enhance his fellowship with the Saints and to assist in uniting all as one in the society of heaven.

With a basketball in his hand and his naturally quick feet, Dax Crum from Kirtland, New Mexico, is a fine shooting guard. He also serves as a great example to other young people in how to deal with obstacles.
When basketball commentators say that Dax Crum of Kirtland, New Mexico, is single-handedly leading the offense, they are telling the truth. Dax was born without a right hand, yet when he was growing up he refused to listen to those who said he would never play basketball. As a high school junior, he scored 22 points in the game leading up to the 2002 state championship and 17 points in the final game. He also has not listened to those who said he wouldn’t be able to play baseball (he hopes to earn a college scholarship as a pitcher). In addition, he was the leading scorer on his soccer team, and he runs sprints and anchors the relay team in track.
Dax is a priest in the Kirtland Second Ward in New Mexico and is the fourth of six children. He’s a straight-A student, loves to be with his friends, and enjoys playing his guitar. His parents, Richard and Valerie, have always encouraged their son to overcome obstacles, and they saw their son become relentless in learning to do things. Dax says, “I don’t let my hand embarrass me. I guess if people feel sorry for me, they can. But I don’t feel sorry for myself.”
Dax is the perfect person to talk to young kids about facing hard problems. Just like the advice he gave to one young boy, also born without a hand, “I just said, ‘You can do anything. Don’t let anything get in your way.’”

“I didn’t go to the same seventh and eighth grade that all the people in my neighborhood and ward did, but I transferred back during my freshman year in high school. I had a hard time fitting in because they were all together and I was all alone.”
Another part of creativity is recognizing what abilities you truly do have. Not all talents involve being able to perform in front of others. For example, remember how Ivey talked about having a tough time fitting in at a new school?
“There was a girl in one of my classes that I didn’t know at all,” Ivey explains. “One day she said hi to me. I found out her name. We would see each other in the halls. She would ask me how I was doing or help me understand my homework. She was really nice and genuinely interested. She tried to learn a little about me. She invited me to a basketball game. I started going with her friends and integrated into that group. Because of what she did for me, I developed confidence. She had a talent for reaching out.”

Caroling isn’t much of an Argentine Christmas tradition. In fact, Christmas here is quite different from the traditional snowy scene you might think of. Because we live in the Southern Hemisphere, Christmas always makes me think of a large fruit salad!
So when my parents suggested we try caroling as a family, my siblings and I felt a mix of confusion and excitement. We weren’t sure of our musical abilities, so we decided to make and bring some cookies to give the people we visited a reason to smile, at least.
A man named Joaquín had been a part of our ward for as long as I could remember. That December he had gotten very sick and could no longer attend sacrament meeting. My dad and brothers were among those who took the sacrament to him in the hospital after church on Sundays.
On the Sunday before Christmas, our whole family jumped into the car to visit Joaquín, hoping we would bring a warm Christmas spirit. When we arrived, the nurse directed us to his bed. He had his scriptures and a hymnal at his bedside, as if he had been expecting us.
He was so obviously happy that we were there, and we all immediately felt such love for him. My brothers prepared, blessed, and passed the sacrament. Before leaving, we sang the beautiful melody in “Far, Far Away on Judea’s Plains”: “Glory to God in the highest; peace on earth, goodwill to men” (Hymns, no. 212).
Certainly it was peace and goodwill that entered our hearts as he called us “angels” and thanked us for visiting, when all we had wanted was to bring those feelings to him.
Julia G., Buenos Aires, Argentina

I appreciated the article “How to Be a Disciple of Christ” by President Dieter F. Uchtdorf (August 2012). After I read it, I started thinking that I need to do more to share the gospel. Then an opportunity came. While on a field trip with my school band, a friend and I started to talk about my religion and how it started. He said, “I believe in God and that there is a right church, but how will I know which is the right one?” I told him about Joseph Smith and ended up telling him the story of the Book of Mormon and also the history of the Church up to when the Saints moved to Utah. The whole time, my friend was asking me questions about specific people and wanted me to tell him more stories of people in the Book of Mormon.
None of this would have happened if I hadn’t told him that I was a Latter-day Saint. We must always have the Spirit burning within us so that others may take notice of us and want the happiness that we have because of the gospel in our lives.

Ross Anslow said glowingly to his wife, “Ann, our three sons will make fine farmers. I’ll buy more land for Sam and Joey. And when Bob is old enough, he’ll have his share too.”
Sam and Bob smiled happily, but Joey said quickly, “No thanks, Dad, none for me. I’m going to be an ice skater.”
Bob snickered. “A skater!” he hooted. “You don’t even have a pair of skates!”
Sam laughed too. “What’s wrong with you, Joey? Why would you want to spend your time twirling around on the ice like a top, when Dad’ll buy you land to work?”
Joey answered his brother, “I don’t want land to work. I want to skate on the ice in a fancy costume and have crowds cheering for me.”
“Just because you went with your school to see an ice show,” his dad said irritably, “doesn’t mean that you’re going to make a career of ice-skating. You’ll get over it.”
Joey’s mom wasn’t so sure their son would get over it.
“Joey is different,” she cautioned her husband later that evening when the boys had gone to bed. “It could be that farming isn’t for him.”
“Certainly he’ll be a farmer,” Joey’s dad continued stubbornly, “after he gets this silly notion out of his head. I’ll let him grow a calf for the boy’s club. Then maybe he’ll show more interest in farming.”
That night Joey dreamed that the sun was hidden by a heavy mist and that he was running through it. Always ahead of him, just out of reach, moved a pair of glistening silver skates.
Joey thought about his odd dream all the next day. Will it always be like this for me? he wondered. Will I never get a chance to wear those silver skates?
When his dad told him he could have Nellie’s calf, Joey was pleased. He supposed it would be interesting to watch it grow, but he didn’t dance for joy like his brothers would have.
Joey began to daydream about the skates gleaming in the fog—leaping, twisting, bounding along just out of reach. He next imagined that he was clad in a sparkling costume and white boots with shimmering silver blades attached to them. Joey signed. Maybe it was best to forget his dream.
One cold winter morning Joey’s mother asked him to take a loaf of freshly baked bread to some new neighbors. To his delight Joey found that they had a girl his own age. She had sparkling brown eyes and dark hair. Her name was Sabrina.
Sabrina’s parents were pleased to find that they had friendly neighbors, and asked Joey to stay for lunch. When they were through, Joey and Sabrina talked about sports, and Joey found himself telling her about his longing to become a professional ice skater someday. Then with a rueful smile he admitted, “I don’t own any skates. I’ve never even had any on. But I always dream about skating.”
Sabrina’s eyes sparkled. “I’ve something to show you,” she said, disappearing into another room. When she returned, Sabrina was holding up a pair of shining silver skates exactly like those in Joey’s dream!
“They’re my dad’s,” Sabrina explained. “He used to be a professional skater. He’s Don Carber—have you ever heard of him?”
Joey was excited. “Wow! He’s your dad? I’ve read about him!”
Sabrina nodded. “Would you like to see his scrap-books?”
“Would I!” was all Joey could manage to reply.
While they were going through the books, Joey imagined that he was Don Carber—leaping, spinning, and waving to the enthusiastic crowds.
Before Joey left, he told Sabrina, “I’m going to wear silver skates, too, someday. I want to be like your dad was—a star on ice.”
Sabrina smiled. “I know you’ll be a star, Joey, and I’ll help you.”
That night Joey summoned up the courage to ask his dad for a pair of skates.
Joey’s dad was unbending. “You’ll have to forget this nonsense, Joey,” he said. “No son of mine is going to waste his life scooting about on the ice.”
Joey persisted. “If I keep up with my chores and schoolwork, then earn the money for skates, may I sweep the snow off the pond out in the pasture and try to skate on it?”
His dad was going to say no at first, but then he thought that Joey might come to his senses and forget about ice-skating after a few falls on the ice. So he replied, “Go ahead, Son, but remember—chores and schoolwork first.”
“Yes, Dad.”
“Don’t expect me to pay for lessons either; you do this on your own.”
The boy nodded. He decided not to mention that he was being encouraged by Sabrina and her father.
Joey worried about a job to earn the money for skates. If it had been summer, he’d have had longer evenings. But now the days were so short that by the time he finished his chores, he didn’t have time for a lengthy job. Joey asked his neighbors about a job, but any available work either took too long or was too heavy for him.
Then Joey remembered that he hadn’t asked Bill Jones about a job.
Luckily for Joey, Mr. Jones said that he could use some help during the evenings. And when Joey had earned enough money, Mr. Carber offered to help him choose the right skates to learn on.
His brothers teased Joey when they saw him with his skates. “We’ll likely be watching you on TV tomorrow,” they joked.
Joey smiled and answered good-naturedly, “Not tomorrow, but maybe someday.”
Dad remarked, “I could understand getting excited about playing hockey or skiing—but figure skating!”
Mom smiled and said, “They’re lovely skates, Joey.”
At first Joey was awkward, and he fell a lot. But whenever he became discouraged, Sabrina was usually there, skating with him and encouraging him.
Mr. Carber sometimes came to watch and to coach. He was amazed at how quickly Joey learned. Figure-skating movements seemed to come to the boy naturally.
With a broom and shovel kept close by to clear the ice of snow, Joey spent every available moment on the pond. Early mornings and late afternoons he practiced the motions suggested by Mr. Carber. Joey’s family took neither the time nor the interest to watch him.
Once, when she saw him hurrying out of the house with his skates slung over his back. Mom called to him, “Don’t try to learn everything in one season. You have years ahead of you.”
Joey answered, “No, Mom, I haven’t. I was late starting.”
His mom sighed. With Dad against the boy’s skating, and his brothers always teasing, things weren’t easy for Joey.
One Saturday afternoon Joey was busy sweeping the pond when he saw the tall figure of Don Carber striding between the snow-laden cedars. Mr. Carber took the broom from Joey and said, “You won’t be needing this today. You’re going to have a chance to try some better ice. I have business in town, so if it’s all right with your folks, I’ll drop you and Sabrina off at the rink for the afternoon.”
Joey felt so happy he nearly shouted for joy as he ran home. Rink ice for the first time!
When Mr. Carber finished his business, he went back to the rink to watch the children going through the movements he had taught them on the pond. He thought Sabrina was good, but Joey had a special talent. If only his parents could see him skating …
The remainder of the winter Don Carber took Joey and Sabrina to the rink often. Sometimes he skated with them, and Joey eagerly copied his movements.
In the spring a notice was posted in town announcing that an amateur skating contest would be held.
Before the contest Don Carber went to the Anslow farm to talk with Joey’s parents. He invited them to come and watch the competition.
Joey’s dad sputtered, “Really couldn’t. Chores, you know. Lambing time. Then there’s—”
His wife interrupted. “We’ll be there, Mr. Carber,” she stated firmly.
“Good!” Don Carber said happily. “And let’s surprise him.”
But it was Joey’s family who were surprised. When Sam and Bob saw their brother swoop down the ice, they were truly astonished.
Even before Joey won a prize, everyone at the rink knew that his sharp routine was the best one seen during the competition.
As the crowd cheered, Ross Anslow smiled proudly at his son.

The next morning at 10:00, about ten of the Niçois (as the people from Nice are known) gathered at the gare (train station) and headed for the hills. With them were two 16-year-old sisters from Marseilles. First stop, Mont Alban, an ancient chateau fort (fortified castle) overlooking the bay.
Looking out from the summit, Christiane Beltrutti, 18, mentally traced trails between the red tile roofs of buildings, then gazed at sails drifting on the azure bay. The mood of the moment led her to contemplate her love for her home.
“The most important thing we can do is to build up the Church where we live,” she said. “I love this area. I love these people. I want to share the gospel with them; I want to grow strong here and see my children, later on, grow up in the Church, along with many of their friends.
“People come from all over the world to visit Nice. Those of us who live here should really appreciate the beauty, not just of the coastline, but of the inland towns and villages as well. I think most of us do.”
It’s a quick ride from the top of the hill back to the old part of the city. Here tourists crowded the boutiques and souvenir shops, eager to gather memories of their days in the sun. Everyone seemed excited just to be there. “We call it la joie de vivre,” said Michel Demisse. “That means the joy of being alive.”
The young Latter-day Saints did, indeed, seem excited with life, excited to be exploring the city. On foot they wound their way through narrow cobblestone streets, between houses stacked haphazardly one upon another, past women who still carry home laundry in baskets on their heads. In the marketplace, bright red buckets brimmed with olives and clams and cod for sale. Flower shops peeked in colorful profusion from alley corners. Minstrels serenaded restaurant patrons dining on pan bagnat or socca, specialties of the regional cuisine.
Nice is a melting pot community. The Greek-French singer Georges Moustaki defined the area as a meeting place of continents and civilizations. A glance at the young Saints confirmed his analysis. Philippe Benarous is from a Norman family that has Scandinavian and Germanic ancestry. Chantal Daviot, a member of a year and a half, had ancestors who helped settle the French colonies in Africa. Isabelle Perez’s name reflects the Spanish influence in the area, and Christiane’s last name, Beltrutti, shows the Italian flavor of the sunlit coast.
After a pause at a fountain to eat their sandwiches, the group decided that, despite threatening clouds, it was worth the two-mile hike up hills and stairs to Le Château, site of a castle long-since destroyed. In their decision, they reflected again the philosophy described by Moustaki: “Il y a un bel été qui ne craint pas l’automne en méditerranée.” (There is a beautiful summer that is not afraid of autumn, in the Mediterranean.) Though the rain drizzled down, they knew the sun would eventually break through. They bounded up the steps and paused to catch their breath at the top of the first flight.
Huddled under umbrellas, they again shared their feelings about gospel ideals.
Isabelle, 18, is the only one in the group who was born in the Church. “I like what we are able to learn about ourselves by being active in the gospel,” she said. “It’s important to get together with other members of the Church because in different spiritual, cultural, and recreational activities, we get to appreciate ourselves and our brothers and sisters better. I especially enjoy meetings at which returned missionaries from our hometowns speak because it helps us see that the Church is not small; it’s worldwide and growing. This helps young people to want to go on missions.”
“In fact,” Brigitte Besson added, “one of the problems we face is that we have to change personnel so often—all of our young men keep leaving on missions.”
Jean-Paul Tran, 18, from Grasse, said one of the local goals is to get everyone working together so that soon a stake can be formed in Nice.
“We all have the same ideals, really,” said Chantal. “To progress together, to improve each other by being together, to find increased spirituality.”
The hike continued. The rain lessened, then increased, just as the group passed in front of a waterfall that tumbles from the summit. “Isn’t it nice to be so cool?” someone hollered ahe mist from the falls and flung it in his face.
One more flight of stairs, and the group was on top. Leaning over the railings, they looked at the beach, usually full of sunbathers, now empty and stretching for miles between la Promenade des Anglais (one of Nice’s main streets) and la Baie des Anges (Bay of the Angels).
Several minutes later, after stopping by the beach and listening to roaring waves, the group rejoined the rest of the conference attenders for an afternoon of workshops at the chapel.

A few years ago, when I was 17, I was depressed and aimless. I wasn’t hanging out with good friends or doing good things. One day my dad told me that he had signed me up to attend a For the Strength of Youth conference in a nearby country. I didn’t want to go, but knowing that he wanted me to, I reluctantly went.
Surprisingly, the spiritual experiences I had at that conference changed my life completely.
At FSY I really saw what it means to be a disciple of Christ—to live differently than the world. All these faithful young people were such a contrast to the negative influences I was usually surrounded by. I felt like I actually saw the light these disciples were carrying. Each day, I felt the Spirit so strongly as I spent time with good people, studied the scriptures, learned more about the gospel, and got to know Heavenly Father and the Savior better.
I realized I needed to change my behaviors and really start to understand what the gospel of Jesus Christ could bring to my life.
After I went home, I didn’t want to lose the connection to the Spirit that I had felt during the conference, so I made a goal to do what was necessary to keep my newfound foundation in the gospel firm and keep the Spirit with me.
Making changes was a little hard at first. I had to stop spending time with certain friends because they were not a good influence on me. I worked to give up some bad habits. I started taking church seriously. Making these decisions helped me fill my life with goodness. What has helped me stay consistently connected to the Spirit is setting aside time each day to study the scriptures, especially the Book of Mormon.
The teachings in the scriptures remind me what is really important in my life. When I feel lonely in my faith, especially with so few members here in Bulgaria, I allow the truths of ancient prophets to deepen my faith in Jesus Christ.
One of my favorite verses is Moroni 10:32: “Come unto Christ, and be perfected in him, and deny yourselves of all ungodliness; and if ye shall deny yourselves of all ungodliness, and love God with all your might, mind and strength, then is his grace sufficient for you, that by his grace ye may be perfect in Christ.”
It’s scriptures like this one that remind me of the light the gospel offers and keep me strong when I’m having a hard time. The scriptures always strengthen my foundation of faith.
Right now, I’m preparing to serve a mission, and I still face unknowns and challenges (like recently being diagnosed with type 1 diabetes). But prioritizing spiritual habits helps me feel Heavenly Father’s love more than ever.
President Russell M. Nelson recently reminded us that “thinking celestial means being spiritually minded.”
Striving to do the things that keep the Spirit with me each day really helps me to think celestial—to be spiritually minded. I’ve felt myself become more like Christ as I think about what He would do. Keeping the Spirit with me helps me have hope and remember the blessings Heavenly Father has in store for all who choose to follow Him.
Living in a wicked world where things feel dark can be hard at times. But it also helps me better realize the bright, contrasting warmth and light of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I was missing the significance of this amazing blessing in my life for years. I’m so grateful for the spiritual experiences Heavenly Father can lead us to, because now, I cling to the light and joy of the gospel more than ever.
I testify that if you trust the Lord and study from the Book of Mormon every day, your life will become much easier. You will begin to see the blessings our loving Heavenly Father gives us every day, and you will realize who you can become with the help of the Lord.

Joshua Wright walked out onto the playground during recess on his first day of first grade. He saw his friends running toward the jungle gym and swings. Then he saw some of the new kindergarten students standing alone against the school wall. A few of the older students were teasing them.
“Kindergarten babies!” someone chanted.
“You’d better watch out,” another boy said. “Stay away from the swings and the tricky bars. Only the big kids get to play on them.”
Joshua remembered how he had felt last year on his first day of kindergarten. Some of the older students had teased him, and sometimes he didn’t like going out to recess.
Joshua’s mom and dad had always taught him to look out for others who needed friends. They had taught him the story of the Good Samaritan and told him that Jesus wanted all members of His Church to be Good Samaritans. Joshua decided that he would find a way to be a Good Samaritan to the new kindergarten students.
A few days later Joshua came up with a plan. He asked his teacher if the first-grade students could be paired with kindergarten students as special buddies. He thought that if the kindergarten children each had a special first-grade friend, the big kids would be less likely to tease them. Joshua’s teacher took his plan to the first-grade students. They were eager to help. Soon each kindergarten student felt special and protected by his or her first-grade buddy.
Joshua watched as first graders offered to play with younger students and included them in their games. The new buddies even asked the other children not to tease or pick on the kindergarten students.
After a few weeks, nearly all the teasing stopped. Parents and teachers noticed that many of the older students were making extra efforts to be kind to the kindergarteners.
This year as Joshua prepares to be baptized, he feels happy that he listened to the Spirit. When the school community council met, they voted to continue Joshua’s buddy program. As last year’s kindergarten students returned to school as first graders, they were excited to be new first-grade buddies to a new class of kindergarten students. They learned from Joshua’s program that one buddy really can make a difference.

Yet a disquieting feeling persisted. This was a “one-man church,” entirely centered on the leader’s doctrines and directives. I was sent out to start congregations, but something inside me resisted. I could not move forward unless I knew, without doubt, that God Himself was directing me, not just a man. I stayed in my role, waiting for a clarity that never came in that place.
A professional crossroads coincided with this spiritual searching. My security company, impressed with my skills, was placing me at a new contract with Sankofa Spices, with a promise of a permanent, high-paying position as a security coordinator. I was ready to accept. Then, my friend, the operations manager, mentioned a temporary opening at the “Latter-day Saints” mission office. The pay was less than half of what Sankofa offered, so I wasn’t interested. But when the Sankofa start date was delayed, I agreed to fill in for two weeks. It was a decision that would alter the course of my life.

All seven of us were crammed into our Primary teacher’s old van. The heater was going full blast, but my toes were still cold. I could see wisps of snow in front of the headlights.
“Mrs. Tillman lives right down the road. Maybe we could visit her for a minute before we go milk Betsy,” suggested Sister Allred.
“At six o’clock in the morning?” burst out Tony.
“Mrs. Tillman used to go to work at four in the morning,” replied Sister Allred. “She still likes getting up early. Besides, I want to drop her off some homemade breakfast rolls. And … well … I’d like to give her a Book of Mormon, too, and maybe share my testimony of it with her.”
“A Book of Mormon?” screeched Tony.
“She’s the last person I’d give a Book of Mormon to,” I said.
“She’s the meanest lady in town!” exclaimed Jimmy.
Sister Allred smiled. “Is that so? Well, I’m sure she would love to meet you.”
All five of us boys gave each other worried looks. Even “Sweet” Emily Clawson looked troubled.
“I’ll tell you what,” said Sister Allred. “This time I’ll drop you off to milk Betsy. You’ve milked her enough now that you don’t need my help. Today’s kind of a special day for me, and I really do want to give Mrs. Tillman this Book of Mormon.”
I didn’t have time to wonder why today was Sister Allred’s special day. She’d already come to a stop in front of the Millers’ snowy mailbox. We piled out—all except redheaded Brian. He wanted to meet the meanest lady in town.
Pulling my parka hood closer around my face, I trudged through the snow. In my mind, I pictured Mr. and Mrs. Miller strolling down a warm beach in Hawaii. I was beginning to wish our Primary class had never volunteered to milk their cow while they were on vacation.
Suddenly, an icy hand stole inside my hood and smashed a snowball against my neck.
“How about a snowball fight, Phillip?” Tony proposed mischievously.
“We have to milk Betsy,” I retorted, trying to brush the dripping snow from my neck.
“Aw, it’s too cold for cow milking,” said Tony. “Why don’t you and Emily take care of it.” He grinned at the other boys.
The snowball fight was soon in full swing. Tony and his gang didn’t care where they aimed—or maybe they did. Most of the snowballs sailed at us. When one splattered on Betsy’s nose, she jerked up her head and trotted away.
“That’s not fair,” shouted Emily. “We can fight back, but Betsy can’t.”
I was surprised to hear her talk so sharply. I was even more surprised to see Emily let loose with a snowball that landed smack on Tony’s head.
Tony only laughed.
I grimaced. Tony had calmed down since Sister Allred had become our Primary teacher. But now and then he forgot that he was no longer the terror of the Primary. Today I wanted no part of his pranks. For one thing, I was in a hurry to get Betsy milked. Mom had promised me waffles, bacon, and hot chocolate when I got home.
With all the snowballs flying around us, it was all Emily and I could do to get poor Betsy into the barn. Even then, she kept stamping her feet and eyeing us uneasily.
“You give her some grain,” I told Emily. “I’ll start milking.”
“Don’t you think you’d better let her eat a little and give her time to settle down?” suggested Emily.
“No time today,” I snapped, still thinking about the breakfast my mother had waiting for me, and wishing my feet were not so numb.
I put a bucket under Betsy and pulled up a stool. I purposely “forgot” to wash and dry her udder first. I began to milk, but hardly a trickle fell into the bucket. I sat there for a long time, squeezing and squeezing. There was still only a dribble. Exasperated, I stood up. “Well, you’ve had your chance. If that’s all the milk you’re giving today, I’m done with you.”
Betsy rolled her eyes toward me, but I didn’t pay any attention. Yanking up the bucket, I marched around behind her—smack into Sister Allred! The bucket slipped from my cold fingers, and milk spilled over Sister Allred’s boots.
My Primary teacher looked at the bucket. “Well, it doesn’t look like you had much milk to spill. Are you having problems this morning?”
“Oh,” I answered, “Betsy just didn’t have much milk to give this morning.”
Sister Allred smiled. “Maybe we should give Betsy another chance.” Stroking Betsy gently, she spoke to the cow. “What’s the matter, old girl? Don’t you want to give your milk this morning?”
Soon Sister Allred was sitting beside Betsy. Still talking soothingly, she carefully washed Betsy’s udder in warm water. Milk started streaming thick and warm into the bucket. By then Tony and the other boys had crept in from their snowball fight.
Sister Allred was smiling wistfully when I looked at her again.
“What are you thinking about, Sister Allred?” I asked.
“Oh, I was just thinking about my son, Todd. When we had our farm, he was the best milker of all. I always told him that he’d grow up to be a great missionary.”
“What’s milking got to do with missionary work?” I asked.
“Milking a cow is pretty impossible unless she’s ready to let down her milk. Usually a cow will let down her milk when she’s contented and calm—maybe after a little grain feeding or someone washing her udder or when there’s a little soft music in the barn. Todd was gentle and patient not only with the cows but with everybody. I knew that he would be such a gentle, loving missionary that people would naturally let down their barriers against believing the gospel. Todd was gaining a strong testimony of the gospel too.”
“So where did Todd go on his mission?” I asked.
Sister Allred replied quietly. “One day when Todd was just about your age, he and his dad were delivering a load of cattle to a farmer. On a steep grade, the cattle suddenly shifted to one side, and the truck veered on the icy road and rolled into a ravine. Todd and my husband both died.”
“Oh!” we said together. Then we were silent, listening to the soft sounds of the last of Betsy’s milk filling the bucket.
“When I started teaching you,” Sister Allred continued, “I thought that maybe I’d be helping prepare some missionaries, after all.”
No one said a word until I asked, “Sister Allred, why did you say today was a special day for you?”
She smiled. “Today is Todd’s birthday. He would have been nineteen.”
“So that’s why you wanted to be a good missionary to that mean old lady?” asked Tony.
Brian burst out, “Mrs. Tillman isn’t mean. She sat and talked to us and gave me hot biscuits and honey.”
My stomach growled.
“Best of all,” he added, “she’s going to church with us this Sunday.”
“She is?” we chorused.
Sister Allred chuckled. “I tried to give her the Book of Mormon, but I was too late. She read it a long time ago. She’s thought about going to church but has never wanted to go by herself.”
“So how did she get a Book of Mormon?” I said.
Sister Allred got a strange misty look in her eyes. “All these years, I didn’t know—Todd gave her one when he was only nine years old.”
My breath caught in my throat. I patted Betsy and looked down at her fresh, warm milk brimming in the bucket. I wondered if I could learn to milk as well as Todd. Most of all, I wanted to gain a strong testimony of the Church so that I could be a good missionary too.

Manuel lifted the clean white cloth and counted the fresh tortillas in the woven basket he carried in his hand. There were still two dozen left. Grandma had told him if he didn’t sell all of them, there wouldn’t be enough money for cornmeal and beans next week.
Manuel had been to all of the houses in the village except that of the pretty young señorita who had just moved into the house across the street from where he now stood. He’d gone there on his rounds the day before, but she had told him she was busy.
“Should I try to sell her some tortillas again today?” Manuel asked himself. “Or should I just go back and tell Grandma no one else would buy the rest of her tortillas?”
He stood undecided, shuffling his bare feet in the soft dirt and staring soberly at the house across the street. Finally Manuel turned and started slowly toward the small adobe hut where he lived with his grandmother and little sister, Lupe.
As Manuel walked, he thought about how disappointed his grandmother would be when he returned without selling all her tortillas. Suddenly he stopped. I’ll go backto the new señorita’s home, he decided. Perhaps today she’ll buy some.
Quickly Manuel retraced his steps and went up the flagstone pathway that led to the little house.
He rapped lightly on the door and waited a few minutes until the young señorita opened it. She was even prettier than he remembered, and somehow she looked kinder too.
She smiled at Manuel and asked, “What do you want, little boy?”
“I sell tortillas,” Manuel replied, holding the basket out toward her. “Would you like some?”
“No, I don’t think so,” she answered.
“They are very good,” Manuel said quickly. “They’re fresh today.”
Seeing the small boy’s expression of disappointment, the young woman hesitated.
Manuel became very conscious that she was looking at his ragged shirt and pants and his bare feet. He bowed his head and started to turn away without another word.
“Wait!” she said. “What is your name?”
“Manuel,” he replied.
“I think I’ll try some of your tortillas, after all,” she smiled. “Come in while I get a pan to put them in.”
She held the door open for Manuel and then left him alone as she went into another room.
In a few moments she returned. Manuel was surprised when she uncovered his basket and put all the tortillas in a shiny pan. His smile was broad as he thought how pleased Grandma would be, for now she could buy food the family needed.
“Oh, dear!” exclaimed the señorita as she looked in her purse. “I can’t buy these from you today. I only have fifty pesos, and no change—unless you have some.”
Manuel reached into his pocket and pulled out the ten pesos he carried. “This is all I have, Señorita.”
“I can’t buy them today then,” she said as she began to put the tortillas back in his basket.
Manuel’s face fell. “Wait, please!” he said. “I’ll take your money to the market and get it changed.”
“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” said the señorita, shaking her head and looking doubtful.
“Please,” Manuel said quickly. “I’ll bring it right back.”
The señorita looked down at the boy and slowly shook her head again.
Manuel blinked to hide the tears that filled his eyes, but one escaped and rolled down his cheek. He turned and wiped it away with his sleeve as he started to walk away.
The señorita suddenly felt uncomfortable and ashamed.
“Come back, please,” she called. “I know I can trust you. Go get the change for me, and I’ll keep your tortillas here until you come back.”
“Gracias, Señorita!” cried Manuel as he ran from the house.
Manuel’s bare feet slapped in the soft dirt as he hurried toward the village market. But gradually he slowed to a walk and examined the bill he held tightly in his hand. As he looked, he thought of Lupe’s big brown eyes when she stood in front of the jars of candy in the market. He knew how much she wanted some. He also remembered how hard Grandma worked to make the tortillas to sell.
Suddenly Manuel began to wonder if he should keep the money. It was enough to pay for the tortillas he had left behind. There would be enough left over to buy food for many days and even some sweets for Lupe at the market.
Then he remembered the señorita’s words, “I know I can trust you.” Besides, he had given her his word, and Grandma had often told him no person is good unless his word is good too. Suddenly he wanted very much for the señorita to like him and trust him just as Grandma and Lupe trusted him.
He quickly changed the fifty pesos and then ran back to the señorita’s home.
“Come in, Manuel,” she said as she opened the door. “I knew you’d come back.”
“Here is your money,” he said, giving her a handful of bills.
She counted out the money she owed for the tortillas and then gave him an extra peso. “This is yours for going to the market for me.”
“Gracias, Señorita,” said Manuel, his eyes lighting with pleasure. “You are very good to me.”
She ruffled his hair. “How would you like to work for me? I need someone I can trust to run errands and help me around my yard.”
A broad grin spread over Manuel’s face as he picked up the basket. “Si, Señorita. I’d be happy to work for you. I will work very hard too!”
“I’m sure you will,” replied the woman. “Come back tomorrow, and there’ll be many things you can help me do.”
“I’ll come back,” he promised.
As Manuel ran home, his heart sang and he whistled a happy tune. He could hardly wait to tell Grandma about his wonderful new job!

Grandma came to visit when Dad took Momma to the hospital to have the new baby. Since I’m the oldest, I knew I could help Grandma a lot. I showed her where the plates and glasses went and which blankie Susie needed for her nap. I told her that Annie preferred cheese sandwiches to peanut butter and jelly. I helped set the table and clean up the dirty dishes.
“Joshua, you are so helpful,” Grandma said.
After dinner, Grandma read stories from Susie and Annie’s fairy-tale books. Then she let me pick out some stories from my favorite dinosaur books.
“I never get tired of reading about brontosauruses, tyrannosauruses, and triceratops,” Grandma said. “And that reminds me of something.” Grandma walked over to her suitcase and opened it. She pulled out a fossil with the print of a leaf preserved in a rock. “I found this on the farm,” she said, handing it to me.
At bedtime, Grandma helped us read the scriptures before family prayer.
In the morning, Dad called to say he was bringing Momma and our new baby home. We all hurried to finish up our chores. My sisters and I stacked the toys in the toy box and washed and dried the dishes. Grandma mopped and vacuumed floors and finished folding the clothes she had washed.
We were getting tired after all our work. Grandma sat down on the bed and picked up a pillow to fluff it up. Suddenly the seam on one side of the pillow split open, and feathers scattered everywhere. Grandma tried to stuff the feathers back in, but they flew around her like a blizzard of snow. Susie and Annie squealed and ran through the storm of feathers. I forgot I was supposed to be helping and joined in, sending more feathers swirling across the floor.
Grandma grabbed a broom and dustpan, but sweeping only scattered the feathers more. Grandma sank into a chair and wiped her forehead with her handkerchief.
I stopped running and looked at Grandma. She had worked so hard, and now Momma would come home to a big mess. I stopped galloping around and told Susie and Annie we needed to help Grandma clean up. I found a large paper bag, and we started gathering up handfuls, but feathers still littered the room.
I got the vacuum and turned it on. Whoosh! The vacuum sucked up feathers like fall leaves swirling into a leaf catcher. Then my sisters and I went out on the porch and plucked feathers out of our hair.
Grandma looked relieved. “Thank you, Joshua,” she said. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
When Momma arrived home, we crowded around to hug her.
“Did the neighbors’ chickens escape from their henhouse?” she asked. “I saw a few feathers on the porch.”
Grandma and I looked at each other and laughed as we all went to meet the new baby brother Dad was holding in a bundle of blankets.

Lloyd, who is now studying law at Northern Illinois University in De Kalb, was not surprised by his father’s call as a General Authority. “All through his life he’s been very close to the Spirit.” One night Lloyd had asked to use the car to go to a party. He was getting ready to back out of the driveway when his father came out and asked him not to go, explaining that he felt impressed that it would not be wise. They learned later that another car had rolled off the road Lloyd would have taken, and felt the impression must have been a warning.

One Saturday a schoolteacher knocked on our door to talk to my father about my nephew. I found myself looking at a book he held, A Marvelous Work and a Wonder. Seeing my interest, he offered to leave the book. He also said I could attend a study group.
I spent almost the whole night scanning the book, stopping to take notes whenever I came across something new. Although I did not fully understand the doctrine, I felt no doubt about its truthfulness. I had a feeling of joy—as if I were discovering a genuine gem among thousands of imitations.
The next evening I joined five other people in a study group at the home of Mr. Kasongo. He had been doing research when he came across a book about American churches. “My heart pounded as I read the name of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” he said. After writing to the Church’s headquarters, he received some literature—including A Marvelous Work and a Wonder by Elder LeGrand Richards (1886–1983) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
For two years, our group met twice a week. When missionaries, Elder Roger L. and Sister Simonne B. Dock, arrived in March 1987, 50 people were studying together.
The Docks began teaching the missionary discussions in French in the public school. Because some people spoke only Swahili, I interpreted. I heard the missionary discussions for the first time myself while interpreting.
On 9 May 1987 I was one of 80 people baptized in a pool at an abandoned copper mine. For me, baptism was an outer confirmation of an inner conversion that had taken place years earlier. I had been waiting for this sacred ordinance so I could officially become a member of the Church.
I have received so many blessings—among them the time I spent translating for couple missionaries. They are as dedicated as if the Master Himself were physically beside them.
I thank my Heavenly Father for these rich experiences and for the opportunity my wife, Jolie Mwenze, and I have to raise our son in the Church. And particularly I thank Him for sending me the gospel—a gem beyond price.