Gospel Story Finder

A Johannesburg family shared their thoughts:
Dad: “The prophet’s words have made me more aware of the responsibility I have to teach my family. The onus is on us—not on the Church—to take our families back to Heaven Father. It is the same as with ministering, we need to look for opportunities, it is not about statistics. With this new awareness, I’m finding more ‘Sabbath’ to teach my children than the extra one hour could ever make.”
Mom: “Maybe it’s psychological—but spending less time at church in the morning makes it easier to have a purposeful family home evening on a Sunday. With all the children’s sporting commitments just having supper together on a Monday was a nightmare! At first, I missed the extra classes and the opportunity to chat with people in between. But now I am aware of the need to fellowship more and to connect better with other members.”
Teenage daughter: “I love that we now have ‘church’ every day at home instead of just once a week! It is also quite nice to have Young Women every two weeks—makes it more special to be together. I am definitely studying the scriptures a lot more than I did last year.”

“Don’t forget to wear your mittens, Ross,” Mother called.
Ross was so excited to collect fast offerings that he had forgotten to put on his mittens. He could hardly believe he was finally a deacon. He knew that one of his duties would be to collect fast offerings. And today was fast Sunday. Ross hurried back inside, slipped his thick wool mittens on his hands, and rushed out the door.
Outside, Ross was met by bright sunshine and a cold breeze. He jumped down the front steps into the snow. Ross loved the way the world looked after a snowstorm. The sunshine and snow almost made him forget about the troubles his neighbors were facing. He had heard adults talking about the Depression. He didn’t really understand what that meant, but he knew that some of his friends’ dads had lost their jobs. The bishop had taught him that the fast offerings he collected would be used to buy food for those in need and to pay for coal to keep their houses warm.
Ross joined his friend Tom, and they set off. At the first home a woman answered the door. “I’m sorry, boys,” she said. “My husband lost his job, and we don’t have any money to give.”
At home after home they received the same answer, but at the Hansen home Sister Hansen invited the young men inside. She placed two dimes and a nickel into Ross’s hand.
“We feel so blessed that Brother Hansen still has his job,” she said. “I’m sure someone can use this money.”
As they left, Ross opened his hand and looked happily at the three silver coins. He dropped them into his pocket. After stopping at a few more homes, Ross hurried home.
“Look what I have!” he yelled as he rushed into his house.
Mother came into the room. Ross reached into his pocket and pulled out a dime and a nickel. He reached back into his pocket for the other dime, but he couldn’t feel it. He took off his mitten and reached in again. It wasn’t there.
“I lost a dime,” he said, almost in tears. “What am I going to do?”
“Let’s pray for help,” Mother said.
They knelt together, and Mother prayed that Heavenly Father would help them find the dime.
As they stood, Mother took Ross by both hands, looked into his eyes, and said, “Ross, listen carefully and do exactly what I say. Follow your tracks in the snow back to where you put the money in your pocket. Look carefully until you find a small hole in the snow. When you find the hole, gently brush away the snow and you will find the dime.”
Ross hurried outside. It was easy to follow his tracks, and he was soon near the Hansen home. “I think it was here that I put the money into my pocket,” he thought.
Looking around, he found a small hole in the snow. Carefully, he started to brush the snow away. Soon there was a silver sparkle, and there was the dime, just as his mother had said.
Ross held the coins tightly in his hand as he walked to the bishop’s house. He delivered the 25 cents and then hurried home.
“Mother, I found the dime, just like you said,” he said as he ran into the house. “And now I know that Heavenly Father heard and answered our prayer.”

Let me tell you briefly about the Missionary Training Center, which was then known as the Language Training Mission. I received a telephone call on August 30 of 1973 and was asked to design this great missionary center. Two other firms would assist in the preparation of documents once the design was finalized, but I was to design the center. As the work of design developed, I had to make a decision whether to postpone previously committed meetings in Florida, Alabama, Georgia, and the Caribbean, where I had been called to serve as Regional Representative, or to keep them regardless of the great need to design and construct this center as soon as possible.

I made my decision on the basis of my priorities. It was a hard decision. My relationship to the project was as a professional architect. My priority was to my church and my family ahead of my professional responsibilities. My work as a Regional Representative had to come first. There was much concern over this decision from those involved, since design was the first step and I had been entrusted with the design.

Then a marvelous thing happened. As I returned each week from my commitments there, even though quite exhausted, I received great surges of inspiration as I had in the design of the Washington Temple. Each week a major portion of the design developed, following my trips to the Florida area. By the end of October we were ready for the first presentation. It was well received by the directors and by BYU administration. After two additional weeks of refinement, the design drawings and a model were ready to present to the Church Education Department and to the First Presidency and Quorum of the Twelve, where it received complete approval. We were told to immediately begin working on drawings and specifications and did so by November 15. This creative period had required but two and one-half months. It was a miracle.

By the spring of 1974 this project, the largest in BYU history, was ready for bidding. My call as a mission president was received in April. On the very day I reported to my mission the ground was being broken for the construction of the Missionary Training Center. My partners carried on the supervision of construction. I had felt the Lord’s blessings in this project and have a deep testimony that the surges of inspiration that I had experienced were a result of keeping my priorities.

A young woman with whom I am acquainted was planning to be married. Sound familiar? Her parents were overjoyed. “At last,” they said. She was twenty-six years old. She had been very choosey. The whole family rejoiced when she found someone she could agree to marry. The date was set; the invitations were printed; the wedding dress was selected; and the trousseau was ready. Then one evening this young woman sought out her parents. She was very sorry to disappoint them, but she just couldn’t go through with it. She could not marry this man.

Her parents were shocked. “Why?” they asked. “You have so much in common. You enjoy being together. You are perfect for each other. You’re in love. And you’re twenty-six years old!” Then she explained her feelings to her parents. This man did not honor his mother. The girl had been bothered for a long time by the way he spoke to his mother, by the disrespect he showed her, by his discourtesy. She could not marry this man because some day he might treat her the same way.

“Katie, time for family home evening!” Dad called.
Katie jumped off her bed and ran to the living room. She could smell the pine tree and see the lights sparkling on the shiny ornaments. Her little brother, Seth, was examining the gifts under the tree.
The family sang “The First Noel,” and Seth said the opening prayer. Then Dad told them about the Thomas family. This year they could not afford presents or a nice dinner for Christmas.
“No presents on Christmas? We have to help them!” Seth exclaimed.
“That’s what we were thinking,” Mom said. “But that means we won’t be able to afford as many gifts for you. You will only get one present each.”
“They’re my friends,” Seth said. “I want to help them!”
“What about you?” Mom asked, putting her arm around Katie.
“I want to help too,” Katie said.
Mom smiled. “We have a lot to do. We’d better get started.”
All week, the family worked to fill the Thomas family’s Christmas basket. Mom made the food. Katie went to the toy store with Dad to pick out toys for the three Thomas children.
The Saturday before Christmas, it was time to put the basket together. Katie carefully placed in the gifts she had wrapped. She felt warm inside, knowing she was helping the Thomases have a nice Christmas.
Just then, Seth came in carrying some other presents.
“These are for Jake and Ryan,” he said. “Can you wrap them for me?”
“Sure,” Katie said. Seth handed her a little crane, one of his old toys.
Katie frowned. “Why are you giving them this? I don’t think they’ll like your old stuff.”
“Yes, they will,” Seth insisted.
Katie wrapped the crane as neatly as she could. “At least I can make it look like a nice present,” she thought.
Then Seth handed her a jar filled with pennies, nickels, and dimes. Katie sighed as she wrapped the jar. Seth was just too little to pick out gifts for his friends.
Later that night, Katie’s family dropped off the Christmas basket. Dad set it on the Thomas family’s doorstep, rang the doorbell, and ran back to the car. “Mission accomplished,” he said, catching his breath.
Katie was so excited. She wished she could see the children’s faces when they unwrapped their gifts. Except for Seth’s gifts.
The next week at church, Katie and Seth went to the Relief Society room after Primary to find Mom. Sister Goldman, who lived next door to the Thomases, was telling Mom about the Christmas basket someone had mysteriously left on the Thomas family’s doorstep.
“I gave Jake the crane,” Seth said proudly.
“Seth, you weren’t supposed to tell,” Katie scolded.
Sister Goldman turned to Seth. “Jake loved the crane,” she said. “That was the only thing he had wanted for Christmas.”
Seth beamed.
Sister Goldman continued. “Ryan has been trying to save money for his mission. His mom told him that if he paid his tithing he would be blessed. And then he got a jar full of money.”
Katie couldn’t believe it! Jake and Ryan had loved the gifts that Seth picked out for them. She put her arm around Seth. She was proud of him. His gifts hadn’t looked like much, but Heavenly Father had known what they would mean to two boys.

“That’s about it for announcements and assignments. Oh, but I would like to see Greg and Tom Glenn after class, if you boys wouldn’t mind.”
“Uh oh,” I thought to myself as I poked my brother in the side and let out a nervous laugh. Trouble was waiting for us, for sure. I suddenly became very pious, bowing my head, folding my arms, and hoping that the closing prayer would go on forever.
We knew all too well what Brother Reed wanted to see us about. Tom and I hadn’t been on time to priesthood meeting for weeks. Sometimes we didn’t come at all, and sometimes we sneaked silently through the door and slipped into the back row at the very last minute, just in time to get our sacrament passing assignments and leave.
Now, it wasn’t that we were sleeping in or fooling around 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 it was up to Tom and me to milk the cows and clean the place, and do all the other dairy work. We had the cows on a fixed schedule which easily got us to school during the week for 8:30 classes; but on Sundays, finishing everything, then showering and dressing for priesthood at 7:30 was rough. It was an awful lot of work, and we thought we were doing pretty well to make it to priesthood at all.
Evidently, though, our priests quorum adviser didn’t think so. After everyone else filed out of the room, Brother Reed pulled a chair up close, so he was only about a foot or two away from us. Although he didn’t touch us, we could sure feel him, sitting so near.
“Boys,” he said in a surprisingly gentle tone, “there’s really something missing from the quorum when you’re absent. What am I doing wrong? Are my lessons bad, or is it something I do personally?”
Talk about throwing us a curve! We thought we were going to be chewed up and spit out in little pieces, but here was Brother Reed, thinking he was the reason we were late. We both started explaining simultaneously that it wasn’t his fault at all, but that we just had to take care of all the chores at the dairy.
“Well, would it be of any use to you if I came over early on Sunday and helped with the work a little? It would be a privilege for me, and it might help you get to priesthood on time. What do you say? What time does the work start?” he asked, wearing the most sincere look I’d ever seen on a man’s face.
Tom and I had the same thought at the same time. We couldn’t let him do that. First of all, 4:30 was far too early to drag anyone out of his bed and away from his family on a Sunday morning. Second, we didn’t want him to have to suffer the subfreezing weather. And third, there wasn’t that much he could do anyway. We were not about to give him any of the grubby work.
So when he asked us when we started, we pushed the clock back an hour and told him 3:30 A.M., thinking no one in his right mind would get up that early, no matter how helpful he felt. We thanked him for his generous offer, 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 it much for the rest of the week, until Sunday when I groggily crawled out of bed at about 4:15 in the painfully cold morning. I looked out the window and was shocked to see Brother Reed’s ancient wreck of a Rambler silently parked in the driveway. I threw my clothes on, raced outside, and tapped on his car window.
“Good morning,” he said cheerily as he rolled down the 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. I could have kicked myself. It was obvious he’d been waiting in the driveway for some time—probably since 3:30. And his financial state was such that he didn’t have enough money to run the car’s motor—and heater—while he waited.
“Come on inside while Tom gets dressed,” I said as I led him to the house. Then I raced upstairs to hurry Tom into some kind of working condition.
In a few minutes, the three of us 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 pitched in the best he could.
At one point in the milking process, though, 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’ve been using the powdered kind for so long.”
Our hearts went out to our quorum adviser. It seemed he sacrificed for everyone. Not only did we give him a drink, but we packaged several gallons for him to take home to his family. It was the least we could do for him.
Well, maybe not the least. The hour for class to begin was drawing nearer and nearer, 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,” he told us as he stood up and wiped the sweat away from his forehead. “I’ll try to be a little more understanding in the future.”
You should have seen the look on his face when he arrived at church to find Tom and me already seated there, clean, with scriptures in hand. We had decided that if he cared enough to go that excruciatingly cold extra mile 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 found that Brother Reed’s lessons were actually quite good. But none of them ever matched the lesson he taught us about service and love before priesthood meeting on that cold winter morning.

In 1994 a horrific genocide occurred in Rwanda. Between 600,000 and 900,000 people were killed in a matter of 60 to 90 days.
Eventually, the Church established a branch in the capital city of Kigali. The branch was doing well—without full-time missionaries. In 2011 we were serving in the Africa Southeast Area when we learned, sadly, that our registration as a church with the country of Rwanda was invalid, which meant that we were functioning illegally as a church. We also learned that our meetinghouse, a converted two-story home, was not appropriately zoned to hold Church meetings. The Area Presidency, in consultation with our first contact in the Quorum of the Twelve, made the agonizing decision to close the branch. Our members were no longer able to meet for Church meetings.
Lawyers in Kigali, Salt Lake City, and Johannesburg, South Africa, began working fervently to resolve the problems. All the while, the Saints kept asking when they could meet together again. Months went by without resolution or progress.
After about 10 months, we flew to Kigali to visit those Saints and try to buoy up their spirits. Before we did, we asked that the matter be placed on the temple prayer roll of the weekly meeting of the First Presidency and Quorum of the Twelve.
The Tuesday before our scheduled trip from Johannesburg to Kigali, we were notified that, in a surprising move, the government had granted the Church provisional registration in Kigali. Then on Thursday of the same week, the zoning commission granted an exemption from the zoning ordinance. The Kigali Saints could once again meet in our building without violating the law.
This was miraculous! Members were quickly notified that the branch would be meeting on Sunday. We arrived on Friday and invited members to come to church. When Sunday came, all the members—all of them—and many of their friends came to church. They arrived early, eager to be together again. As the sacrament was blessed and passed, we all experienced an extraordinary renewing, refreshing, and cleansing spirit.
We remember, in the meeting, wondering why we did not feel this same spirit every week as we partook of the sacrament. We looked around at the Saints and realized that they had come hungering and thirsting for the sacrament. Their faith, diligence, and patience brought all of us blessings. We pledged that whenever we again partook of the sacrament, we would remember this experience with the Kigali Saints. We committed that we too would hunger for the blessings of partaking of the sacrament.

Perhaps a personal story will help illustrate these opposing concepts of hope and despair. I was not a serious student in high school. I did the minimum amount of effort to get pretty good grades, mostly getting by on my good looks and charm. I was accepted to BYU in Provo and had hope that I’d be an amazingly successful student. My first test of my first college semester was an Economics 110 exam. I had taken economics in high school and knew the basics of supply and demand curves. So, I didn’t really study—how hard could it be?

Well, the exam was hard. Really hard. When I looked at the first question, I had no idea what it was even talking about. I knew I was sunk. I thought about praying for help, and then realized it wouldn’t do any good. Why would God bless me when I hadn’t done a thing to prepare? I did the best I could—mostly by choosing C as every answer, and I turned in the test. I had no hope. And indeed, I shouldn’t have. I got a 22% on my first college exam.

But now here is the sad part. The despair lingered. I figured there was no hope—a 22% on the first test was a hole I thought I could never dig out of. What’s more, my pride was wounded. I had never done that badly on a test before. So, I did the only thing that made sense to me at the time: I just quit going to that class. I didn’t even drop the class—I just quit going.

Here’s a friendly tip to you students: that’s a really bad idea. I could have buckled down and studied harder. I could have gone and talked to the professor. I could have done many things to make the situation better, but since I had no hope, I gave up. And of course, I failed the class.

Finally, let me conclude by recounting an experience I shared with the deans during our spring retreat. We began our day by hiking up Y Mountain. The idea was to get perspective on BYU as a house of learning. It was also to commemorate the century mark of the block Y’s construction. Climbing the Y connected us with a very old campus tradition and brought back memories for those of us who had been undergraduates here in the days when we used to whitewash the Y. We gazed across the campus, surveying the scene with the eyes of memory, noting how over the years the campus has steadily expanded from its beginnings in downtown Provo up to Maeser quad and on up “temple hill” toward the mountains.
As I contemplated this scene in the peaceful light of dawn, I saw our campus in a new light. From Y Mountain, BYU appears as one of three great LDS institutions of learning whose campuses are now contiguous: BYU, the MTC, and the Provo Temple. Each in a different way fulfills the divine injunction given by the Lord to His fledgling church:
Organize yourselves; prepare every needful thing; and establish a house, even a house of prayer, a house of fasting, a house of faith, a house of learning, a house of glory, a house of order, a house of God.35
This vision from Y Mountain reminded me of an experience President Oaks described in an Annual University Conference address almost 30 years ago. Said he:
Often in the last three years I have stood at the window of my office, looking out across the northern part of the campus to the Language Training Mission and the temple. I tell the visitors who share this sight that these three institutions—university, mission, and temple—are the most powerful combination of institutions on the face of the earth. They make this place unique in all the world. Now, after studying the 88th section, I see even more clearly the common origins of all three institutions in a single great revelation.36
I came to see and feel that May morning what President Oaks learned years ago:
To a Father in heaven who has given no temporal law and to whom all things are spiritual (D&C 29:34), the work of temple, school, and ministry must all be seen as the unified work of the kingdom.37
What a privilege and solemn responsibility is ours to be laborers in a house of learning that shares not only proximity with the temple but the same vision of learning as set forth in section 88 of the Doctrine and Covenants. I count myself so blessed to be numbered with you, my dear colleagues, in this great work of education for eternity.

I recall a friend of mine going through a time in his life that shook him to the very core of his being and caused him and his family much heartache and soul searching. He had been raised in a strong member family, his parents had held responsible positions within the Church, but for much of his life he had felt that he had been "living a lie", as he described it, trying to be something he really wasn't. While his actions indicated full activity in the gospel—regular church attendance, full time mission, church service and even temple marriage— his thoughts became more and more focused on worldly pleasures. Over a period of several years, he gradually succumbed to these thoughts, convinced that they represented who he really was and began to act upon them.

My friend ended up isolating himself from his family and losing his membership in the Church and along with it, his self worth. Fortunately, he had a very loyal and faithful wife who stood by him and prayed for his well being constantly, even though she had personally suffered greatly from his actions. He soon realized that his worldly pursuits had robbed him of what was most dear, that made him truly happy, not just in a fleeting, superficial way as his current temporal pursuits did, but in a deep meaningful way. He desperately wanted back what he had lost, far more than the temporal pleasures he was indulging in. Thus began his long journey back into the light.

I am pleased to inform you that my friend did hold fast to the process of repentance and has once again achieved full fellowship. His gratitude and respect for his wife has grown immeasurably as she never faltered and never gave up on him. He then shared a very important insight with me from his experience and that is our actions, if we persist in them, can and will shape our thoughts. As he persisted in doing the right things, he found that his thoughts began to fall right into line. It did not happen overnight, but it did happen. His troubles began the day he ceased doing the right things.

At this same time, one by one my children all decided to stop attending church. Two eventually had their names removed from Church records. This has certainly been the trial of both my wife’s and my life. And even though he wasn’t a Latter-day Saint, my father was pained and confused by our children’s choices as well. He was a privately religious man, and he joined us through those years in praying for them.

In 2005 my father passed away after being diagnosed with cancer, and my mother passed away three years later. My wife and I rejoiced in acting as their proxies in providing temple ordinances after their deaths.

I’ve long prayed to understand how best to relate to our children now that they’re adults, some with their own spouses and children, none of whom are LDS. We are emotionally close to all four of our children, and we are grateful that they often reach out in love to us.

I eventually received a very clear answer of how I must conduct myself, possibly for the rest of my life, regarding these adult children. I needed to do what my father had done with me. In spite of the different lives we lived and the different religious perspectives we had, my father was determined to draw closer to me as a father and a friend while I experienced the pain of seeing my children choose different lifestyles and beliefs from mine. I realized I must follow the example of my father, who taught me how to treat children of a different faith: love them completely, just as the Savior would.

For Sam, high school isn’t just about sports. She likes going to school and learning. She confesses she actually likes chemistry, something she won’t say out loud in the halls. And she loves starting her day in seminary. When her friends ask her what time she gets up and they hear her say, “Oh, 4:30 or 5:00,” they’re surprised. But for Sam, early-morning seminary is the best. “There are about eight different high schools in the Fenton Ward, so my Church friends are all spread out. When we get together, it’s fun. We joke and laugh and have a good time. By the time I get to school, I’m wide awake.
“I’m actually trying to bring my school friends and Church friends together,” she says. “At first they were hesitant about meeting, but now my school friends tell me that they like my friends. They like the wholesomeness about us. They just like the things we talk about.”
During one game, Sam looked up into the stands and saw her parents sitting by her Young Women leader with two of her best friends from school and one of her friends from the ward. They were laughing, and Sam remembers being amazed and pleased. “The next day at school, that’s all my friends could talk about—how nice this girl was and how she didn’t use inappropriate language and didn’t talk about vulgar things. I’m glad my Church friends can leave an impression like that. They’ll remember that.”

After the Dortmund conference, while most of the group returned to the United States, President Kimball, President Tanner, and their wives, and a few others traveled to Bern, Switzerland. Here the two members of the First Presidency were busy for an additional day and a half in the Swiss Temple. They had been traveling now for 14 days while participating in the five area conferences. They had been going unceasingly when we boarded a bus at Bern to go to Zurich where we were to catch our flight to New York and then on to Salt Lake. I saw President Kimball’s exceptional enthusiasm in action again.
There had been 14 days of going, going, going, and in the 30 hours ahead there would be no opportunity for the prophet to go to bed or really relax. On the bus most of us leaned back in our seats and began to nap. I was seated behind President Kimball and expected that he would use the next hour for some well-deserved rest. We had not quite reached the autobahn when President Kimball stood up and made his way up the aisle to a jump seat next to the bus driver. As I sat in my seat feeling almost exhausted, our prophet, who had reason to be more tired than anyone else, couldn’t rest because there was a person on that bus who hadn’t been taught the gospel of Jesus Christ.
As I watched what happened, I had a feeling of guilt—I had been content to sit back and relax, but the prophet, realizing the transcending importance of missionary work, didn’t let weariness dampen his burning desire to share the gospel with others.
I wondered how he was going to talk with the bus driver who seemed to speak little English. President Kimball doesn’t speak German. Initially there was some difficulty as they tried to speak to one another. After only a few minutes, however, the two of them were obviously quite able to understand each other. Now my worry was transferred from how they would communicate with each other to whether the bus driver, while glancing frequently at President Kimball, would be able to keep the bus on the road. It was clear that he understood and was interested in President Kimball’s sincere message. Their conversation continued until we reached the outskirts of Zurich when President Kimball returned to his seat.
When the bus pulled up at the Zurich airport, President Gary E. O’Brian, president of the Zurich Switzerland Mission, was waiting on the curb. President Kimball went to the door of the bus as it opened. He asked President O’Brian to step on the bus, and while shaking hands with him, said, “President O’Brian, this is Mr. __________. Will you promise me you will teach him the gospel?” President O’Brian said, “Yes, President.” And then President Kimball said, “Mr. __________, this is one of our mission presidents. Will you let him teach you the gospel of Jesus Christ?” The bus driver nodded his head and said he would.
This experience really taught me the importance of sharing the gospel. Our prophet is in close communication with our Heavenly Father and sees beyond the veil much more clearly than I do. He puts this degree of urgency on missionary work. Even when he has every reason to be tired, when sitting back and resting would seem to be a valid excuse for passing up a missionary opportunity, President Kimball continues to be a vigorous missionary. How can you or I do less than share the gospel with our families, our neighbors, our friends, and everyone else we meet?

In Holland during World War II, the Casper ten Boom family used their home as a hiding place for those hunted by the Nazis. This was their way of living out their Christian faith. Four members of the family lost their lives for providing this refuge. Corrie ten Boom and her sister Betsie spent horrific months in the infamous Ravensbrück concentration camp. Betsie died there—Corrie survived.
In Ravensbrück, Corrie and Betsie learned that God helps us to forgive. Following the war, Corrie was determined to share this message. On one occasion, she had just spoken to a group of people in Germany suffering from the ravages of war. Her message was “God forgives.” It was then that Corrie ten Boom’s faithfulness brought forth its blessing.
A man approached her. She recognized him as one of the cruelest guards in the camp. “You mentioned Ravensbrück in your talk,” he said. “I was a guard there. … But since that time, … I have become a Christian.” He explained that he had sought God’s forgiveness for the cruel things he had done. He extended his hand and asked, “Will you forgive me?”
Corrie ten Boom then said:
“It could not have been many seconds that he stood there—hand held out—but to me it seemed hours as I wrestled with the most difficult thing I had ever had to do.
“… The message that God forgives has a … condition: that we forgive those who have injured us. …
“… ‘Help me!’ I prayed silently. ‘I can lift my hand. I can do that much. You supply the feeling.’
“… Woodenly, mechanically, I thrust my hand into the one stretched out to me. As I did, an incredible thing took place. The current started in my shoulder, raced down my arm, sprang into our joined hands. And then this healing warmth seemed to flood my whole being, bringing tears to my eyes.
“‘I forgive you, brother!’ I cried. ‘With all my heart.’
“For a long moment we grasped each other’s hands, the former guard and the former prisoner. I had never known God’s love so intensely, as I did then.”

A few years ago I read an article written by Jack McConnell, MD. He grew up in the hills of southwest Virginia in the United States as one of seven children of a Methodist minister and a stay-at-home mother. Their circumstances were very humble. He recounted that during his childhood, every day as the family sat around the dinner table, his father would ask each one in turn, “And what did you do for someone today?” The children were determined to do a good turn every day so they could report to their father that they had helped someone. Dr. McConnell calls this exercise his father’s most valuable legacy, for that expectation and those words inspired him and his siblings to help others throughout their lives. As they grew and matured, their motivation for providing service changed to an inner desire to help others.

Besides Dr. McConnell’s distinguished medical career—where he directed the development of the tuberculosis tine test, participated in the early development of the polio vaccine, supervised the development of Tylenol, and was instrumental in developing the magnetic resonance imaging procedure, or MRI—he created an organization he calls Volunteers in Medicine, which gives retired medical personnel a chance to volunteer at free clinics serving the working uninsured. Dr. McConnell said his leisure time since he retired has “evaporated into 60-hour weeks of unpaid work, but [his] energy level has increased and there is a satisfaction in [his] life that wasn’t there before.” He made this statement: “In one of those paradoxes of life, I have benefited more from Volunteers in Medicine than my patients have.” There are now over 70 such clinics across the United States.

Last year, I experienced an increase in anxiety and depression. Although I’ve always struggled with mental health, this time was much worse. I eventually sought medical help, but an essential part of my healing also centered on reaching out to my Savior.
As I prayed for relief, I was prompted to look for light in the world around me. I tried my best. There were times when it felt like the light I found was a flicker that quickly burned out. Many times, I imagined I stood in darkness waiting for the next sunrise, knowing it would only fade again at night. Light felt fleeting and temporary.
After months of this, I experienced a profound thought: “There is light inside me.” Doctrine and Covenants 88:13 teaches that the light of Christ is “in all things” (see also verse 7). I don’t have to chase down vanishing rays of light each day. I can carry light with me all the time.
I began to see myself as sharing a part of the divine light of my Heavenly Father and of Jesus Christ, and I realized that I had access to a light that never burned out. As I reached out to my Savior, I discovered for myself that “because the universe is filled with the Light of Christ, we can spiritually learn, progress, and grow.”1

Nana Ninsin’s advocacy extends to education and menstrual health. She has introduced clubs like Women in Law and Development Africa in local schools, helping reduce dropout rates and teenage pregnancies. “Last year, I received an award from the Director of Education,” she shares proudly. “Now we don’t have pregnant girls in class.” But challenges remain. “My girls use banana stalks as sanitary pads,” she says. “Disabled girls can’t manage menstruation in schools without proper toilets.” She’s calling for support for sanitary pads, school supplies, and infrastructure improvements.

When I started meeting with the missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, they used a spectacular way to motivate me to read the Book of Mormon. Whenever I had a question, they opened it and read the answer from it. I wondered what kind of book it was. Finally they asked me if I wouldn’t like to read the book. I said, “Yes, I would!” They gave me a Book of Mormon as a gift, and I was extremely glad. I read it in three weeks and was very impressed with its teachings. At the end of that time, I was baptized into the Church. I have a great testimony about the influence of the scriptures in the life of a person.

The Scouts of the Millcreek Sixth Ward, Salt Lake Millcreek Stake, found a way to help one of their fellow Scouts and good friend earn his Eagle Award.
Kim Berry, 15, was diagnosed as having terminal bone cancer. When he realized the seriousness of his illness, he set three goals for himself: to get his patriarchal blessing, to read the Book of Mormon, and to finish the requirements for his Eagle Award.
Kim completed all his merit badges. But as his strength began to fail, he needed some assistance in completing his Eagle project. He turned to the members of his Scout troop. After receiving permission from the local council, Kim and his mother prepared a flyer announcing that his Eagle project would be gathering canned goods for the state food bank. His friends delivered the flyers door-to-door. Then all the boys in the troop, with the help of adult leaders in pickup trucks, collected the donated goods and delivered them to the food bank. The response was tremendous, and the troop gathered hundreds of pounds of food.
Craig Larson, Scoutmaster, said that the Scouts in the troop were very serious about helping Kim. They worked hard to get his project done quickly. They appreciated the chance to do something for their friend.
Kim received his Eagle Award one week before his death. He also completed his other two goals.

One day during a deacons quorum meeting our adviser decided that we would have a testimony meeting. It wasn’t that I hadn’t shared my testimony before. In fact, I was one of those kids who thought that bearing testimony was what one was supposed to do at every testimony meeting. But it wasn’t the cool thing to do at age 12.

I suppose that we had about 8 or 10 deacons in our quorum, and slowly (although not slow enough, it seemed to me) one boy after another stood to share his testimony. I was almost panicky because I just didn’t know what I would say. I hoped that maybe the time would run out, and I wouldn’t feel obligated to stand, but it did not. A small group of 10 deacons sharing their testimonies doesn’t take long, so plenty of time still remained when all of the other boys had finished standing and sharing their testimonies. I stood awkwardly and recited the same basic things most of the others had said: “I love my mom and dad. I know the Church is true. I know Joseph Smith was a prophet. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”

The thing was done, but for the first time in my life I realized that it was a lie. The only thing I had said that I knew to be true was that I loved my mom and dad. I really did not know if the Church was true or if Joseph Smith was a prophet, but I knew then that I had to find out. I had to know for myself.

I don’t remember exactly when I finally asked, but I do remember that one night I knelt by my bed and pleaded with my Father in Heaven to forgive me for my weaknesses and to let me know if this church I belonged to was truly His Church. I had never prayed with such intent before, and I am not sure I have ever prayed with more fervor since. I was only about 12 or 13 years old, and yet I can still feel to this day the power of the spiritual witness that came to me that night confirming that this was indeed the Church of Jesus Christ and that my Father in Heaven knew me and loved me. The test had worked, just as the scriptures promised.