Gospel Story Finder

Mari and Jorma realized they were going counter to Finnish culture and tradition when they joined the Church. Yet they changed course in life and never looked back.

Mari and Jorma Alakoski know the road of conversion. In the years since joining the Church in their native Finland, they have served in various capacities, including Mari’s calling as an assistant temple matron and Jorma’s calling as counselor in the first temple presidency of the Helsinki Finland Temple.

But like many converts, they had to fight for their faith. When missionaries met them, a testimony didn’t come as easily to Mari as it did to her husband. At first, she was uncomfortable with the Book of Mormon and pushed it away by touching it as little as possible with only the tip of a finger.

Later, when she saw tears streaming down the cheeks of her husband while he read the Book of Mormon, she thought to herself, “If this book touches him so deeply, it must be valuable.”

Her resistance gradually softened, and she began her quest for truth. In time, she too shed tears when reading the Book of Mormon.

Mari and Jorma realized they were going counter to culture and tradition when they joined the Church. Yet they abruptly changed course in life and never looked back. “The Church brought great contentment into our lives. I almost think that everything was too good to be true. We were received very kindly in the congregation,” Mari says.

“A lot of new things suddenly came into our lives,” she says. Sundays were no longer leisure times but packed with Church meetings, which were held three times throughout the Sabbath day at that time. “This required dressing the children for each meeting and timing their meals and naps.”

Every day of the week required time for gospel-related activities and meetings, whether home evening, Relief Society, or Primary. “On Saturday, we prepared food and clothes for Sunday,” Mari says.

Tha Alakoskis didn’t make a grand announcement when they joined the Church, but their family and friends gradually came to know. “Not everyone understood our decision,” Mari recalls. “A few friends stopped talking to us. But that was a small price to pay for all the precious things that came into our lives. Nothing and no one could influence us to abandon the Church. My father, after learning about our conversion, settled any discord when he said, ‘Let them do as they see fit. They are grown people. They know what they want to do.’”

In time, the couple desired to be sealed. They planned, sacrificed, and traveled two days by bus and one night by ship through Sweden and Germany. They finally arrived at the Bern Switzerland Temple, the only temple in Europe at the time.

The Alakoskis are an example of those who receive a witness of the gospel and forge ahead, much like Nephi, not knowing everything beforehand but following the Spirit (see 1 Nephi 4:6). They took cues from fellow members to learn the doctrine and how to apply the gospel to their lives. When they didn’t know something, they studied or asked for more direction.

Mrs. Burton always makes the VIP announcement at school the very last thing on Friday afternoon. “VIP” means very important person, and you have to turn in all your work and be a really good citizen all week long if you want to be the VIP.
I thought I would explode when she said, “Our VIP for next week is Margie Martin.” Me! I was VIP! My face must have turned as red as my hair when she said that. Everyone looked at me, my best friend, Susan, grinned at me, and I felt great.
The VIP of the week gets to be class leader and has lots of responsibilities. On Monday morning I got to school early, just in case Mrs. Burton had any special jobs for me to do. As I went to hang up my jacket and put my lunch box in the back of the classroom, I saw Mrs. Burton talking to a new boy. He didn’t look like much. His hair stood up in back like a rooster’s tail, and he almost didn’t have a chin. He was wearing faded jeans and a plaid shirt, and his sneakers were all holey. Besides looking kind of grubby, he looked mad.
I stood by my desk and waited for Mrs. Burton to notice me.
She saw me and said, “Margie, I’m glad you’re here early today. This is Delbert Wiggins. He’s new to our school, and since you are this week’s VIP, he is your responsibility.”
“Hi,” I said.
Delbert Wiggins didn’t say anything. He just looked at the floor.
“First,” said Mrs. Burton, “please take Delbert around the school. Show him where the cafeteria and the rest rooms are. The bell will ring soon, so hurry back. We have a lot to do today.” She started listing assignments on the chalkboard.
“Come on, Delbert,” I said, trying to sound friendly.
We started down the hall, and Delbert muttered, “There’s no way I’m going to be your responsibility!”
“What?” I asked.
He stopped and glared at me. “I said I’m not your responsibility. I’m going outside, so buzz off, hotshot.”
“But I have to show you the cafeteria and—”
“No way. Get lost.” He looked around, and when he saw the exit door at the end of the hallway, he ran for it.
“Wait!” I yelled. “You’re not supposed to run in the halls.”
But he went out that door like a horse bolting. I stood there a minute, then went back to the classroom.
Mrs. Burton was still writing on the chalkboard. She saw me and asked, “Where’s Delbert?”
I felt terrible. I had failed my first job as VIP. “He said he wouldn’t be my responsibility, and he went outside.”
“All right, Margie,” said Mrs. Burton, sitting at her desk and scribbling a note. “Thank you for trying. Please take this message to the office. Wait for an answer, then hurry back. It’s almost time for the bell.”
I got back to class just as the bell rang. And there was Delbert Wiggins in the desk behind mine! Being VIP isn’t so wonderful after all, I thought. I put the note from the office on Mrs. Burton’s desk and sat down without looking at Delbert.
Mrs. Burton introduced him to the class. Then she announced, “Today we will have the classroom spelling bee to determine who will represent the fifth grade in the school spelling bee on Friday. I hope you’ll all do your best. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the fifth grade won? It’s never happened before.”
Susan raised her hand. “Mrs. Burton,” she said, “why don’t we save time and choose Margie? She’s the best speller in the class.”
“The rules say that there has to be a classroom spelling bee, Susan. Everyone, stand, please. If you miss a word, sit down.”
We spelled words for nearly an hour, and finally everyone was sitting down except—Delbert Wiggins! He beat me, I thought. And just because I mixed up the e and the i in foreign. I felt sick. This awful, new boy was going to represent the fifth grade on Friday!
Well, it was a terrible week. Delbert wouldn’t be my responsibility. He wouldn’t let me help him study the spelling list for Friday. Every time I tried to help him, he said, “Buzz off, get lost.” He called me “birdbrain” because my last name is Martin, and he made fun of my red hair.
Finally I got mad. I stamped my foot and yelled at him, “All right—I’ll get lost. But I hope you lose! You don’t deserve to win!” Then I went to the girl’s rest room and hid in a stall and cried.
On Friday the whole school was in the auditorium for the spelling bee. It lasted forever. But for the first time, the fifth grade won! That Delbert Wiggins spelled down everyone, even the eighth-graders!
Our class went wild. Everyone crowded around Delbert as if he was a movie star, and said things like, “You’re really great!” “Terrific job!” “Boy, can you spell!” Everyone but me. I just stood against the wall and watched. I thought, I won’t tell him he’s great. I’m no fan of his.
“Margie,” said a quiet voice beside me. It was Mrs. Burton. “I expect it’s hard for you, but try to be a good sport. Maybe this success will help Delbert to be a nicer person.”
Ha! I thought. But all I said was, “I don’t think it will.”
After a minute I had another thought. I asked, “Am I still responsible for him?”
“Till the new VIP is announced,” said Mrs. Burton.
“OK,” I said. I took a deep breath and squared up my shoulders the way I do when I have to give a speech in class. I went over to where the kids were still bunched around Delbert, and pushed my way through them till I was in front of him. I said, “Congratulations. You did a good job.”
He looked surprised. His face got all pink. He rubbed his hand over his hair. Then he scowled and said, “Thanks.” He looked at the floor and turned away a little bit, then sort of looked sideways at me. And he smiled! “Thanks,” he repeated.
“You’re welcome,” I said. And for the first time since becoming responsible for Delbert Wiggins, I was glad I got to be VIP.

One of my first experiences in being restrained by the Spirit came soon after I was called as a counselor in a stake presidency in Chicago. In one of our first stake presidency meetings our stake president made a proposal that our new stake center be built in a particular location. I immediately saw four or five good reasons why that was the wrong location. When asked for my counsel, I opposed the proposal, giving each of those reasons. The stake president wisely proposed that each of us consider the matter prayerfully for a week and discuss it further in our next meeting. Almost perfunctorily I prayed about the subject and immediately received a strong impression that I was wrong, that I was standing in the way of the Lord’s will, and that I should remove myself from opposition to it. Needless to say, I was restrained and promptly gave my approval to the proposed construction. Incidentally, the wisdom of constructing the stake center at that location was soon evident, even to me. My reasons to the contrary turned out to be short-sighted, and I was soon grateful to have been restrained from relying on them.

This year marks the 175th anniversary of the arrival of the early pioneers to the Salt Lake Valley, which has caused me to reflect on my ancestors, some of whom walked from Nauvoo to the Salt Lake Valley. I have great-grandparents who walked the plains in their youth. Henry Ballard was 20 years old; Margaret McNeil was 13; and Joseph F. Smith, who later became the sixth President of the Church, was just 9 when he arrived in the Salt Lake Valley.
They faced deprivations of every kind along the trail, such as cold winters, illness, and lack of adequate food and clothing. For instance, when Henry Ballard entered the Salt Lake Valley, he rejoiced in seeing the “Promised Land” but lived in fear that someone might see him because the clothing he was wearing was so worn out that it did not completely cover his body. He hid himself behind bushes all day until after dark. He then went to a house and begged for clothing so that he could continue his journey and locate his parents. He was thankful to God that he had reached his future home in safety.

Ben Harrott from the Oldham Ward, Ashton Stake, was singled out from more than 4,000 entries to claim the title of RSPCA Young Photographer of the Year in this annual and prestigious competition which has been running for 32 years.
The event was held at the Tower of London, where Ben, along with his father, were invited to receive his award from one of the judges, Chris Packham of television fame.
Ben entered the 16–18 age group, where he won both the runners-up and winner’s certificate for his pictures. His picture of a shy mountain hare was awarded overall winner.
The judges said they chose Ben’s shot because they were impressed by his ability to capture this rare encounter with such a shy animal, as well as the “bravery of the near abstract composition”.
Chris Packham added “Ben Harrott’s stunning picture of a mountain hare really stood out. Ben is a really worthy winner.”
News of his award was printed alongside the winning picture in national and local newspapers, various magazines and was announced on local TV news.

I guess I’d have to say that it all started with a bad attitude. When I was about ten years old, I formed the opinion that most people around me weren’t as “good” as they seemed to think they were. This feeling of disillusionment grew as I grew.
While there were other youth in the ward, even others my age, who enjoyed church and got something out of it, my friends and I became the group that went through a Sunday School teacher every month and were proud of it.
The members of the ward really didn’t approve of our attitude toward them and toward life, and some of them just gave up on us. Some did not. We had a very patient bishop and some great leaders. Most of them, however, we considered hypocrites, and we used their perceived weaknesses as an excuse for our own.
In junior high, this same group excelled in scholarship, athletics, and popularity. We had a lot of fun and decided we didn’t need and didn’t want the Church. When “forced” to enroll in seminary, most of us managed to get ourselves kicked out before too long.
We didn’t really give in to peer pressure—we exerted it. We were among the first of our age group to start drinking. We were the first to smoke pot and experiment with other drugs. We saw the chance to make some money in it, and so involved others to increase our own profits by dealing drugs. We were living high. Immorality also became a goal in our minds.
Some of my friends resisted. They said we were stupid, that there was no way they’d get involved. But by the time we got out of high school a few years ago, only one had stayed straight. He took a lot of verbal abuse and pressure, but he did it. I have more respect for him than for any other guy my age.
We were the leading partygoers all through school. The scriptures say, “Ye shall know them by their fruits” (Matt. 7:16). I don’t know all the fruits of our behavior, and I’m thankful for that. I do know many of them, though. Many of my friends that I grew up with, even some honor students, leaders, and athletes, dropped out of school. One committed suicide. Most have spent time in court, and some in jail, for a variety of things. I knew a lot of girls who had babies or abortions while in high school. Some went into prostitution.
I quit taking drugs when I had some serious health problems. I almost died a few times—many times actually, both from overdosing on drugs and driving while my senses were gone. One night I was bored, so I took everything I could find and then sat there and watched TV while my pulse dropped to 20 beats per minute. I forced myself to stay awake, because I felt that if I went to sleep I wouldn’t wake up.
In order to straighten myself out, I had to leave my friends. Afterwards I tried to help them quit too. A few of my old friends came with me, but most really didn’t care anymore.
After I quit drugs, I went way overboard with alcohol, and can honestly say I was a high school alcoholic. When I decided I wanted to quit, I couldn’t, on my own. I didn’t care enough about myself to do what I knew I needed to do.
Then I became close friends with a good, active LDS girl. She couldn’t understand what I was going through, but she did know I was honestly trying to get out of the hole I was in. It hurt her when I slipped back. I finally quit drinking because I knew it hurt her, and I knew I wouldn’t lie to her.
Keeping my morals straight was so hard under my weakened condition that I avoided any social contacts with girls except as good friends like this one.
I hadn’t prayed for years, but I finally had to go to my knees. I was afraid to, because I knew my guilt. That first time, honestly wanting to change and repent, was the biggest turning point in my life.
I tried to pray, but I couldn’t. I started to cry, the first time in years, and I felt like I was being torn apart inside. I fell over, still in a kneeling position, and my body went into convulsions. I kept praying in my mind, “Please help me!”
I almost blacked out. Then the physical pain passed, and I just lay there crying. I had a long way to go, but I knew that the first step was the hardest. I didn’t understand the Atonement, but the feeling of peace and comfort that engulfed me left no doubt that it was real.
There was a lot more. You see, chemicals that are used to cover or bury emotions tend to cripple a person emotionally, because you stop growing. I recovered pretty well physically and mentally. I started progressing spiritually. But emotionally I was a mess. The girl who helped me so much for so long didn’t understand that, and I lost her as a friend while trying to overcome the scars of the past. She saw the outward changes and thought that was the hard part. The hardest struggle was inside me, emotionally. My pride was a fierce adversary, and the painful memories sometimes dropped me down into depression.
I still have a long way to go, and a lot of work to do. I am now trying to help other people with similar problems. It has taken a few years so far to get to where I am, and I’ve done a lot of fasting and praying. When I look back, the memories hurt. I know now that we learn through experience, from our successes and our mistakes. I just wish I could have learned more without the burdens and scars that came with my method of learning—mostly from my mistakes.
I put myself through a lot of pain, and it kills me inside to see others following me. Young men, young women, think about yourselves and your friends. Before you give in to temptation—and believe me, pride and a bad attitude are temptations—think about the effect your actions will have on others, and on yourself in the years to come.
It is always possible to repent and come back. But it is so much better not to begin. Please, please, don’t give in. You will never regret staying pure, keeping the Word of Wisdom, coming home on time—the rules are there for a reason. I have seen the results of ignoring the rules, of saying, “That won’t happen to me.” My friends and I knew that no matter how clean a girl was morally, if we could get her drunk or stoned, she would eventually give in.
The first step down is the easiest, and the first step back is the hardest. When you’re on your way down, there are a lot of people who are eager to help you, but the farther down you go, the more alone you will be when and if you start back.
I have gained a strong testimony of the truth of the gospel. My fellow members are still not perfect, but I finally realized that their imperfection doesn’t make the gospel any less true. It just shows that they, too, are human.
I know the power and reality of the adversary, but now I know the power and reality of the Lord and of the priesthood, and I know that “they that be with us are more than they that be with them” (see 2 Kgs. 6:15–17).
Never be ashamed to be innocent. I envy you that. Once innocence is lost, it is gone. Please, be strong. More people than you will ever know are counting on you—your friends, family, and unborn children. Don’t let them down.

1 Heber Jeddy Grant was a tall, thin boy, and he wasn’t very strong. When the neighborhood boys played baseball, he played with the younger, slower boys because he couldn’t even throw the ball from one base to another.
2 Jeddy really wanted to play ball with the boys his own age, so he decided to do something about it. He spent many hours in his mother’s boardinghouse, shining the boarders’ boots so that he could earn enough money to buy a baseball.
3 When Jeddy had earned a dollar, he bought a baseball. Then he practiced countless hours throwing it against his neighbor’s barn.
4 Finally Jeddy’s skill improved. The boys his own age were impressed with how well he could throw a ball, and they let him play baseball with them.
5 Eventually Jeddy’s baseball team became the territory champions; they went on to beat the championship teams of California, Colorado, and Wyoming.
6 Heber Jeddy Grant learned the importance of setting a goal and then working hard until it was achieved. Many years later this ability helped him greatly when he became the seventh President of the Church.

My sisters and I asked our parents to have a family home evening about emergency preparedness. First we tried out our two-story ladder, and we got to leave the house out the upstairs window. It was a little scary, but it was fun. We talked about what to do if there really was a fire. Then my parents pretended that someone was at the door, telling us we had to evacuate and we only had 10 minutes and may not be able to go home for a few days! We ran around, trying to find our shoes and coats. My parents put our 72-hour kits and some other items in the van.
We drove around and pretended we were going to a safe place. A few minutes later we were home again. We brought our gear into the living room to see what we had. My parents realized we forgot a few things—sleeping stuff, Dad’s wallet, and extra food. We talked about things we learned and what we should do better next time. Mom made a list.
Four days later some parts of the city were flooding. During the night we were evacuated! My parents again tossed everything into the van—including the things we forgot during our practice in family home evening. We were the first to leave our neighborhood.
We drove to the church and spent the night there. It was fun! We all had sleeping bags and air mattresses and snacks and toys. My little sisters were very sad the next day when we went back home. They wanted to sleep at the church again. We were grateful my sisters and I we were inspired to have a family home evening about preparedness and that my parents listened. I’m glad we were prepared; it made the experience fun and not at all scary.

I know that from my own experience. I remember when I was a boy of 15 and we had been expelled from Mexico in the revolution. My folks went to Los Angeles from El Paso, Texas. I got a job there among a bunch of Mormon-haters, and I didn’t tell them that I was a Mormon. Sometime after that, President Joseph F. Smith came to Los Angeles and had dinner with my parents—a very humble dinner; I can remember that it was very scant. He put his hand on my head and said, “My boy, don’t ever be ashamed that you are a Mormon.”
You know, I have worried all my days that I didn’t have the courage to stand up to those ribald men.

When I returned home from my mission, my grandmother was dying of cancer. She wanted to know what would happen after this life, so I taught her the gospel. She didn’t join the Church, but I had faith that the testimony I shared with her about Heavenly Father’s love for her and about life after death would have an impact on her in the next life.
After she passed away, my family went to the temple for her. I know that because of the work we did for her in the temple, she and my grandfather can be together forever—and I can be with them! The differences that we had can be resolved by knowing the truth and having the gospel be a part of our lives.

Often the blessings come long before the end, while you’re in the service of the Lord. Jo has seen that happen many times on his mission—such as the day he met Kevin Smith.
Kevin had become interested in the Church through the fine example of a young Latter-day Saint woman in his office, and he had requested a copy of the Book of Mormon from the Blackpool Ward. Jo and his companion volunteered to deliver the scripture to him.
“At that point I wasn’t sufficiently interested in the Church to have missionaries in my home,” says Kevin, who has been confined to a wheelchair for the past sixteen years. “I had a stereotyped image of Mormon elders—tall, fresh young American lads straight out of college, wearing stylish suits, with toothpaste-advertisement smiles. I probably wouldn’t have opened the door if they had looked like that. But here were two down-to-earth people, one just as surprised as I was at the sight of a wheelchair.”
“Kevin is such a great guy,” exclaims Elder Folkett, who was surprised to find his investigator in a wheelchair. “Even before we got to his house the first time, I felt that something good would happen.”
Elder Folkett and Kevin got along well from the moment they met, and Jo baptized Kevin not long after that first discussion.

“The gospel makes evil minded men good, and good men better and women and children better than they have ever been before.”
So said the prophet David O. McKay. To illustrate I would like to share with you a conversion story. The account concerns Louis Novak, a Lutheran minister, and his wife, Alice, and their two children, Kurt and Kristin. Reverend Novak and his wife had been born, baptized, raised, confirmed, and married in the Lutheran Church. It was with a sense of pride on the part of his parents and a sense of duty on his own part that he went through two Lutheran private colleges and a Lutheran theological graduate school to become a pastor in the American Lutheran Church. For nearly fourteen years he and his wife served in the Lutheran Church and endeavored to find truth and spiritual peace. During that period, from all external appearances, they were able to attain a level of income, style of life, social stratum, and educational prestige which left little to be desired. With such stability and high approval from family, friends, and supervisors, it could be said “they had it made.” Yet they were not satisfied. They had haunting insecurity in their souls that something very basic and important was missing in their lives. They could not be satisfied.
The soul that is honest in heart must search.
In Reverend Novak’s words, “As I look back on my life and experience, I realize my dissatisfaction stemmed from a number of areas. [First] I had a deep and negative reaction to my association with my fellow pastors. The strong and seemingly overwhelming stress on church politics, self-advancement, personal glory, financial achievement, and congregational statistics made me feel that true spirituality was seriously lacking.
“[Second] I had deep theological concerns—the order of worship service seemed cold, impersonal, and unimaginative. The great stress on salvation by grace and minimization on works was to me a scriptural contradiction. On contemplating scripture I found that the ‘works’ passages far exceeded the ‘grace’ passages.
“I found myself recoiling at the indifferent reaction of my church leadership to the virgin birth, the creation, the wide acceptance and use of loose translations of scripture and the general lack of response to basic Christian morals.
“Was God really dead, or had He gone into retirement and ceased to care about His creation? Why did He sink into strange and sudden silence with the last word in the Bible?”
On September 1, 1968, Reverend Novak and his family moved to Broomfield, Colorado, where he was made pastor of the Lutheran Church of Hope, a very prestigious and desirable assignment. From all outward appearances it left nothing to be desired, but there was something desperately wrong. Something was missing: there was a feeling of spiritual hollowness in his heart and it was shared equally by his wife, Alice.
Alice was a music educator and in Broomfield she had a number of Latter-day Saint students. She could not help but notice something very special about them. She reported to her husband that she had asked one of her Mormon students if Mormons were Christian. Of course, Reverend Novak knew well the Lutheran position that Mormons were non-Christian. The little Mormon girl boldly stated that Mormons most definitely were Christian.
Alice had been touched by the young girl’s testimony. Next came an invitation from the family of one of the piano students to attend the Broomfield Ward open house. The young student’s family had resisted because they did not think it appropriate to send such an invitation to a Lutheran pastor. But this little girl persisted to the point that the parents reluctantly consented.
On the appointed day Alice was unavailable to attend the open house and Reverend Novak was hosting a regional meeting of the Lutheran Church of Hope. As the time for the open house arrived he had a strange and overpowering urge to leave the Lutheran meeting and attend. He yielded.
As he entered the Latter-day Saint chapel he said he was met by a friendly and concerned gentleman who talked with him and stayed by his side for fully two hours, answering questions, and “just being supportive.”
The Reverend continues, “As the program began, a member of the Seventies made a presentation on the doctrine of the Church which I am sure was inspired by the Holy Spirit. I shall never forget it. From the chapel we were led to the baptismal font by a young priest who explained baptism according to the theology of the Latter-day Saints. This mature presentation by such a young man made a great impression, because I had seriously questioned the Lutheran theology of baptism for years. I sensed that what this young man said was true.
“We then went to the Relief Society room where we were given a beautiful and intelligent presentation. To hear a lovely woman give such a positive and strong testimony was heartwarming to me. We were then ushered into a seminary room to view the film Christ in America. I could hardly contain my excitement as so many of my questions regarding church history were suddenly answered.
“I was currently pursuing a doctorate in religion. Here I was, my doctorate nearly complete and the answers to my quest for the truth coming in the Latter-day Saint chapel! It was probably at this time, at the culmination of so much presented so well, that I was actually converted. I knew that this had to be the true church. My heart was ready but how could I become a part of it all? How hard it is to give up physical security and comfortable tradition. I purchased a Book of Mormon that day and went home elated. I remember telling Alice later, ‘There is something special there. I really felt good at that church. They have something I have never known before.’
“The summer of 1974, after I had received my doctorate, I was in spiritual turmoil. The ward open house remained a haunting reminder that something better was available. One evening the mother of one of the Mormon students called regarding a musical question. For the first time I bared my spiritual turmoil to a patient and understanding ear.
“Not long after this our family was invited to their family home evening. We came away so warmed; yet how impossible it seemed for us to make such a change. My job, security, comfortable life, social standing, family ties, house, pension—it all flooded through my mind. Yet how does one in the name of Jesus Christ preach and teach that which he knows is not true?
“Finally in the fall of 1974, although things were still going well at my parish, I knew in my heart that a change was necessary. I knew I was spiritually starved and I was even more concerned for the spiritual malnutrition of my family.
“And so it was that on October 25, 1974, an especially beautiful day in Colorado, as I left the University of Denver where I was pursuing a second doctorate, a strange and overpowering urge came upon me to go to the Colorado Mission home. I had memorized the address long before and so, although I had many other pressing matters on my agenda, my automobile seemed to refuse to go anywhere except to 709 Clarkson Street. I kept telling myself I merely wanted to drive by to see what the mission home looked like.
“I remember, however, that I did stop the car in front of the house, my intention being only to look the place over from the outside. I remember sitting there for a moment intending not to shut off the engine. But somehow the engine did shut off and I sat there and looked at my watch. It was noon—12:35 p.m.—and I told myself it was inappropriate to call on anyone during the lunch hour. But I remember getting out of the car. I remember standing on the sidewalk at the base of the steps thinking, ‘This is a nice place and I’ll just turn around now and go back to the car. I have no business here. After all, I am a Lutheran pastor.’
“But instead I labored up those steps. I must have rung the buzzer because the door opened. There stood a bright-eyed missionary. He invited me in. I said, ‘I really shouldn’t be here today. Besides, it’s lunch hour.’ He said, ‘We are through eating.’
“I almost panicked. Why was I here? How could I get out of this one? So I said, ‘I want you to know something. I am a Lutheran pastor and I’m here because I’m interested in all the world religions. So I thought I’d stop by and see what the Mormons are all about. I don’t want to take too much of your time because it is the noon hour.’ The young man explained again, ‘We are through eating.’ One thing led to another; all the while I was reminding them that I was a minister of the gospel and, therefore, not a good prospect.
“Somehow we spent an hour or two. I apologized upon leaving that I had taken so much time and wished them well, reminding them again that I was a Lutheran pastor and therefore not a prospect. As I drove away I had a warm feeling in my heart and yet a nagging fear that these good missionaries just might believe that I wasn’t a prospect!
“One day later the bright-eyed missionary telephoned me at my office in the Lutheran Church of Hope, of all places! How glad I was he called! During the conversation he asked if he and his companion could come over and meet my family. The next evening two missionaries came to our home and the process of our conversion continued to develop step by step, logically and without hesitation. On January 25, 1975, three months and five hours exactly from the time I rang the door bell at the Colorado Mission home, our family entered the waters of baptism at the Broomfield Ward Chapel. After half a lifetime of searching, finally our joy was full.
“Kurt and Kristin relished the new challenge and associations of the Church. They grew and matured beautifully. It was a joy to see them blossom as they learned the ways of Christ’s true church on earth. Alice and I equally relished the joy of having found the truth. Our hearts were finally at peace.”

President Nelson told about how he operated on a baby patient who died. He went home and cried and said he would never do another heart operation. His wife helped him go back to work and keep learning. Eventually he was able to save President Kimball’s life because he had learned enough about heart surgery. The moral of this true story is, “Don’t give up!” Sometimes I want to give up, but I’m going to keep trying, like President Nelson.
Thomas T., age 8, Washington, D.C., USA

Not long ago I woke up and prepared to study the scriptures. I picked up my smartphone and sat in a chair next to my bed with the intention of opening the Gospel Library app. I unlocked my phone and was just about to begin studying when I saw a half dozen notifications for text messages and emails that had come during the night. I thought, “I’ll quickly check those messages, and then I’ll get right to the scriptures.” Well, two hours later I was still reading text messages, emails, news briefs, and social media posts. When I realized what time it was, I frantically rushed to get ready for the day. That morning I missed my scripture study, and consequently I didn’t get the spiritual nourishment I was hoping for.

When you have talent, people sometimes tell you it will take you straight to the top. But in Joselén Cabrera’s case, her talent took her all the way to the bottom of the world—Antarctica. And along the way she learned that worthy dreams are worth pursuing, and with those dreams there will be people to help when they are needed.
When she was 14, Joselén won a drawing contest sponsored by the Asociación Civil Antarkos in her native country, Uruguay. The prize: a trip to Antarctica for her and her schoolteacher, with a group of other students and teachers. Her father and the woman who taught her art helped show Joselén how to finish the drawing she had envisioned.
Her trip was an exciting three-stage journey: first, a military transport flight from Montevideo, Uruguay, to Punta Arenas, Chile, then an overwater flight to the Chilean base in Antarctica, followed by an overland trip to the Uruguayan outpost, Artigas Antarctica Scientific Base, some 3,000 kilometers from Montevideo. Several nations have scientific bases clustered on King George Island off the coast of Antarctica.
Joselén’s drawing and her account of her trip were featured in a national magazine, Uruguay Natural.
Antarctica was not quite the way she had imagined it, Joselén says, smiling. Her drawing showed penguins and ice. It was summer when she visited—snow in patches on barren ground and few penguins. But that gave her the opportunity to see a few more of the sights. She enjoyed hiking along the coast, where she saw Collins Glacier, the Drake Passage, and Lake Uruguay, from which her country’s base draws fresh water. She was also able to visit other bases.
The trip was a dream come true for Joselén, who is now 19 and a member of the Colonia Suiza Branch, Colonia Uruguay District. Since the trip, she has made other dreams come true as well. One of those was to complete her Personal Progress experiences and receive her Young Womanhood Recognition. Joselén wears her medallion, she says, so that she will remember what she has achieved and what she can become as a daughter of God. Now that Joselén has finished her secondary schooling, she plans to study architecture at the university level.

I knew a faithful mother who humbled herself and asked, “What is keeping me from progressing?” In her case, the response from the Spirit came immediately: “Stop complaining.” This answer surprised her; she had never thought of herself as a complainer. However, the message from the Holy Ghost was very clear. In the days that followed, she became conscious of her habit of complaining. Grateful for the prompting to improve, she determined to count her blessings instead of her challenges. Within days, she felt the warm approval of the Spirit.

“Water for life” reads a large sign fastened to the side of Sataua Primary School on the Samoan island of Savai’i.
Those are words many Pacific Islanders understand all too well as they’re often faced with the reality of little to no fresh water for drinking, cooking, or bathing.
They are also words Elder Brian and Sister Lori Bott understand all too well. As a senior missionary couple serving in Samoa, they frequently encounter families, schools, and entire villages that struggle to find and have enough clean water.
With the Botts’ help, that all recently changed for a school and several villages on Savai’i.
It was there that the Vaisigano Second District, the Samoan Ministry of Health, and The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints came together to provide two 10,000-litre water tanks for Sataua Primary School, and an additional 206 2,000-litre water tanks for homes in the surrounding villages of Fagasa, Sataua, and Papa Sataua.
That means approximately 900 villagers and 1,000 students now have a reliable source of clean water.
“For a school, the ability to capture and store this water is the difference between staying open and closing down,” said Elder Bott.
“Water is part of it, but anything to do with the health or education of the Samoan people and to let them know of God’s love for them—that’s what we’re about,” said Sister Bott.
As humanitarian missionaries, that’s their objective every day and especially each time they take the one-hour ferry ride from the island of Upolu to Savai’i.
Sometimes that love means classroom desks so students can sit and have a surface to write on or shelves to make library books more accessible. At other times it means having floor tiles installed to make school rooms more sanitary and easier to clean.
This time it was the Botts joining with school and village leaders to cut a violet ribbon wrapped around 20,000 litres of water.
“We know how important it is to have clean water, and we feel so blessed to be just a small, small, little part of the Church’s efforts to bring water—to bring blessings to the people of Samoa,” said Elder Bott.

I learned as a young high school athlete that rules sometimes are more important than winning. I guess I have shared this experience a time or two around the Church, but I remember when I went in to sign up for varsity baseball. I was 15 years old. I went over to the gym where the head coach was officed. Scared to death, butterflies in my stomach, I knocked on his door. “Come in,” was the reply, and I walked in. He said, “What can I do for you, young man?”

I said, “Where do you sign up for varsity baseball?”

My coach made a very interesting observation. He said, “Do you want to play ball, or do you want to be a champion?” Well, that was kind of crazy. I wanted to play ball.

I said, “I came to play baseball.”

“Well,” he said, “we’re all filled up. Thank you.” And he excused me.

I went out, and he shut the door. There was a drinking fountain there, and I took a drink of water and thought, “Well, now, what’s that all about?”

Fortunately I had the stamina to knock on the door again. He said, “Come in.” I walked in.

I said, “I want to sign up for varsity baseball.”

He said, “I asked you a question. Do you want to play ball or do you want to be a champion?”

Finally it sank in. I said, “I want to be a champion.”

“Oh,” he said. “Then sign here.” He said, “At this school we build champions. We don’t play ball.” There’s a difference I have learned.

Well, the year went on, and somehow I made the team and had some great and glorious experiences. As we came down to the final innings of the season, Fairfax High (our archrival) and Hollywood (which I represented) ended in a dead heat—a tie. There would be a one-game playoff on Friday afternoon on our home field.

Thursday afternoon our coach got us all out on the ball field. We were standing around him, as players do with their coaches, and he was giving us some instruction, fired-up enthusiasm, motivation. Then he turned and said, “Paul, you’ll pitch tomorrow.” I was thrilled but scared.

I want to give you a little flashback. This was an interesting coach, not a member of the Church, but a man who had seen in contests the great ability to build youth. He had each boy on his team sign a contract, not a professional contract, but a contract of rules and regulations. There were some thou shalts and thou shalt nots, and one of them had to do with the Word of Wisdom, although he had never heard of it. He said, “Now, if you’re going to play ball for me, you’ll play according to the rules. Is that understood?”

And I said, “Yes, sir,” as did all the other players. So we signed our contracts, and he kept them on file, and occasionally he would remind us.

Well, as he was giving his pep talk, our all-star second baseman was standing in the circle with his hands on his hips. When the coach made a pass, he stopped and he did a double take. “Jimmy,” he said, “is that a nicotine stain on your finger?” Jimmy put out his hand.

He said, “Yes, sir.”

Then he said, “Well, don’t you know the rule?”

“Well, yes, sir.”

“Did you sign a contract with me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you know the penalty?”

“Yes, sir.” And this was being said in front of the whole team.

He said, “You’ve lost your privilege. Turn in your uniform.

I almost shouted, but I didn’t, “Coach, wait till tomorrow! We’ve got a game.”

Jimmy was batting .380 and as a second baseman had not made an error in league play. And he now had to turn in his uniform. Our coach was the kind of person who kept close to the boys, even when he disciplined them. He didn’t lose him, but he wouldn’t let him play.

The next day I drew the assignment to pitch. The game went into extra innings, and they beat us one to nothing in the top of the 13th. Do you know how it happened? A ground ball was hit to second, and the ball went through the substitute’s legs, and that proved to be the winning run. Well, I went home that night and literally cried myself to sleep because I wanted to win. You see, I hate to lose.

Well, that was many years ago. I thank God this day for a great man, a great coach, who taught me that playing according to the rules was more important than winning.

Anisberto meant to be careful cutting the sugarcane, but somehow his big machete slipped. When the Perez family saw their nine-year-old son’s wound, they were frightened and took him to the missionaries for help.
The tip of Anisberto’s finger was almost cut off, and Elder McClellan and his companion struggled for more than three hours before they could stop the bleeding. The missionaries knew that Anisberto needed a doctor, but there was no medical help on the small island in the Caribbean Sea.
At first, flying to the mainland seemed a frightening experience to Anisberto. But when Elder McClellan said he would go too, the boy was no longer afraid.
Early the next morning a dugout canoe took the Indian boy and his missionary friend to meet the plane. Before leaving the island, they offered a special prayer and asked our Father in heaven to protect them as they traveled.
The plane was crowded when it arrived on the island, so Elder McClellan held Anisberto on his lap.
The sandy landing strip was soft from the night’s rain, making it difficult to reach takeoff speed. At the end of the runway the pilot lifted the plane sharply, but the slow speed dragged it back down. Windows shattered as the aircraft crashed into the ocean!
A wing near Anisberto collapsed. Water, broken glass, and panic filled the cabin as Anisberto wiggled free from the seat belt and swam out the opposite side. Elder McClellan was forced underwater, but finally he too was able to swim out through a broken window. He found Anisberto treading water.
Sensing that the plane could not stay afloat much longer, Elder McClellan took hold of Anisberto and started to swim back to the island, calling to the other passengers to follow. Just as the plane sunk out of sight, boats arrived and picked up the tired swimmers. Soon everyone was safely back on shore.
Anisberto’s family greeted the two travelers calmly. “We knew the Lord would save you,” they explained.
They also knew Anisberto still needed to see a doctor. So a boat was found and hours later, after a chilly ride, the elder and the boy reached the mainland, where a doctor treated the wound.
Afterward Anisberto wondered about flying back to the island. He kept his courage, however, and agreed to fly if Elder McClellan was with him. The trip home was without accident.
Before long Anisberto was taken back to the mainland hospital, because the doctor found that his finger was not healing. A few days later Elder McClellan was also hospitalized with bronchial pneumonia. Now the two friends were together again and together they became well.
Anisberto’s experience showed him and his family that our Heavenly Father loves His children everywhere in the world.
Remembering his Indian friend, Elder McClellan says, “I still marvel at the courage and trust of young Anisberto.”

We found a house across the street from one Protestant church and a block from another, but we lived 45 minutes from the nearest LDS meetinghouse. Every Sunday, as well as a couple of times during the week, we made the trek to our meetinghouse. During those seven years, my husband served in the bishopric, and I served as Primary president and then as Young Women president.
We knew that the social life and heartbeat of small towns exist in the local churches. To be accepted, we knew we had to get involved. Our three young children soon bonded with other ward children, but we also wanted them to feel a sense of belonging to our neighborhood. We encouraged them to become involved during the week in local church activities, including family suppers on Wednesday nights at one church.
We put our son and our girls in local youth programs. Our children also attended Vacation Bible School at both nearby churches. Our girls sang in a local church youth choir; one daughter even became a soloist in the choir. Our son attended a local church youth group.
Often a visiting revival minister preached against the “Mormons,” but our neighbors knew we were nothing like the people the preachers warned them about.
Every summer the regional churches of one Protestant sect sponsored a youth camp on St. Simons Island, Georgia. After one such camp, the minister said from the pulpit, “The only youth to go to camp this summer was our good little Mormon girl, Kelly Grant.”
Our Protestant neighbors embraced us because we had embraced them. We never had to compromise our standards or principles.