Gospel Story Finder

Zach had never felt more worried in his whole life. His dog, Ace, had swallowed something he shouldn’t have eaten, and it was stuck inside him. If Ace didn’t have surgery right away, he would die!
Dad was at the vetinarian’s office now with Ace. Zach wished he could be there too, instead of stuck getting ready for school. With a sigh, he knelt by his bed to say a prayer. “Heavenly Father, I’m really worried about Ace. Please help the surgery to go all right. Please bless Ace to live, and please help me not feel so worried.”
Zach knew Heavenly Father loved him and heard his prayer. The worried feeling in his stomach melted away a little bit, and he felt more calm inside. Zach zipped up his backpack and ran to catch the bus. Everything was going to be OK.
At school, Zach kept thinking about Ace. Ace was such a healthy dog. But he got sick so quickly! What if Ace dies before I can say goodbye? All of Zach’s worried feelings rushed back. Zach took a deep breath and remembered the peace he felt after he prayed that morning. Heavenly Father would answer his prayer, wouldn’t He?
When Zach came home from school, he ran straight inside to ask Mom how the surgery went. “Mom! How’s Ace?”
“He’s OK,” said Mom. “He’ll be home soon, but he’s going to be pretty sore. We’ll need to be gentle with him.”
Zach let out a big sigh as Mom gave him a hug. He was so relieved. And he couldn’t wait to see Ace!
When Ace came home, Zach’s family gave him extra care. They brought him his favorite toys. They talked to him and told him how much they loved him. They gently rubbed the fur on his back. Zach took time to scratch Ace’s ears. Ace loved the attention. He seemed to be getting better and better.
But the next week, Ace got sick again. He stopped eating and drinking and seemed very tired. Zach’s stomach sank as he watched his parents drive away to take Ace back to the vet.
When Mom and Dad walked through the door a few hours later, they were alone. They gathered the family together and explained that Ace had died. Zach felt numb. He could hear his brothers and sisters crying and felt tears on his own cheeks.
Zach thought about his prayer before Ace’s surgery—the prayer that brought him so much comfort and peace. He had asked Heavenly Father to bless Ace to live, but now Ace had died. This wasn’t what he prayed for at all!
Mom came over and sat next to Zach on the couch. “Ace was such a good dog,” she said. “We had so many happy times with him.”
Zach smiled a little as he remembered scratching Ace’s ears in just the right spot. Then he thought about the past week. Ace had lived for 10 more days after the surgery. Zach got to spend time with him and show Ace how much he loved him.
Maybe Heavenly Father really did answer my prayer, Zach thought. A warm feeling came over him like another hug. He still missed Ace, and he still felt sad. But he also felt peace. Zach knew that Heavenly Father had heard his prayer, even if the answer wasn’t exactly what he wanted. He knew Heavenly Father loved him. And because of that, everything really would be OK.

Elder Stolt’s grandfather was Vernon Carl Poulter II, who served a three-year, Mandarin-speaking mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 1957. Elder Poulter’s first assignment in the Far East Asia Mission was in Taipei, Taiwan. It had only been open to missionaries for a few months, and because none of the Church’s Latter-day revelations had been translated into Chinese yet, teaching the gospel required an extensive 17 lessons before baptism and another 20 after.
Many of Elder Poulter’s contacts showed great potential, but he was always transferred to a new area before they progressed in their conversion. After one transfer, he and his junior companion decided to put their prayers to the test. Elder Poulter suggested: “Let’s pray specifically to be led to someone prepared to hear the gospel, then stay on our bikes until we receive the Spirit’s direction.”
An hour later, at a busy intersection in congested Taipei traffic, Elder Poulter had the distinct impression to turn right. When he caught up with his companion, the impression returned—stronger this time—that they should turn around.
Elder Poulter recorded: “We plunged back into traffic, made a ‘U-Turn’ across four lanes . . . back to the intersection, and turned left through another eight lanes of traffic.”
The elders eventually found themselves on a street that was too narrow even for bicycles. “As we continued on foot, I saw a man a few feet away watching us very intently through an open window. Our eyes met and I knew he was the person to whom we had been led.”
Mr. Hu invited the missionaries in and accepted, without question, their first lesson about the need for latter-day prophets. “Since Joseph Smith saw God and Jesus Christ and is the most important person of our time,” Mr. Hu wondered aloud, “how should I honour him?”
At his request, the missionaries returned the next day to continue teaching Mr. Hu and his family. During the lesson, Elder Poulter recalls that a ‘pure white light’ emanated through the window, but from no apparent source. He writes: “It was clear to my mind that we were in the presence of the Holy Ghost, whose radiance could actually be seen as well as felt.”
After the elders repeated the story of Joseph Smith for his wife and children, Mr. Hu bore his testimony and gave his own lesson to his family based on his reading of a pamphlet the missionaries had left him the day before. “His understanding and sincerity were most impressive,” Elder Poulter recalled. Mr. Hu closed by stating that these elders were bearers of the truth, then asked for permission to translate the pamphlet so he could share it with his friends and neighbours.
“Not knowing better, I said OK . . . we were pleased to see Mr. and Mrs. Hu with their two girls at church the next Sunday.” Then, Elder Poulter was transferred again. Prepared to leave the area, he started to pack a set of books his father had given him for the mission. Along with the standard works, they included, Articles of Faith, Joseph Smith Tells His Own Story, and James E. Talmage’s, The Great Apostasy. “I had the strong impression to take them all to Mr. Hu the next day . . . the [books] were received with joy and gratitude. That was the last I heard of the Hu family on my mission.”
When he finally returned home, Elder Poulter felt discouraged and embarrassed about the meagre results of his three years in the mission field. In time, his perspective changed and some 40 years later, he was inspired to share this experience in a Sunday School class.
“I bore my testimony that our part in the Lord’s plan is not always apparent. I never learned what had become of the Hu family, [but] I don’t have to; doing the Lord’s work is its own reward.”
Three days later, Elder Poulter received a letter that had been forwarded to him via a missionary in Taipei. It was from a Mr. Hu Wei Yi. In the letter, Brother Hu, now in his 80s, recounted his family’s baptism and reported that he had been a patriarch, a temple sealer and was even set apart by President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) to be a translator.
The list of titles Mr. Hu translated included all the books Elder Poulter had given him, plus many more, “and then I read, The Book of Mormon. I couldn’t believe my eyes,” Elder Poulter writes. Yes, the Book of Mormon, the revealed word of God was translated into the second most spoken language in the world, by a humble man who had been prepared by the Lord to meet a pair of faithful missionaries.

Two blocks later, Willie saw little Joey sitting on the curb in front of his house. As Willie got closer, he could see that Joey looked very unhappy. “What’s wrong?” Willie asked as he went up the walk.
“I’m trying to tie my shoes. I’ve practiced and practiced, and I just can’t get it right. And then my shoelace broke. Now I can’t even tie it at all—see.” Joey showed Willie the broken shoelace. “It’s too short.”
“Well, Joey,” Willie said as he put his bag down on the sidewalk, “I have just the thing for you in my ‘good for something’ bag.”
Joey watched Willie search in the green velvet bag and pull out the blue shoelace with only one end missing. Joey’s eyes brightened as Willie put the blue lace on Joey’s shoe.
“Watch, Joey. I’ll show you how to tie it.”
Joey watched intently as Willie demonstrated how to tie the lace.
“Now you try it,” Willie said.
Joey carefully held the blue shoelace just as Willie had showed him, and tied it according to Willie’s instructions. When he finished, he had a perfect bow.
“I did it! Wow! Thanks, Willie!”
Willie patted his bag. “You never know when you’ll need one of my special things from the ‘good for something’ bag,” he said as he waved good-bye.

Micah’s very first word was “Why?” From that day on, he asked questions. He asked about clouds, rainbows, rivers, and trees. He asked about books, trains, kings, and skyscrapers.
He liked to think about new things. His mom and dad couldn’t keep up with all the answers he needed. They even bought encyclopedias so that they could look up answers they weren’t sure about. And then one day, when Micah was seven, he asked a very important question: “Mom, how do I know for sure that Heavenly Father is real?”
Mom put down the jar of baby food she’d just taken from the fridge and turned to smile at him. “I’m glad you’re thinking about that, Micah. It’s only a few months until you’ll be old enough to be baptized, and it’s important to know about the promises you’ll be making. Knowing about Heavenly Father is the first step.”
“Oh, I know about Him, Mom. I’ve had lots of Primary lessons, and we’ve read about Him in the scriptures. But how do I find out if it’s really true?”
Mom sat down at the kitchen table and looked Micah right in the eye. “If you want a testimony of your own, you’ll have to do some hard work. You’ve seen lots of people stand up on fast Sunday and bear their testimonies. They tell what they believe.”
“Oh, yeah, like how Sister Thomas always talks about how she loves the temple, and Brother Matsom always cries when he gets to the part about Jesus.”
“Right. And have you noticed how you feel when people are bearing their testimonies?”
“Sometimes I feel warm and happy inside.”
“That’s the Holy Ghost telling you that you are hearing something true. If you want to find your own testimony, you’ll have to pray and ask for help, you’ll have to remember to study your scriptures, and you’ll have to try very hard to keep the commandments so that Heavenly Father will know that you are serious about wanting an answer.”
“I can do that.”
For the next two weeks, Micah’s mom and dad were amazed at how hard Micah worked. He played happily with his brother, Sam, and didn’t get angry. He watched his baby sister while Mom talked with her visiting teachers. He even picked up his toys the first time he was asked. When Dad sat down in the evening before bed to read the Book of Mormon with him, Micah tried very hard to listen and even sounded out a lot of the words himself. But one night Micah didn’t seem happy.
“Is something bothering you, Son?”
“Dad, I’ve been trying for two weeks now. I’ve been really, really good. I’ve read. I’ve prayed. And I’ve been nice! But I still don’t know if Heavenly Father is real or not.”
Dad nodded. “I can understand why you’re frustrated. Sometimes Heavenly Father makes us wait a little while for our answers so that when they do come, they mean more to us.”
“Why would He make me wait? I want to know if He’s real. If I don’t get an answer, then He must not be real.”
Dad put his arm around Micah. “Why don’t we see if there’s an answer in the scriptures?” He opened the Book of Mormon to Ether 12:6 and read, “‘faith is things which are hoped for and not seen; wherefore, dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith.’”
“What’s a trial?” Micah asked. “Mom got a squishy little packet of shampoo in the mail last week that said ‘trial’ on it, but I don’t see how washing my hair is going to help.”
“Well,” Dad said, “That little packet is so a person like your mom can try out a new shampoo and see if she likes it before she buys a big bottle. Mom gives the shampoo a trial so that she can see if it does what she wants it to. When Heavenly Father gives us a trial, it’s kind of like that. He wants to see if we do what He wants us to, even if it’s hard.”
“So Heavenly Father is waiting to see if I’m going to give up or not?”
“A testimony is one of the most important things He can give you. If you were going to give someone a very special present, wouldn’t you want to make sure that person really wanted it and would take care of it?”
“Yes, I guess so.”
“There are all kinds of miracles, Micah. Some of them are big and flashy, like Moses parting the Red Sea, but most of them are quiet, and the quietest of all is when the Holy Ghost talks to us about Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. Be patient, Son, and listen carefully.”
That night, long after everyone had gone to bed, Micah had a nightmare. It was terrible, and Micah woke up afraid to move. He was too scared to go into Mom and Dad’s room, too scared even to cry out for them to come to him. As he huddled under his blanket, he wondered what he could do to feel better. Last Sunday, his Primary teacher had told his class that when you are very afraid, you should pray for comfort.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” he whispered, “I really need help. I’ve tried very hard to find out if You’re there, and I know I’m supposed to be patient, but I can’t wait any longer. I’m scared.”
As soon as Micah finished his prayer, he heard a noise in the hall. Suddenly the bathroom light switched on, and Dad peeked around the edge of Micah’s bedroom door.
“Are you all right?” Dad said softly. “All of a sudden I woke up, and I’m sure I heard a voice say, ‘Micah needs you.’ What happened?”
“I had a really bad dream, Dad.”
“Oh? Why the big smile then?”
“When I was scared, Heavenly Father heard my prayer and woke you up. He has to be real because He helped me when I asked. You know, it doesn’t matter if it’s not a big, flashy miracle as long as it’s just what you need.”
Dad sat on the edge of Micah’s bed and hugged him tightly. “That’s right, Micah,” he said. “That’s right.”

How do we come unto Him? Last April, President Russell M. Nelson and Elder M. Russell Ballard encouraged us to study “The Living Christ” as part of learning about the Savior. Many have accepted the challenge and been blessed. Not long ago a dear friend gave each of her adult children copies of the document with gospel pictures to illustrate each phrase. She encouraged her children to help her grandchildren understand and memorize it. Sometime later my friend shared a video of her six-year-old granddaughter, Laynie, reciting her memorized version with enthusiasm and poise. I realized that if a six-year-old could do it, so can I!

As I have studied the life and teachings of Jesus Christ with more focus and committed “The Living Christ” to memory, my gratitude and love for our Savior have increased. Each sentence of that inspired document contains a sermon and has enhanced my understanding of His divine roles and earthly mission. What I have learned and felt through this period of study and reflection confirms that Jesus truly “is the light, the life, and the hope of the world.” Ancient scripture and latter-day prophets’ words written or spoken in praise of Him bear witness that “His way is the path that leads to happiness in this life and eternal life in the world to come.”

When youth from one ward in Birmingham, England, needed to raise money in order to attend stake youth camps, they knew just what to do: it was time to roll up their sleeves and teach nunchaku lessons. And origami lessons. Oh, and some one-on-one rugby training sessions for good measure.
After leaders counseled with the bishop and obtained his approval, ward members pulled together to support the youth in their efforts by holding a ward auction for promised services. At the auction, people could bid on all manner of “I owe you”-type services. The youth donations included manicures, basketball lessons, shoe shining, gardening help, babysitting time, ukulele lessons, and more.
The adults pitched in as well. Their donations ranged from a personal tour of a prison by the prison governor to chauffeur services for a day and even to a tutorial from the bishop on how to buy and sell on eBay. In the end, the ward raised enough money for the youth to attend the camps, all while having fun and getting to know one another by serving in creative ways.

During my mission, I had the opportunity of teaching a Protestant minister. My companion and I taught him every week for six months. He attended meetings in our little branch, but he remained a minister teaching in his church. He had been invited many times to be baptized. He had studied, and I knew that the spirit had touched him often, but still he waited. Finally, one evening I reminded him that he knew that the Church was true, because of the inspiration of the Spirit, and that he had sufficient knowledge now to be baptized. Therefore, we would not be teaching him regularly until he was ready to accept the invitation to be baptized.
A short time later my companion, Elder Darwin Christensen, and I were on a streetcar going to a baptism with some converts. When the streetcar stopped, our investigator-minister got on, and upon seeing us, he asked, “Where are you going?” I told him that we were on our way to a baptism. He said urgently, “I have to talk to you Monday night.”
We rearranged our schedule and went to his home that Monday evening. He asked us some questions that were on his mind about the Church. Then, as though he couldn’t wait any longer, he said, “What do I need to do to be baptized?” He continued, “I am sure that you’ve been wondering why it has taken me so long to decide. I wanted to study everything so that I would have the correct answers and never be an embarrassment to the Church. This Wednesday night I am going to the directors of my church and announce to them that I’m leaving my position and joining The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
On Wednesday he resigned from his job as a minister, and on Saturday he was baptized a member of our Father in Heaven’s true Church. The next week I finished my mission. He was my last baptism.

Earlier this year, my wife and I drove past the apartment where we lived 40 years ago. That was the darkest period of my life, the “Slough of Despond” [4] in my life. Like Elder Holland, I found myself saying to my younger self, “Don’t you quit!! You keep trying. You are going to make it. There are great things to come.” I did keep trying, and over the next two years, my prospects turned around and have been on an upward climb ever since.
While my path has been upward, it has not been without it’s valleys.

“We could not have hoped for a better assignment,” said former President McReynolds. “It was great to be going back to the British Isles.” President Stuart and Sister Sheryl McReynolds led the England Manchester Mission from July 2017 to July 2020.
President McReynolds grew up in Leicestershire and Sister McReynolds was born in North Wales. Later, Sister McReynolds lived on the Isle of Man for a short time but spent most of her growing up years in London. At the time of their call, it had been 20 years since they lived permanently in the United Kingdom.
Sister McReynolds hadn’t served a full-time mission when she was young, so the prospect of serving as a mission president’s wife was a bit daunting, and she felt inadequate in many ways. “Yet, I knew I wouldn’t be transferred, or get a new companion, so I hoped we would get on all right,” she said light-heartedly. “But the opportunity to be together, that was a real privilege – just wonderful.”
“When I didn’t know what to do, or I thought I couldn’t do something that needed to be done, I realised that the Lord carries you when you do His work,” she said. “I think intellectually I knew this, but I’ve seen it so much more on a day-to-day basis than I ever had in the past.”
One highlight for the McReynolds was seeing the strength and personal growth of more than 550 missionaries from all over the world, giving their best to share a message about hope in Jesus Christ. They were from over 60 countries including: Madagascar, Eswatini, Lithuania, Curaçao, Japan and others.
When compared with the mission he served as a young man, President McReynolds was pleased to see a substantial increase in the number of sister missionaries serving. Nearly half of the missionaries in the Manchester mission were women. He said this created a balance of perspective and leadership in the mission, including new positions for sister-trainer leaders. Both were also amazed at how quickly they would come to love each elder and sister.
“We had been told that we would have instant and deep love for them,” she said. “But it was when we had been there just nine days, and about 24 missionaries were leaving for home, I realised how strong this love would be. It nearly broke my heart to say goodbye. Perhaps this is a blessing of the calling and comes when you are set apart – your capacity to love is expanded.”
“We have found that this love doesn’t really leave you,” President McReynolds said. “While we have only been back at home a short time, we still think about them, talk about them, worry about them and wonder how we can help them.”
The McReynolds saw quiet miracles take place in the mission. During one transfer, a missionary from South Africa who spoke Zulu, was sent to an area in the mission where a family of five from Africa would be taught the gospel. “It wasn’t that the family couldn’t speak English, but they saw it as a miracle—getting their very own Zulu-speaking missionary,” President McReynolds said.
They also witnessed tender mercies in the lives of the missionaries themselves. “It was lovely to see a missionary, who had the gospel all of their life; allow the gospel into their life,” Sister McReynolds said. “Suddenly it starts to click and come together on their mission and then you see them change and progress as they learn to rely more on the Saviour and on Heavenly Father more than on themselves or their parents.”
At a production of “Our Story Goes On,” they were also able to see awareness of the Church grow with civic leaders. She recalled meeting a local mayor and his wife at the event. “Afterward, when the musical had finished, he and his wife, especially him, were in floods of tears. He said, ‘I’ve never felt anything like this.’ It was as if he had a better understanding of gospel principles and indirectly, the plan of salvation. Perhaps in the future, this could lead to an increase in positive support.”
The restrictions surrounding COVID-19 changed the way missionary work could be done. “The pandemic was a considerable challenge for us as mission leaders, and as missionaries. Staying at home, staying in place, and adjusting everything that we did,” President McReynolds said. “It created a need to rethink how missionary work could continue virtually. We had always done everything face to face, yet we all know how powerful technology and social media tools can be. Online missionary work became a massive pivot for the mission. I think we made good progress, as we were able to find people, continue to teach and later baptise.”
In March, everything was being cancelled including the mission’s upcoming ‘Why I Believe’ devotional, featuring the conversion stories of new members of the Church. It was decided to take a leap of faith and hold it online. This was a big undertaking to make sure that the programme would be uplifting and inspirational, without the distractions online meetings sometimes have when technology fails.
“We saw the Lord’s hand in that first one,” said Sister McReynolds. “Because of COVID-19, we were all in separate locations, and it honestly shouldn’t have come together as nicely as it did.”
Typically, the in-person monthly devotional saw an attendance of anywhere from 250 to 550 people, depending on the location. With the move to online, an estimated 4,000 people have tuned in each month.
“While we did the devotional together as a mission, the missionaries were likewise adapting their own sphere of responsibility,” said President McReynolds. Asking questions like, “How do I adapt finding? How do I adapt my teaching? How do I adapt working with members, by using all these online tools?”
The mission also began using Zoom-conference calls, to reach out to individual missionaries for interviews, and for training and mission-wide calls which typically took place three times a week. “I really think it united the mission in a way that we hadn’t had before,” said Sister McReynolds. “They were interacting with others in breakout rooms, meeting fellow missionaries that they had never met before. It was a huge blessing and created a feeling that we were all in this together.”
The McReynolds’ aim was that all the missionaries would: first, be leaders and govern themselves; second, immerse themselves in Preach My Gospel, the guide to missionary service; and third, become Christlike missionaries. “We felt that becoming a Preach My Gospel Missionary or a Christlike missionary would not come until they really understood that they were agents to act, and truly govern themselves,” President McReynolds said. “Our dearest hope was that their conversion to the gospel of Jesus Christ, and [to] Jesus Christ Himself would become deeper and deeper.”
President McReynolds shared a scripture in the Book of Mormon that summarised his and Sister McReynolds’ experience in the mission field as it relates to each other and the missionaries of the England Manchester Mission: “Nevertheless they did fast and pray oft, and did wax stronger and stronger in their humility, and firmer and firmer in the faith of Christ, unto the filling their souls with joy and consolation, yea, even to the purifying and the sanctification of their hearts, which sanctification cometh because of their yielding their hearts unto God. (Helaman 3:35)
“Humility is not something the world ever puts in the same sentence as strength, and in these assignments, you learn that, number one, they’re just humbling and in that humility, there is strength,” he said. President McReynolds attested that he and his wife had themselves become “firmer and firmer in the faith” as they served in this assignment. For them, it was indeed a case of, “Filling their souls and our souls with joy—lots of joy.”
“Yeah, been an amazing three years,” Sister McReynolds said. “I don’t think we’ll ever be the same again.”

His next week in prison brought deep discouragement. He received a letter from Elder Hammer, who had left Vienna and was now in a hospital in Schlessien, suffering from smallpox. The senior companion wrote that he was so sick he expected to die. He told where his belongings were and asked Elder Biesinger to forward them to Utah. He requested a priesthood blessing. The prisoner, unable to help, appealed to the Lord “in tears and prayer” for guidance:
“I realized he had no friends at hand to administer kindness to him. After receiving this letter I pled with the judge to permit me to leave the prison under restrictions in order that I might visit my sick friend, but this privilege was denied me, but I was granted the privilege to write to Bro. Hammer, which I did, and promised him in my letter in the name of the Lord Jesus that he would return to his family in Utah alive.”*
The judge read the letter and seemed astonished by this brash prophecy. He also allowed the American to send another letter, this one to the American consul in Prague. Soon the consul, Mr. A. C. Phelps, appeared and agreed to help the elder get out of jail. The court informed the consul that no trial could be held until agents in Vienna rounded up evidence about Elder Biesinger’s proselyting work there.
A third letter brought another visitor ten days later. This was Elder Joseph A. Smith, sent by the mission president. He told the prisoner of his visit with Elder Hammer who was recovering. The half-hour visit took place under the watchful eye and ear of an officer, and the two missionaries had to speak in German so the guard “could understand all that passed between us.”

Ken was nervous as he started to school. This was the day of the Middle School marching band tryouts. More than anything else in the world, Ken wanted to be in the marching band.
Cradling his trumpet case in his right arm, Ken imagined himself marching down the street dressed in a blue and gold band uniform. The drum major would strut along in front, and the drums would beat out the cadence. It gave Ken goose bumps just thinking about it.
As he passed the house two doors from his own, he saw a boy about his own age sitting on a porch swing. He must be part of the family that is moving in today, Ken thought. He wished he had time to get acquainted. But he had to hurry to the tryouts.
Ken was the first person to get to the band room, except for the music teacher, Mr. Walker.
“Ready, Ken?” Mr. Walker asked. Ken’s hands felt damp, and his knees trembled. “Ready,” he said. He fumbled as he lifted his trumpet out of its case. To calm himself, he thought again about marching down the street. The band would start playing. Ken would lift his trumpet, ready to blast out a heart-thumping march. … That’s where his dream always ended—just before heads started turning to see where the sour notes were coming from. Maybe he should just forget the whole thing.
Mr. Walker tapped a pencil on his desk. “Try this tempo,” he said.
Ken looked at the music he’d chosen. Then he lifted his trumpet and blew.
The pitiful little blats that came out of his horn weren’t anything like the notes on the sheet of music.
“Try again,” Mr. Walker said. “Take your time, Ken.”
The second time wasn’t any better. Ken’s fingers just wouldn’t find the right notes, and his breathing was all wrong. “I’m just nervous this morning,” he stammered.
Mr. Walker stood up. “Ken, a lot of people have trouble playing musical instruments. Their coordination and sense of rhythm just aren’t quite developed.” He came over to put a hand on Ken’s shoulder. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s like not being good at basketball. Most people improve as they get older.”
“But I can march just fine,” Ken insisted. “I know I can march. And I can learn the music if I practice a lot.”
“Can you march and play the music at the same time?” Mr. Walker’s voice was kind.
Ken thought about it. He had a hard time even walking while he played.
“Ken,” Mr. Walker continued, “go home and practice tonight. You can try again tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Mr. Walker,” Ken said. But he knew that even if he practiced all night, he probably wouldn’t be good enough to march with the band.
The rest of the school day dragged by. On his way home, Ken heard somebody playing a trumpet. The notes were clear and true. Squarely on pitch.
The music was a march that made Ken’s heart thump. It came from the porch of the house where the new family had moved in. The boy blowing the trumpet was the one Ken had seen that morning. He was still sitting on the porch swing.
Ken walked up close and listened. “Wow!” he said when the boy stopped playing. “You’re some trumpet player.”
The boy grinned. “I get lots of practice, especially today, since Mom’s still busy unpacking and I won’t be starting school until next Monday.”
“Any chance of your giving me a few pointers?” Ken held up his trumpet case. “I’m trying out for the marching band tomorrow.”
“Sure.” The boy motioned for Ken to sit on a porch chair. “My name’s Eric,” he said.
“Mine’s Ken.”
Ken heard a crash inside the house and a tired voice saying something about hating moving days. “Are you sure you have time for me?” Ken asked. “Maybe they need you in there.”
Eric smiled a little. “I’d just be in the way.” He pointed to a wheelchair that sat in a shady corner of the porch. “I’m not a whole lot of help.”
Ken felt his face redden a little as he realized why Eric was always sitting. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“It’s OK.” Eric waved a hand. “I guess everybody has some kind of a handicap. Now, go ahead and play something.”
Handicap. Ken knew what his was. But he could try, couldn’t he? Thinking of the beautiful notes Eric had played, he put his horn to his lips and blew.
The trumpet screeched.
“I’m not too good yet.”
Eric didn’t deny it. “We’ll work on it.”
They worked on it for over two hours. Eric was nice. He didn’t even blink when Ken hit sour notes.
“It will sound better in the morning when you’re rested,” he said when Ken left.
But Eric was wrong. The next morning in the band room, Ken’s trumpet-playing sounded worse than ever. He knew even before Mr. Walker said anything that it was hopeless. His dream of marching along in a blue and gold uniform died.
When Ken got home after school, Eric was sitting on the porch swing again. He didn’t even ask what had happened. Ken guessed that it showed in his face.
“You wanted that a lot, didn’t you?” Eric said gently.
Ken nodded. “More than anything else in the world.”
Eric rubbed the trumpet that lay in his lap. “I used to dream about being in a marching band too. You know—with flags waving and people watching and me marching along playing music that almost makes your heart jump out of your chest.”
“Funny, isn’t it?” Ken said. “You’re really good at playing the trumpet, but you can’t march. I can march just fine, but I’m no good at playing.”
“Hey!” they shouted in unison, eyes shining.
Mr. Walker said later that the band that year was his best ever. He said that maybe it was because everyone tried to live up to the enthusiasm that Ken and Eric had brought to it.
Ken didn’t know about that. But he did know that there wasn’t anything wrong with his marching as he pushed Eric’s wheelchair through all the maneuvers. It was easy to do perfectly while those clear, sweet notes from Eric’s trumpet sounded in his ears.

Dear Little Carrie,
I thought about you a lot on Christmas Day. I imagined you and your mom and dad around the Christmas tree, opening presents and later eating turkey and pumpkin pie. Our Christmas in Paraguay was very different, and I thought you might like to hear about it.
We had decided to visit the Ugarte family for Christmas. They live 80 kilometers through the jungle, in a little village called Itakyry. There is a small wooden chapel there, where we could spend the night. In the Ugarte family are a grandmother, a mother and father, and 11 children. Their house has only two rooms and two beds, so we couldn’t stay with them. We packed some small gifts in the back of the car and left early in the morning of the day before Christmas. Two young elders went with us.
In Itakyry, Sister Ugarte was very sad. It was the day before Christmas, and she had no presents to give her children. It took all their money and time just to provide the essential things that such a large family needed. Nothing was left for gifts or even a special treat for Christmas dinner.
All that morning she worked. She washed clothes in the stream and spread them on the bushes to dry. She tended the garden and cooked black beans and rice for their mid-meal. After they ate, she rocked the baby and mended clothes. As she worked, she prayed. “Heavenly Father, please send our good friends, the missionaries, here for Christmas. I know it is a long way for them to come, but it would make this day special. Please, Heavenly Father.”
We didn’t know that she wanted us to come. The Spirit just told us that it would be good if we did. A bridge was washed away, so we had to walk the last few miles through the jungle. My goodness, how happy the Ugarte family was when they saw us coming through the trees!
That night we had a very special family home evening in the little wooden chapel. The beautiful story of the birth of Christ was told, and testimonies were shared. Then for a long time we sat, watching the silent stars and singing the sacred hymns of Christmas.
The Ugarte children didn’t understand when Grandpa tried to act like Santa Claus the next morning. They did enjoy the simple gifts we passed out, though. There was a small doll for each little girl, sweet-smelling soap for the older girls, and windup toys for the boys.
We missed our own dear grandchildren, but this Christmas in Paraguay was a very special one for us. The best gifts that we can give or receive at Christmastime are love and service.
I’m looking forward to hearing about your Christmas, Carrie. I hope that it was also filled with that special Christmas feeling and that you didn’t miss us too much.
Love,
Grandma and Grandpa

Top soccer teams from all over the world are playing in South Africa this month, hoping to win the World Cup. Teammates will depend on each other, their coaches, and their fans to get them through to the finals. Among players and fans from each country, team spirit is so palpable you can feel it in the air.
But even though they won’t be playing for the World Cup, no team will be more loyal to each other, their coaches, and their fans than the priests quorum of the Kagiso Ward, Soweto South Africa Stake. A little over a year ago, five of these young men were introduced to the Church by their soccer coach, who is himself a recent convert. Now they are at the heart of another team, their priests quorum, and working with another “coach,” their bishop, as they live the gospel day by day and prepare to serve as full-time missionaries.
Like many people in South Africa, 29-year-old Solomon Eliya Tumane loves soccer. He spends tireless hours each week coaching the Hurricanes Football Club. He loves his players and rejoices in their successes. They love and respect him in return. So when Coach Solomon joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, his players were curious.
“He would come to practice straight from his institute class,” says McDonald Siyabulela Manyakanyaka, 17. “We could see the scriptures and Church magazines in his bag, so we started asking questions, and to answer, he would read to us,” says Thapelo Benjamin Sesinyi, 17.
“I was eager to teach these young ones because I love them so much,” Coach Solomon says. “I want them to go in the right path. I told one of them, ‘You would do well if you read the scriptures,’ so they all started reading the scriptures. They enjoyed it, so then I taught them about prayer. Then one day they surprised me. I got to practice early, and I was taking a nap when they woke me and said, ‘Coach, we need to visit your church.’ That was a day I will never forget, because I knew then that they were on the right path.”
But the coach wouldn’t go further without parental approval. He went to each player’s home, one house at a time, to ask if it was all right to invite the players to church. The parents agreed. “We came to Church three weeks in a row,” Thapelo remembers. “We wanted to learn more and more.” So the coach again asked parents for permission, this time for the players to study with the full-time missionaries. Again the parents agreed.
“The missionaries gave us each a copy of the Book of Mormon,” McDonald says. “They told us to read it and pray about it because it is true, so we did. I prayed and read and found the Book of Mormon to be true.” So did other players, who were baptized and confirmed. Five of the team members are now Latter-day Saints.
Most teams set goals for a winning season, but these five young Hurricanes are also shooting for another goal in the not-too-distant future. With the guidance of Bishop Bongani Mahlubi, a man they consider a spiritual coach, they are preparing for full-time missionary service.
“They are a great strength in our ward,” the bishop says. “And they are part of that great priesthood team of Aaronic and Melchizedek Priesthood holders all over the world. These young men do everything together—they walk to school together, play soccer together, go to seminary together, and serve in the priesthood together. If I call one young man to ask if he can help, I get all five.” McDonald says the priests quorum also studies regularly from Preach My Gospel, and Thapelo says that in addition to inviting friends to Church, quorum members seek out those who no longer attend. “In many ways, we are learning to be missionaries now,” he says.
“We often hear from these young men in testimony meeting,” the bishop says. “They often promise Coach Solomon that they will go on full-time missions.” Nothing would make their soccer coach happier. “I can’t wait for them to serve,” Solomon says.
Unity, gospel knowledge, and an orientation toward service—those are all part of a solid training regime for prospective missionaries. And in addition, these young men have already developed a great desire to work together to do good. Just like the soccer teams competing for the World Cup, they depend on each other, on their coaches, and on their fans (including ward members, families, and friends) to get them through to their “championship.” With that kind of team spirit, their goals will be achieved.

On a particularly busy day during the Christmas season, a woman in my neighborhood—Marion, a mother of 12—was in line in a local specialty food store picking up five smoked turkeys for her family gathering. Chatting with the woman behind her in line, Marion mentioned the size of her order. The other woman quickly suggested that since she had only one turkey to pick up and she was in such a hurry, couldn’t she just step ahead with her order? My friend smiled and motioned the bustling shopper ahead.

The next woman in line then said, “I am in a huge hurry as well, and I have a long way to go. Since you are picking up so much more than I am, couldn’t I just pick up my order, too?”

My friend nodded again. When she finally reached the counter, the clerks looked at her and said, “We watched what happened and how you handled it. We want to give you these turkeys at half price.” In Romans we read, “Be likeminded one toward another according to Christ Jesus” (Romans 15:5).

My best friend last year had a back injury that was creating severe pain. She had surgery scheduled but it was four weeks away and she was almost incoherent from the pain. Her faithful home teacher Ron Barney came and gave her a beautiful blessing that she would be pain free. But as days and then weeks went by, I believed the blessing was not coming to pass. "Nothing" happened between the blessing and her already scheduled appointment on December 31. I wanted relief for her that very night. I wanted a doctor to have a cancelation in his schedule and operate immediately. However a month from that blessing, after the surgery had been performed at its scheduled time, she called me up to say she had sat through ward council that day pain free and feeling great. She returned to her regular work and her back continues to heal from the very competent surgery that was performed by a very fine surgeon.
She also tells me that this was the best Christmas she has had in a very long time. She had time to really ponder the life of Jesus and also to think about other people who are dealing with physical and emotional pain. So I see that I am a spiritual panicker and yet how tenderly the Lord says, "Sharon, give me a month or two, or give me a year, or give me 10, or give me until your next life. I see the long view and I will never leave you comfortless."

Our priest quorum meeting had come to an end.
“That’s all the announcements and assignments,” said our quorum adviser, Brother Reed. “Oh, but I would like to see Greg and Tom Glenn after class, if you boys wouldn’t mind.”
“Oh, no” I thought to myself. “I guess we’re in some kind of trouble.” I bowed my head, folded my arms, and hoped that the closing prayer would never end.
We both knew why Brother Reed wanted to see us. Tom and I hadn’t been on time to priesthood meeting for weeks. Sometimes we didn’t get there at all, and sometimes we crept silently through the door and slipped into the back row, just in time to get our sacrament meeting assignments and leave.
Now, it wasn’t because we were sleeping late or wasting time at home. On the contrary. We were wide awake every morning at 4:30 to do the chores on the dairy farm where we lived. Dad had recently had a heart attack, so Tom and I had the responsibility to milk the cows and clean the place, and do all the other dairy work. We had the cows on an established schedule which easily got us to school on time during the week; but on Sundays, finishing everything, then showering and dressing for priesthood at 7:30 was difficult. With all the work that needed to be done, we thought we were doing well to get to priesthood meeting at all.
Evidently, though, our priests quorum adviser didn’t think so. After everyone else had left the room, Brother Reed pulled a chair up close to us. “Boys,” he said in a surprisingly gentle tone, “there’s really something missing from the quorum when you’re not here. What am I doing wrong? Are my lessons bad, or is it something I do personally that offends you?”
We thought we were going to be chastised, but here was Brother Reed, thinking he was the reason we were late. We both started explaining that it wasn’t his fault at all, and we told him about the work at the dairy.
“Well, would it do any good if I came over early on Sunday and helped with the work a little? It would be a privilege for me, and might help you get to priesthood meeting on time. What do you say? What time does the work start?” he asked.
Tom and I had the same thought at the same time. We couldn’t let Brother Reed do that. First of all, 4:30 was far too early to get anyone out of bed and away from his family on a Sunday morning. Second, we didn’t want him to have to endure the below freezing winter weather. And third, there wasn’t that much he could do anyway because we wouldn’t give him any of the really dirty work.
So when he asked us when we started, we told him 3:30 A.M., thinking that no sane person would get up that early, no matter how helpful he wanted to be. We thanked Brother Reed for his sincere offer to help, shook his hand, and assured him that we would try to make more of an effort to be at our meetings on time in the future.
We didn’t think about his offer much for the rest of the week, until Sunday when I got out of bed at about 4:15 on a very cold morning. I looked out the window and was shocked to see Brother Reed’s old car parked outside our house. I quickly put my clothes on, ran outside, and tapped on his car window.
“Good morning,” he said cheerfully as he opened the car window. His words formed small icy clouds in the air between us. He reached out to shake my hand, and I noticed his grasp was one of the coldest I’d ever felt. It was obvious he’d been waiting for some time—probably since 3:30.
“Come inside while Tom gets dressed,” I said as I led him into the house. Then I ran to make sure Tom was ready for work.
In a few minutes, Brother Reed, Tom, and I were trudging through the snow to the barn. The one thing we hadn’t exaggerated about was the amount of work there was to do, and Brother Reed did the best he could.
As we milked the cows, Brother Reed paused for a second and rather timidly asked, “Do you suppose I could have just a little sip of that milk? I’ve almost forgotten what fresh milk tastes like.”
We felt great concern for our quorum adviser. Not only did we give him a drink, but we packaged several liters of milk for him to take home to his family. It was the least we could do for him.
It was getting closer and closer to the time for priesthood meeting to begin, and the work still wasn’t finished. Finally Brother Reed told us he would have to go home and get ready for church. “Now I understand why it’s so hard for you boys to get to class on time. I’ll try to be a little more considerate in the future,” he said as he wiped the sweat from his forehead and walked out of the barn to his car.
You should have seen the look of surprise on his face when he arrived at church to find Tom and me already there. We had decided that if he cared enough to come out on a bitterly cold morning to help us, we could work a little faster and help him. I can’t honestly say that we were both on time for every meeting from then on, but we did always see that at least one of us was there every Sunday.
And we discovered that Brother Reed’s lessons were actually very good. But none of them ever compared to the lesson he taught us about service and love on that cold winter morning.

In February 2021, stuck in their apartments because of COVID-19, Elder Knowles and Elder Thomas were trying to spread the word of Jesus Christ through Facebook and Zoom. They had met Josh, a senior at a small Catholic college in western Massachusetts, and they wondered if I, a relatively recent convert to the Church, would join the three of them for a lesson. “He reminds us of you,” said one of the missionaries. “I think you guys would get along.”
I gave a quick yes. As the only member of the Church in my family, I was desperate for whatever gospel conversations I could have in those lonely months of isolation.
Josh and I got along exactly as predicted: he was an ebullient young man who had already made much more progress toward accepting the gospel in his life than he realized. We talked about his background and mine; the missionaries gave us the confidence to speak openly about faith and spiritual progress. I was much older than Josh, yet the conversation moved comfortably right along. “We should do this again sometime,” I said as the Zoom call started to roll to a close. “This was fun.”
“I would love to do this again,” Josh said. “But do you think I can invite my friend Eddie next time? He would really like this.” Eddie was another senior at the same college, and as it turned out, he had been great friends in high school with a member of the Church. Of course we would welcome Eddie, I said, but if he was going to invite Eddie, then I wanted to invite my friend Jack, someone I had just started talking to about the Church and who, as it turned out, also had a good high school friend who was a member.
And so it began. For several weeks in a row, Josh, Eddie, Jack, the missionaries, and I met and talked about life. It wasn’t a classic missionary lesson. Although we decided to start and end each hour with a prayer, it was clear that our friends weren’t necessarily interested in a predetermined lineup of lessons. Early on, we instituted an idea that would come to define the group over the course of the next few months. Every week, each person would come with a question—sometimes a softball question (“What’s your go-to flavor of ice cream?”) but usually a more thoughtful or serious question (“Who is your greatest role model and why?”). Then each member of the group answered the question.
It didn’t take long to discover that we were on to something important. Eddie noted it immediately in a text to a returned missionary friend: “It’s very weird because I’m not used to men being able to talk the way that we did; I felt very relaxed and shared more about my life than I thought I would,” he wrote. “I’m kind of used to the whole ‘you can’t have feelings’ deal with my guy friends.” But Eddie knew this was different; there was freedom in this meeting—a freedom to be ourselves, vulnerable and honest, and truly listen to one another.
Over time we brought in more friends, including Cameron, a member of the Church from California who joined the group a few months after we started. Cameron and Josh clicked immediately, which accelerated Josh’s interest in the Church. By summer, there was no question he would join the Church. That only strengthened our dedication to meet week after week, as we understood intuitively what Elder Gary E. Stevenson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles would say in general conference less than a year later: “By sharing our positive experiences in the gospel with others, we take part in fulfilling the Savior’s great commission [to ‘teach all nations’ (Matthew 28:19)].”2
By July, Josh had set a baptism date, so Cameron flew across the country to Massachusetts to baptize a man he had only previously met on Zoom. It was also wonderful to see Eddie and Jack show up to witness the ordinance. “Of course I’m coming,” Jack had said earlier in the week when I asked him if he planned to go. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Jack, a college kid with lots of other things on his mind in the waning days of summer, left home in southern Connecticut by 7:00 a.m. to support his new friend in an adventure neither of them could have described a year earlier.
Eighteen months after his baptism, Josh—now Elder Keaton—is proudly serving a mission in Sacramento, California.
We never fail to meet on Tuesday nights. By now, over 60 people have attended, almost half of them friends of other faiths. After we had been meeting for two years, Eddie asked how we had grown from our meetings. Each of us acknowledged the remarkable strength we derive from each other. We have become friends who support and love one another. The Spirit is always present as well. We’ll keep going, inviting new friends every week to delight in and ponder on the things of our souls (see 2 Nephi 4:15).
Our guiding principle can be found in the Savior’s words: “I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up” (Doctrine and Covenants 84:88) and in these words from Elder Ulisses Soares of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles: “I invite you to consider ways we can transform ourselves into uplifting and supportive people, people who have an understanding and forgiving heart, people who look for the best in others.”3
I never imagined I would be grateful to that confounding pandemic for anything, but I wouldn’t be part of this group of friends without it. God’s plan, as it turns out, will carry on, even in the loneliest and most isolated circumstances.
The author lives in Connecticut.

When I was a young mother with four children, my husband was serving as a bishop. It felt wonderful to be part of my idea of an ideal Latter-day Saint family. But my husband died of cancer, and I was left to raise my children alone. I had to return to school, finish a degree, and work. I had to reframe what I perceived an ideal Latter-day Saint family to be. I later married a man with six children, and we became a blended family with ten children. Once again I had to reframe what I thought an ideal LDS family was.

Learning how to grieve and then go on with your life can build strength. When you can acknowledge and work through painful feelings, you develop emotional, spiritual, and psychological skills that can help you in other areas of your life. Your capacity for empathy can grow through a personal acquaintance with grief.

My mind wanders back to another year and very different circumstances. I visited a man in a hospital. He was in an iron lung, a type of therapy that is rarely used today. He had no control over his body from his chin down. We talked of the disease that had rendered him in that condition and of his occupation. He was an insurance man, dialing the telephone with his nose or with his tongue, explaining to people that he could not come into their homes or into their offices but that he would like them to visit him at his address, which was the hospital, so he could talk with them about perhaps saving a few dollars on their car or life insurance.

Most hung up on him before he even had a chance to deliver his message, but a few would come to the hospital and sit next to that remarkable man as he would look into a series of reflecting mirrors, analyzing their insurance policies and telling them of ways they could have more effective coverage. He had decided before disaster struck that he was going to do everything he could to be self-sustaining. Of course, the Church was helping him, and the state of Utah was providing some assistance, but so much of his self-care was being provided through the courage he was displaying then and had displayed earlier.

Some years ago when Aldin Porter was president of the Boise North Stake, he dropped by the home of Glen Clayton, who was the Scoutmaster in his ward. Glen and his son were working together repairing a bicycle. President Porter stood and talked to them for a few minutes and then left. Several hours later he returned and the father and son were still working on the bike together. President Porter said, “Glen, with the wages you make per hour you could have bought a new bike, considering the time you have spent repairing this old one.”

Glen stood up and said, “I’m not repairing a bike, I’m training a boy!”

That year twenty-one boys achieved the rank of Eagle Scout in Glen’s troop. Impact teachers do not teach lessons, they teach souls.