Gospel Story Finder

In your quest to define yourselves, do not get caught up in comparisons with role models or body types that may seem to be macho or chic but in reality are not becoming to you as sons and daughters of our loving Heavenly Father. One 17-year-old girl became so obsessed about her figure that she began to skip meals and ended up with an eating disorder. When it became apparent to her father, he insisted that she eat a substantial meal. This confrontation ultimately brought her to her senses, and she wrote:
“All my life I had done things for everyone else. The grades, the manners, the awards—everything for them, nothing for me. This eating thing, this losing weight had become mine. It represented me and my choices, and now my dad was trying to take that away from me, too!
“As I lay in bed that night crying and feeling fat, I knew I needed help. I knew I was hurting people I loved.
“After staying up all night, I came to the conclusion that it wasn’t my dad I hated. I hated ME! I realized that I wasn’t in control. For the first time in my life, I understood that this was my problem. I needed to take control of my life—not let the disease control it.
“Things didn’t change overnight. In fact, it was one long road to recovery. But slowly, with the help of friends and family, I began to heal. Now that I’m at my ideal weight, I have stopped weighing myself altogether. I no longer peruse fashion magazines, either—I may not be ‘in style,’ but I feel just right!”

Even through these multitude acts of kindness, her finest hours were yet to come. Five years ago our lives were shocked with an announcement that she had contracted a terminal disease. Her life expectancy could only be another six months to a year. She accepted this decision with a faith and courage I never expect to see equalled. As the doctor made this announcement to us, she turned to me and said with all the faith and peace that she could muster, “Don’t tell anyone about this. I don’t want it to change our way of life or have anyone treat us differently.” Now her life was filled with physical hardship. It seemed to only make her more sensitive for the physical needs of others. Her empathy for her fellowmen increased, for now she had a greater appreciation for need.
Three serious operations followed in very short order. There were only a few who knew about them and they were sworn to secrecy. Her pattern of life in the hospital was always the same. With her careful planning, she would attend church on Sunday, the operation would be performed early Monday morning. By Tuesday, she was trying to get out of bed. By Wednesday she would be up moving around, trying to regain her physical strength. Thursday would find her helping the nurses assist others who were in the hospital. Friday she would spend trying to convince the doctor that she was ready to go home. By Saturday morning the doctor would give up in despair and discharge her. Sunday she would be back in church looking radiant. No one would ever suspect that she had just gone through major surgery. After the meeting I would rush down to take her home to get her some needed rest. And as I would come close to her I would hear her say to someone else in need, “Now don’t worry about a thing. I’ll have dinner ready for you and at your home on Thursday night.”
She placed her illness entirely in the hands of the Lord, and he blessed her with enough strength to endure and just enough energy to live the kind of life she wanted to live. After a difficult night, I would plead with her to remain in bed. Her answer was always the same: “No, I am not going to start that.”
The Lord blessed her with four additional years that medical science could not promise her. How grateful we are for those years, for it was during this period that she was able to stand by my side as we were honored in these present positions. She was able to see, at least in some degree, what she had tried to make of me.
The Lord made it as convenient as possible in his timing to call her home. He waited until I had completed my traveling schedule for the year. And on the first Saturday I had been home in many months, he called her to leave mortality.
Her last acts were so typical of her. She was up preparing breakfast for her family. I heard her drop a dish and give a little moan. As I rushed from my study, thinking she had injured herself, I found that she was suffering from a stroke that was causing her to lose the use of her right arm. I quickly picked her up and carried her in to a little couch I had just recently convinced her that she should have near her kitchen so she could rest during the day.
There was terror in her eyes as the paralysis started to spread down her side. I told her I was going to rush a call to the doctor. She said, “First, give me a blessing.” As I laid my hands on her head that morning, the Lord in his great mercy let me know that her time had come. As I left the room to call the doctor after that blessing, she was literally fighting to move her right arm and her right leg. And the last words I heard her utter were, “I will not live as a half a person.”
Her next two hours, her last in mortality, were the only two I know of in her life that she was not carrying her full load and a little extra for someone else. The Lord in his mercy has let her pass through the veil and relieved her from her anxiety and pain. Now she is whole again, and I am certain paradise is a much more joyful place because she is there.
For the hundreds of messages of sympathy we have received, we express our appreciation. If we had taken time to classify them, I think we would have found that we could have sorted them in two piles that typified and characterized her in her life here on earth. The first pile that we would have sorted—as we heard from the eastern part of the United States—would be something like this: “She gave us our first Book of Mormon and was an inspiration to us. How grateful we are to have known her. We will always remember her gracious hospitality to our family on the day of our baptism. It was such a happy occasion to have dinner in your home on that particular day.”
She was deeply grateful for her membership in the church of Jesus Christ. It was the foundation on which her life had been built. It was her sustaining power, her hope for the eternities. She was anxious to share her witness of the mission of our Lord and Savior with others. A fundamental part of her storage program, which included, of course, the basics of wheat, canned goods, and other inventories, was a supply of a dozen copies of the Book of Mormon. She would count those just as religiously as she would count her other supplies and replenish them in the same order. She used to comment about her inventories: “When we use the food, the inventory is gone. When I make a gift of the Book of Mormon, I never stop receiving the benefit and enjoyment of that gift.”
The second group of letters would read in part this way: “Your wife and mother was my stake leader in Spiritual Living. For one year I met with her for forty-five minutes each month and she had a profound influence on my life. She will always be one of the truly unforgettable people I have known. To me she exemplified spiritual living. She understood the needs of others and sought diligently to supply those needs.”
The Lord has said to us, “Thou shalt live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die, and more especially for those that have not hope of a glorious resurrection.
“And it shall come to pass that those that die in me shall not taste of death, for it shall be sweet unto them.” (D&C 42:45–46.)
I understand this scripture now as never before. Even though there is great loneliness without her, her passing was sweet because of the way she had lived.
In tribute to her today, I recommend to you her way of life. I watched service consume pain. I witnessed faith destroy discouragement. I have seen courage magnify her beyond her natural abilities. I have observed love change the course of lives.
May God grant that her memory will bring satisfaction and fulfillment to your life, I humbly pray in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

Being asked to deliver a message to millions of people in the April 2020 general conference introduced me to a whole new level of feeling overwhelmed. But I felt comforted knowing that the Lord would help me.
As I prepared my message, I was thinking about how to receive revelation. This helped me appreciate the dedication of those who speak in general conference.
When conference arrived, I felt anxious, but meeting Elder Gerrit W. Gong and the other General Authorities helped me feel peace. I then met President Russell M. Nelson. He spoke to me as if we had known each other our whole lives. I felt the pure love of Christ as I talked with the prophet.
Laudy K.
When I found out I was going to be a part of a Face to Face event, the thing that excited me most was the opportunity to work with an Apostle.
I was nervous before the broadcast because I needed to say some things in Portuguese. I said to Elder Soares, “I’m worried my American accent is going to come through.” He replied with a smile and a wink, saying, “Max, accents are charming!”
I felt the Spirit so strongly when I heard him witness that the Savior lives and loves all of us individually.
Max A.
When I was 12, my father became a mission president in Chile. While there, he worked closely with Elder Holland. One day I said, “Dad, Elder Holland is in my math book.”
“Yesterday it took Jeff Holland 1 hour to get to work. This morning, Jeff drove to the train station for 20 minutes, waited for the train for 7 minutes, rode the train for 12 minutes, and then walked for 15 minutes to get to work. How long did it take Jeff to get to work this morning?”
As a joke, my parents sent a picture of the math problem to Elder Holland with a note: “Elder Holland, could you please help Whit with her math homework?”
Elder Holland wrote back with a letter.
“Dear Whitney—I was pleased you discovered my day job. I regularly submit math problems for textbooks and sometimes I just don’t know whose name to use. I think I will use yours next. (‘If Whitney Wilcox has 5 boyfriends in Provo and gains 1 a day for 14 days in Chile, how many of them will be baptized, go on missions, and want to marry her?’) Thanks for being here! I am immensely proud of you! Jeff Holland.”
Obviously Elder Holland was joking about writing math problems (and having multiple boyfriends!). But his kind note made me feel like I was important.
When Elder Holland taught the members in Chile to read the Book of Mormon every day, I started reading on my own, as a 12-year-old. That’s when I really started to develop my testimony.
Whitney L.
In 2021, my parents were called as mission leaders over the France Lyon Mission. In 2022, Elder Soares came to visit. In his talk to the missionaries, he mentioned that his luggage got lost on one of his flights.
This was kind of a wake-up call for me. It’s easy to see apostles and prophets on our screens and think that life is easy for them. But our leaders don’t ask to do this—they are called to do it. They choose to follow the Lord, and that means leaving behind their plans for the future.
Elder Soares taught me what it means to be a disciple of Christ. Even though he was busy and had his own struggles, he tried to talk to as many members as possible. I realized that the General Authorities are people like you and me who have chosen Christ and work to show His love.
Lydie L.
If you haven’t met an Apostle, that’s OK! Most of us haven’t. You can gain a testimony that they are called of God by listening to, following, and praying about their teachings.
I met Church leaders when I hosted a Face to Face event, but that wasn’t when I gained a testimony that they are called of God.
When I hear their words, practice what they teach, and see myself change into a more Christlike person, that’s when I feel God confirming to me that they are special witnesses of Christ.
Aaron K.
I always look forward to general conference. I remember feeling so happy when my friends and I made a list of the things the prophet said and reminded each other to do those things. One was to go to the temple, and my friends and I went together. It was really fun, and I felt so much peace. Doing what the prophet asked helped me realize how much Jesus Christ loves me.
Leticia F.
Whether you meet an Apostle or not, you can know the truth: Apostles testify of truth and want nothing but the best for you. As you follow them, the Holy Ghost will let you know that they are called of God.

Allow me to share some of these miraculous blessings from letters and accounts I have received over the past four years. A humble couple from Idaho met fear with faith when the Lord called them to Russia. They wrote the following acceptance letter: “No one would have imagined we would be called to this assignment. We have no idea how we will learn the language or manage to be of service, and although we accept with much trepidation, going completely on faith, we know that the Lord and His prophet know more than we do where we should serve.” Ten months later the Stockholm Sweden Temple welcomed 30 Saints from a small branch in Russia led by this couple from Idaho who had barely begun to learn the Russian language. The scriptures tell us, “God has provided a means that man, through faith, might work mighty miracles.” Thus, God’s work is carried out by His children: “That faith also might increase in the earth. … That the fulness of my gospel might be proclaimed by the weak and the simple unto the ends of the world.”

My great-grandma didn’t have much money growing up, so she and her family did scavenger hunts for Christmas because the only presents they could afford were little things like pencils and erasers. The scavenger hunt made up for not getting a lot of big or expensive gifts.
The tradition has been passed down, and now every Christmas, my family does a scavenger hunt. My siblings and I make scavenger hunts for each other and hide clues—I even hid a clue on my dog once. I like it not only because it’s fun, but because it brings my family together and I get to connect with my great-grandmother, even though I’ve never met her.
This tradition helps us understand that Christmas isn’t about the presents you get. It’s about Christ, His birth, and everything He’s done for us. I know Christ’s Atonement is not just used for repentance; we can use it because Christ knows exactly what we’re going through. We’re never alone, and Jesus knows what we’re going through because He went through it too.
Rachel B., 16, California, USA

I spent a year away from my family in Japan, living in Utah as a high school exchange student. After I returned home, I received my first calling in the Church—president of our Mia Maid class. In a letter to my host family in Utah, I wrote about my calling.
A couple of weeks later I received a letter from my host “father.” He wrote:
“I didn’t tell you then, but one month before you left for home, our bishop told me ‘We want Kazuko to be class president of the Mia Maids. How long will she be here?’
“I told him that you would be leaving the following month. So they didn’t give you the calling.”
I found it remarkable that the same calling the bishop in Utah had been inspired to extend to me was given me when I came back to Japan. It made me realize that God knows about me no matter where I am—in Utah or Japan or anywhere else. I believe he knew that particular calling was what I needed then in order to grow.

Let me tell you about a woman who has woven her strand of kindness and compassion into my life. Sister Rosetta Colclough, a missionary in Hawaii, came to my junior high when I was eleven and invited all the students to a special religion class taught at the little Mormon chapel near the school. Three other Japanese girls and I, all Buddhists, accepted the invitation. That was the beginning of my Christian instruction, and four years later, I joined the Church.
Last March I received a letter from Rosetta Colclough Stark, now living in Arizona. She enclosed in her letter a little article she had written for her ward newsletter in 1978, fifteen years ago, describing those religion classes:
“One day on the eleven o’clock period, only four [Japanese girls] came to class. I was very disappointed there were so few. … [But] near the close of the period, we stood in the little chapel with bowed heads and closed eyes, repeating in unison the Lord’s Prayer. The soft Hawaiian sun filtered through the windows. As we prayed, I suddenly felt a bright light envelop us, coming from above like an inverted cone. A wonderful feeling of peace and joy filled my heart. I led the prayer very slowly as the bright light enfolded us. I was sure the girls felt it also, as their faces shone with an expression of deep reverence. We almost whispered ‘good-bye’ so as not to break the spell, and they tiptoed out. I thought, ‘One or more of those girls will join the Church and become a great influence for good.’”
She continued: “[After] I returned home, often the sweet faces of those four girls passed before my inward eyes, and I wondered about them. There was one, Chieko Nishimura, that lingered in my mind, and I often looked at the picture I had taken of them.
“Ten years later, my husband and I were attending our sacrament meeting in the Imperial Ward, Salt Lake City, when it was announced that a young Japanese couple from Hawaii would be the speakers. … My heart nearly jumped up into my throat. Yes, it was my little Chieko. … Chieko and I had a joyous reunion after the meeting. We marveled that out of all the many wards in that big city, they should have come to speak at my ward. We were sure the Lord had a hand in it.”
Rosetta lost track of me after my husband and I moved to Colorado but was surprised and delighted, when she was watching the Relief Society sesquicentennial broadcast on March 14, 1992, to hear my name announced. That afternoon she sat down at her typewriter in Arizona and began her letter to me. She said: “[When] I heard your name announced by Sister Jack … I sat up straight and watched the TV screen eagerly and saw your name appear on the screen. Then you started to speak. The dark hair has turned to silver, but that sweet face was easily recognized. Yes, this is my little Chieko whom I taught at the Honomakau chapel in Kohala so many years ago. As I listened to your voice, tears of joy ran down my cheeks. …
“I thank my Heavenly Father that I had the privilege of teaching you about Jesus Christ our Savior in that little chapel. … I have been blessed three times because of it; first, that I was there to experience that light from heaven with you; second, that you came to my ward in Salt Lake City to speak; and today, when I heard you speak to the women of the world via satellite.”
Rosetta says she was blessed, but Rosetta did not know how she was blessing me with her kindness. Even while she was writing that letter, my husband, Ed, was being taken to the hospital, stricken down by a cardiac arrest on the afternoon of the sesquicentennial broadcast. Her letter reached me with a special compassion and love when my sons and I were struggling to accept the fact that Ed would not recover. I did not see the light she felt while we four little Buddhist girls repeated the Lord’s Prayer with her, phrase by phrase. But I know the Spirit whispered to me during that experience, reminding me of my true identity as a daughter of God and prompting me to let those teachings sink deep into my heart so that I could also become a daughter of Christ in the waters of baptism.
Rosetta’s life has touched mine only three times, but the Savior’s love was in each encounter. Rosetta brought me the gospel, she rejoiced with Ed and me after our baptisms, and she brought me great comfort by reminding me of Heavenly Father’s profound love for me when I was suffering such pain while Ed lay dying. I needed that reassurance and love. I needed to remember that Heavenly Father, fifty years earlier, had reached down and laid his hand on a skinny little Buddhist girl and said, “You are my beloved child.”
I’ve shared this story with you because it illustrates so beautifully how our lives weave together in ways we cannot guess or plan. Because Rosetta acted with faith, with kindness, and with love, the pattern created by her life encountering mine is a beautiful one. I know that she has woven shining strands into the lives of many others.

I remember my first Mutual activity. I went as a guest or investigator a couple of days after my 12th birthday, before I was even a member.
To be honest, I really didn’t want to be there. My excuse was that I didn’t know anyone who claimed they went to this Church. At the time, I was attending a different Christian program that was just mainly fun. I really liked my friends there and the competitive games provided by the youth directors. So technically I was comparing the two church programs to see which one I liked best, and I was sure that I already knew which one I preferred and didn’t need to prove it by going to Mutual.
Or so I thought.
After my mom pleaded and begged, I found myself the following Wednesday night dragging up the concrete steps and opening the door for the first time.
I was instantly welcomed by many girls my age and even some older. “Strange,” I thought. “They don’t even know me and yet, they’re going out of their way to be extra nice.” There was this warm, sweet peace enfolding me as I timidly sat down in a chair in the room where the Beehives were meeting. I don’t really remember much from my real first encounter with the Church, but I do remember one thing—how I felt.
I do recall the Beehive activity was being read out of a cute periwinkle-colored book. I participated to the best of my ability and passed off my first value experience. I didn’t know at the time that this little Personal Progress book, and what it guided me to learn, would reach the depths of my heart and only four months later help me want to enter the waters of baptism.
Now, almost four years later, I have gained a humble testimony of my Savior through the teachings and powerful messages located right in that same cute little book I was introduced to years ago. This book helped me understand and live the gospel by studying and heeding the scriptures and words of modern prophets.
I am so grateful that I followed the counsel of Jesus Christ and came unto Him. I shudder to think of where I might have been drifting if I had stayed with what I thought was just a fun church program so long ago.

In October 2011, while serving a full-time mission in South Africa, I received a phone call from Sister Catherine Wood, our mission president’s wife. All merry and bright, she told me that President Thomas S. Monson had just announced the construction of a temple in my home town, Kinshasa. I remember shouting—with joy with tears flowing down my cheeks—in gratitude to the Most High for the blessing of having a temple in my country.

For some time, I felt unheard and unseen. Though I was surrounded by so many people, I yearned for one to notice me for who I was, yet it never happened. I always sought to feel a sense of belonging and a sense of purpose. Only when I started becoming older did my once-young mind begin to mature, and I slowly began to realize the true meaning of life.
It wasn’t just about being around people or trying to belong somewhere; it was about having that profound love and faith in Jesus Christ and God. I struggled heavily throughout Covid, battling my own battles as well as dealing with battles of those around me. I locked away my feelings from everyone, but what I didn’t realize was that there was always one person there for me, one who I ignored and didn’t let in.
It took a situation in my family’s life that has impacted me in more than one way for me to finally turn to Him. I found myself playing hymns on YouTube, listening to Church talks, and finally beginning my journey of reading and feasting on the words of the Book of Mormon.
Never in my life have I been so at peace and so loved. I feel seen and heard, and I know someone is there for me, maybe not physically there to give me a physical hug, but that spiritual hug that wraps around me daily. A scripture that resonates with me is found in John 3:16, “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”

I entered the airport in Brasilia and looked around with excitement. It was the last day of my mission, and I was returning to my hometown in another part of Brazil by airplane—my first time flying!
I could see dark clouds and drizzling rain outside the airport windows, and I looked hopefully for any break in the clouds. I wanted the sky to be blue and the day to be sunny so I would be able to see the cities, the mountains, the forests, and everything else we would fly over. “When you fly,” others had told me, “things look so tiny.” I wanted to feel like the birds feel and see the things they see when they fly so high.
After the plane took off, I peered out the window eagerly. But the closer we got to the clouds, the stronger the rain pounded down. I shrugged my shoulders and sighed with disappointment: I couldn’t see anything. My first plane trip is turning into a flop, I thought, turning away from the window.
All of a sudden, the airplane passed through the clouds, and the sun’s rays shone brightly through the window, catching my attention. When I looked out the window, I saw a sky so intensely blue that it hurt my eyes. The clouds below us were a cotton blanket of spectacular whiteness. I wanted to jump out and run on top of them.
For two hours I stared at the wondrous world around me, amazed that above the dense clouds and storms that had assaulted my vision was such beauty and light. When the airplane eventually dropped below the clouds and into the gray again, I had almost forgotten the storm below.
Since that day, I have passed through many storms in my life, including the pain and loneliness of losing my mother. But I know that there is a purpose for the storms; I know what lies above the clouds.

From the first week they arrived in Utah they wanted to be involved in a family home evening at least once a week. So, on Monday nights they were invited into homes all over the Salt Lake Valley and enjoyed American family home evenings. But on Sunday nights they decided to get together and take turns giving the lesson to their own group. They made popcorn and usually ended the evening singing LDS hymns in Spanish.

About 20 years ago I was assigned to go to Montevideo, Uruguay, to tour the mission and dedicate the first chapel built in that city. During the previous year President David O. McKay had broken ground for that chapel, hoping that he could return and dedicate it. Other duties prevented his doing so, and hence I was sent.
After our dedicatory service an Italian sister came up to shake hands. Before doing so she held out her right hand and asked me to look at it. I did but saw nothing unusual about it. Then she called my attention to a scar in the palm of her hand and explained:
“When President McKay was here to break ground for our chapel,” she said, “I had a cancer in the palm of my hand. The doctors could not help me, and the cancer was spreading. I felt impressed by the Holy Spirit that if I could just touch President McKay’s hand, my cancer would be healed.
“Many people went forward to greet the president, and because there were so many, I became discouraged. But my prompting continued. I felt it was the Holy Spirit urging me on. I did meet the president. My right hand was heavily bandaged, so I had to shake hands with my left hand.
“When I returned home I took the bandage off and to my great delight saw that the cancer was already drying up. I now show you this right hand, all healed, and I want you to tell President McKay about it.”

The joy that President Loy feels extends in both directions—to his ancestors as well as his descendants. President Loy and his family visited the Hong Kong China Temple in 2004. Not only were President Loy’s wife and children sealed to him, but the saving ordinances of the temple were also completed for his father, mother, and the brothers and sisters he had lost.
“I cannot even explain the joy I felt in the temple,” President Loy said. “I knew my family was being made strong. I know that the temple is necessary for families to live together forever.”

“What are you doing, Mommy?” Madolyn asked as she sat down in the kitchen.
Mom rummaged through a box and placed a pile of books on the table. “I’m going through all of these books so we can put them on the new bookshelves.”
Madolyn grabbed a book with a bright orange cover. “I remember this story,” she said. She thumbed through the pages of the picture book.
“I need to organize all of these magazines too,” Mom said as she set some magazines next to the books.
“Wow, look at all of these!” Madolyn picked up a pile of some Friend magazines. She held up one with a picture of Jesus and some children on the cover. “Can I read this one?” she asked.
Mom looked at the magazine. “This is from before you were even born.”
“Can I have it?” Madolyn asked.
“Sure!”
A few days later while Mom was making dinner, Madolyn said, “Mommy, I read a great story in this Friend.”* She held up the old magazine. “It’s about an experiment.”
“What kind of experiment?”
Madolyn opened the magazine and pointed to a picture. “This boy decided to try hard to be nice and not get angry easily. I think Logan, Savannah, and I should try something like that.” She tapped her finger on her forehead. “We’ll try hard to be like Jesus this week. We’ll try not to argue when we play together, and we’ll try to be better examples for each other. We won’t tell the older kids or Dad and see if they can guess what we’re doing.” Madolyn’s smile stretched across her face.
Mom gave Madolyn a squeeze, and said, “That’s a great idea!”
The next night at family scripture study, Clayton, the oldest brother, said, “Savannah, I noticed you’re being extra reverent tonight.” Savannah just smiled and looked over at Madolyn.
One evening after family prayer, Angela, the oldest sister, said, “You all listened to the prayer really well tonight.” Logan, Savannah, and Madolyn all grinned.
Saturday at dinner, Dad said to the younger children, “I’m glad that you all shared your toys today, and played together nicely.” The three children giggled.
When family home evening came, their sister, Rachel, asked, “What’s going on with the little ones?”
“What do you mean?” Mom asked.
“They’ve all been extra reverent and nice for the last few days,” Rachel said.
“I’ve noticed that too,” Dad said.
Madolyn covered her mouth but her big smile peeked out from behind her hand.
“Why don’t you tell the rest of the family, Madolyn,” Mom said.
“We decided to try to be like Jesus for a week, like a boy in a story I read in an old Friend magazine,” Madolyn said.
“We tried to not fight too much,” Logan said.
“And tried to be reverent during prayer and scripture study,” Savannah said.
“I think our experiment turned out very well!” declared Madolyn with a great big smile. And everyone agreed.

As I walked down the fairway, thoughts of what had happened earlier in the round began to press in on my mind.
On the seventh hole of the junior golf tournament, my third shot had come to rest in the middle of the narrow fairway. I hit the ball. It sailed onto the green, took two bounces, and fell into the hole. My partner was impressed.
“Great shot. Is that a three?”
“Yes,” I had replied confidently. But I hadn’t really made a three. It had taken me four strokes to get the ball in the hole. But I thought one stroke wasn’t going to mean anything.
By the time I finished, I realized I had played the round of my life.
I headed back toward the clubhouse, adding my partner Joe’s scorecard as I walked.
At the scorer’s table, I handed Joe his scorecard, and he gave me mine. “You’re in first place,” he said.
I looked up at the scoreboard and thought, This score would put me in first place. Looking down at my card, I noticed the “3” I had given myself on the seventh hole was standing out like a neon sign. I could change it to a “4.” But I’m in first place by two strokes. That one stroke won’t make any difference, I thought.
I signed my name at the bottom of the card and handed it to the scorer. I watched with fascination as my name was placed at the top of the list on the giant scoreboard. I made my way to the pop machine. I was actually in first place.
While sipping on my soda, I sauntered over to the base of an elm tree, sat down against it, and began to think about what I had done.
In church, Scouting, and at home, I had been taught to be honest in my dealings with others.
I glanced again at the scoreboard. More scores were being posted. Then I noticed Fred Baker was only one stroke behind me. Now that one stroke I hadn’t counted meant the difference between undisputed first place and a tie.
Everyone cheats, I kept thinking. I remembered when Joe moved his ball to a better position when it came to rest in a bare spot of grass. Besides, no one will ever know what I did, I reasoned.
I again walked slowly to the scorer’s table and past the gigantic first-place trophy. “That sure would look nice in our family’s trophy case,” I mumbled to myself. As I walked past the trophy, I decided what I had to do.
“Can I help you, son?” the scorekeeper asked.
“Sir, I seem to have made a mistake on my scorecard. On the seventh hole, I made a four, not a three.”
“Have you already signed your scorecard?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, knowing I would be disqualified for turning in an incorrect scorecard.
“I’m sorry, son, but you know the rule.”
“I guess I’m disqualified then,” I mumbled. Tears welled in my eyes.
“Yes, I’m afraid so. What’s your name? I’ll need to remove it from the scoreboard.”
“Jae Markham,” I said. I then stood by and watched as my name was scratched from the top spot.
That afternoon I slowly walked to the parking lot with my golf bag over my shoulder. The sun was bright and figures still dotted the course.
I looked back again at the first-place trophy, and somehow it didn’t seem so big anymore.

For a time, a volcanic eruption, a cyclone, and COVID-19 prevented full-time missionaries from proselyting on the island of Tanna, Vanuatu, in the South Pacific Ocean. But after months of missionary work by local Church members and returned missionaries there, more than 100 people were prepared for baptism.
As missionary companions, we took a 45-minute plane flight from Efate Island south to Tanna Island. We brought a large stack of baptismal forms and used a mission pickup truck to begin our visits to the island’s eight branches. By the time we arrived in August, the number of people ready for baptism had grown to 114.
On August 18, 2022, we went to the branch in Sideseawi. We had no way to contact the branch president to tell him we were coming. We just went and hoped to find him.
When you think of Tanna, think of jungle roads. We drove our pickup truck as far up the mountain as we could. Then we left it and started walking. It took us three hours to reach the village. All we had to eat were coconuts we found along the way.
When we reached the village, the branch president was not there, but his counselor was. We talked to him about missionary work, and then it started to rain. When it starts to rain in Sideseawi, people try their very best to find a safe area. We hurried down the mountain to our truck.
When there’s no rain in Tanna, it’s safe to drive. But when there’s rain, that’s when it’s scary. When we reached our truck, we started driving but soon got stuck crossing a river.
We tried to push the truck out, but that didn’t work. So, we called the district president for help. Help came and we tried again to move the truck, but the rains kept coming bigger and bigger. Several rivers were filling and flowing down from different areas around us.
Photograph courtesy of the authors
Those who were helping us got out of the river, but we held tightly to the vehicle’s seats as the river rose. We didn’t want to abandon the truck. The water was now up to the truck’s door handles on the current side.
We called our mission president, Mark Messick, and told him what was going on. “Right now the water is getting bigger and bigger,” we said. We asked if it was OK to save our lives and leave the truck.
“Thank you for giving me a call,” President Messick told us. “It’s OK! Leave the truck where it is and find a safe place now!”
We were close to where two rivers met. The other river near us was already big and fast, but the river where we were was still small, like it was waiting for us to get out. But then, boom!
Someone shouted from the riverbank. Elder Nalin, from Tanna, understood the warning: “Water!”
Our truck was stuck sideways, with the rising current rushing against Elder Toa’s door. Elder Nalin got out first. Elder Toa had to climb into the back seat and out the door on the other side of the cab to get out. He quickly looked on the back seat for our baptismal forms and scriptures but didn’t see them. He thought Elder Nalin had already taken them. As soon as Elder Toa got out, the river took the truck.
If water ruined the forms, we would have to return to areas we had visited and redo interviews. We would also have to fly back to the mission office in Efate to get more baptismal forms and then return to Tanna.
Elder Silas Toa
Photograph by Christine Hair
Elder Brian Moses Nalin
Photograph by Christine Hair
As we watched the truck being swept away, Elder Toa finally spotted the scriptures and the baptismal forms on the back seat. “How can this be possible?” He wondered how he had not seen them before.
While we were still in the river, we called on the power of God to protect our scriptures and baptismal forms. We had faith that He could save them according to His will.
Then we got out of the river and knelt and prayed about the truck and our baptismal forms and scriptures. We couldn’t see the truck anymore, but we knew that everything was going to be fine.
People from Sideseawi found the truck later that day and called the district president. The truck had been carried about 820 feet (250 m) downstream. Everything in the truck was wet, except for our baptismal forms and scriptures! They were dry, sitting on top of some pamphlets, notebooks, and manuals.
We gathered a group to help us get the truck out of the river. The truck had to dry out but was quickly repaired. It had no dents or scratches.
After the storm, we mostly walked to the different branches in Tanna. When your legs get tired of walking, you walk with your heart.
Over the next few days, we finished our baptismal interviews and baptized 114 people, many of them families. One branch had 48 people ready for baptism. We started interviewing them at 7:00 a.m. When we finished, we saw the sun going down.
A flood of trials may come into our lives, but we testify that our faith in God’s power will bless us. Not even Tanna’s flood of water could overpower our Heavenly Father’s flood of blessings.

For some time, the large number of convert baptisms in the Campinas Brazil Castelo Stake had been challenging our ability as leaders to help our new members nourish the seed of truth and grow strong in the gospel. As a stake presidency, we felt an urgency to make sure new converts were being taught “the good word of God,” as President Gordon B. Hinckley has asked (see “Find the Lambs, Feed the Sheep,” Liahona, July 1999, 123).
About three years ago, as we discussed President Hinckley’s counsel as a stake presidency, we noticed an interesting thing: most of the members in our stake who were subscribing to the Liahona were longtime members; they knew the value of receiving the prophets’ words in their homes. However, most new members were not subscribing. We became convinced that an important part of our efforts to help new converts receive the spiritual sustenance they need was getting the Liahona into their homes.
This was no small task. Some 200 converts join our stake each year. How could we encourage these new members to subscribe without making them feel a subscription was obligatory? We didn’t want them to resent our encouragement, particularly if they were facing financial difficulties. And we didn’t want them to feel they had to subscribe to the Liahona to be good members of the Church.
Still, we recognized the power that flows into homes where people regularly read the words of the living prophets and other inspired Church members. We wanted each member of our stake to have access to that source of strength.
In considering the situation, we figured that the number of baptisms we had in a year corresponded to about 80 families. We asked ourselves, Why couldn’t we give a year’s subscription to the Liahona, free of charge, to these 80 families? We felt that after a year’s exposure to the magazine, they would want to continue their subscription on their own. But what of the cost to our meager stake resources? We decided that getting the First Presidency Message and the rest of the magazine into our new converts’ homes on a regular basis justified the cost.
As a stake presidency, we found a way to help new members receive a subscription for their first year in the Church. These new members received the Liahona gladly. Thelma de Paula Silva, a new member of the Rosolem Branch, reflects the feelings of many. “The Liahona has helped me set and achieve goals,” she says. “It has helped me strengthen my own testimony, and it helps my family members who still don’t belong to the Church. It brings joy and love to my home and helps me in my calling as Young Women president. The Liahona is a light for me in moments of darkness.”
As a stake presidency, we also pondered what we could do to help less-active members feel motivated to return to full activity in the Church. The year after our Liahona project began, we asked ourselves the questions, Now that the new members are being exposed to the Liahona, what about the less-active members of our stake? Why couldn’t we extend our Liahona program to them? We figured the number of subscriptions required for these members, and we felt we should order one-year subscriptions for them. Again we found a way to do so.
As our new and less-active members received their magazines, we began to notice an increase in attendance at our sacrament meetings. We felt better as a stake presidency, knowing that our brothers and sisters were being “nourished by the good word of God” (Moro. 6:4).
We began to wonder about active members of our stake who were not subscribing. During all this time, we had asked the bishops and branch presidents to make sure that every member household was given the opportunity to have the magazine. Active members were encouraged to obtain or renew their own subscriptions to the Liahona. We learned that some active members wanted to subscribe but didn’t have the financial means to do so. We decided to include these members in our stake subscription program as well.
As subscription levels among our active members increased, we received many favorable comments. Carla Virginia Soares de Oliveira of the Amarais Branch said: “I’ve been a member of the Church for five years. But I started receiving the Liahona only last year. The things I had not yet learned in Sunday School or Relief Society, I am now learning through the Church magazine.”
Leandro Domingos, a young member of the Amarais Branch, is the only Latter-day Saint in his family. “When I have doubts or questions,” he says, “I always get strength from the Liahona. I love the stories it contains. I usually can relate them to my own situation. Although my mother is not a member, she always compliments the articles.”
The missionaries of the Brazil Campinas Mission were a great support to our stake Liahona program. The missionaries took copies of the Liahona with them whenever they visited the members.
“The missionaries loved this project,” says former mission president Rodney Cuthbert. “The Liahona project gave them an opportunity to visit members who hadn’t been to church for a long time. A number of these people have become active again. The missionaries also used the Liahona to introduce the Church to investigators, and we had some conversions as a result.”
While it is difficult to measure all the benefits of this effort, we are gratified to see joy on the faces of members as they give talks, lessons, or testimonies about the influence of the Liahona in their lives. We have also seen an increased desire among our members to receive the counsel of the Lord through the magazine. Many people wait eagerly for it to arrive, anticipating that its messages will bless their lives.
Karen Pereira da Silva, a magazine representative in the Anhanguera Ward, expresses our sentiments exactly: “It is almost as if the magazine is made especially for me. Many times while reading its articles, especially the message from the First Presidency, I have felt through the Spirit that the counsel being given was what I needed to hear at that particular moment of my life.”
We are convinced our efforts to have a Liahona in every home in our stake have helped bring the joy and peace of the gospel of Jesus Christ into the lives of our brothers and sisters in greater abundance.

The oiled-paper windows of the cabin were barely light when Clarinda awoke. Back in their beautiful New York home she would have snuggled deeper into the warm featherbed and slept on until Mother came to gently tease her awake. Then she would have run happily downstairs for a breakfast of ham, eggs, and hot biscuits with butter and honey. Never would her stomach have growled with hunger as it did now.
But that was a year ago, before there were so many things to be afraid of. Everything was different now. Hot tears pushed at her eyelids.
“You must be braver than that, Clarinda,” her father would say if he could see her now. “You can’t let your fears control you. Courage is what it takes.”
But that was the problem. She had no courage.
Beside her, Elizabeth and Baby Sarah stirred in their sleep. Pushing the quilts aside, Clarinda leaned over and peered under the bed, listening carefully. She heard nothing, not even her brother Jeremiah behind his corner curtain.
With the warmth of spring, rattlesnakes had suddenly appeared throughout the settlement. Sister Andersen had even found one on her table. Clarinda shuddered at the thought. She feared snakes more than wolves or Indians. When she was certain that nothing slithered beneath her bed, she stepped onto the hardpacked dirt floor. Shaking her clothes to get rid of any creepy-crawly things, she dressed, moved quietly to the fireplace, and stirred up the fire.
She was measuring the last of their cornmeal into the kettle when a loud rattling sound made her scream and jump aside.
“If I’d really been a snake,” laughed Jeremiah, tossing Sarah’s gourd rattle at her, “you’d be bit for sure, jumping like that.”
Clarinda ducked her head in shame as she felt a hot flush spreading across her face.
“Did you hear the wolves last night?” Jeremiah teased. “Sounded like they were right outside the door.”
When she didn’t answer he bent and kissed the top of her head. “You’ve got to find some courage somewhere, Clarinda,” he said gently. “It eats your insides to be so full of fear.”
“You want some breakfast?” Her voice was calm, but inside she ached with crying that hadn’t come out yet.
“No, thanks, it’s my turn at guard duty,” Jeremiah answered. “Besides,” he added, looking into the boiling kettle, “there’s not enough.”
“I’m not hungry. I’ll go without,” protested his sister.
Jeremiah shook his head. “We all did too much of that this winter. But don’t you fret. Pa’ll be back with supplies any day now. In the meantime, I’ll wash off some more roots and eat them.”
Clarinda followed him as he shouldered his rifle and unlatched the door. “Courage, little sister,” he urged. “The Lord will protect us.”
She sighed as she relatched the door securely behind him. In her heart she knew the Lord would protect them, but her mind couldn’t seem to shake loose the fears. It isn’t fair. Why does Jeremiah have all the courage while I have none? she wondered. Isn’t there some way that courage can be shared?
Bending, she rearranged the coarse rope stretched across the doorway. She had heard that snakes wouldn’t crawl over a scratchy rope. “It had better work,” she murmured.
The rest of the morning Clarinda was too busy to worry about her fears. She dressed and fed Sarah and Elizabeth, scoured the kettle and bowls with rushes from the lake, swept the dirt floor, cleaned the hearth, chopped more roots for a watery stew, and three times replaced the rope that Elizabeth kept dragging away from the door. She even became brave enough to open the door for some fresh air while she shook the bed quilts.
Clarinda’s family had left a beautiful home and struggled across the plains for this—a cold dirt-floored cabin. They had nearly starved to death during the long winter. Her mother, like so many others, had died from the hardships. Now, there was fear of Indians—and snakes!
Clarinda shivered. “Are you afraid?” Elizabeth asked.
“Of course, I’m afraid! Who wouldn’t be?” Clarinda grumbled.
“Heavenly Father loves me. I’m not afraid,” said Elizabeth softly.
Clarinda flung herself on the bed. Even her little sister had more courage than she did. When she finally stopped crying, Elizabeth was gone and Sarah was crawling toward the open doorway.
Frantic with fear, Clarinda grabbed Sarah, put her on a quilt in the corner of the cabin to play with her gourd rattle, and dashed outside. “Elizabeth!” Her throat felt so pinched she could hardly call out. “Please come play with me. I’m lonely.” Earnestly she prayed, “Heavenly Father, please let me find her before the Indians or the snakes do.”
Even before she said amen, Elizabeth’s head appeared around the corner of the cabin. “Here I am. I was hiding!” she giggled.
Clarinda was too thankful to scold her. “Come keep Sarah and me company, and I’ll fix you some lunch.”
Inside, Clarinda carefully latched the door and replaced the rope. Sarah still gurgled happily on her quilt. The sound of her rattle filled the cabin. But then Clarinda froze—there were two rattling sounds. One was Sarah’s gourd, but the other … she fought back the scream in her throat. Curled on the floor in front of Sarah was a huge rattlesnake.
She shoved Elizabeth across the room, away from the snake.
“Elizabeth, climb onto Jeremiah’s bed quickly!”
Even as she spoke, Clarinda moved quietly to the hearth and grabbed the fire poker. She would have only one chance. If she missed, the snake would strike Sarah.
Silently, she prayed for courage and a good aim as she swung the heavy poker … again and again. At last, she carried the lifeless snake, dangling from the poker, to the doorway and flung it outside, almost in Jeremiah’s face.
“What … ? How … ?” Jeremiah stood in the doorway, pale and shaken.
Clarinda was still trembling, but somehow she didn’t feel quite so afraid anymore. “I found some courage,” she murmured.
Jeremiah put his arm around her shoulder and held her close. “I knew you would, little sister,” he said quietly. “I knew you would.”

Donovan aimed his slingshot at the empty soup can on the stump.
He stretched back the slingshot’s rubber tubing.
“What are you doing?” his little sister, Dana, asked.
“Watch this!” he said.
Thwack!
The rubber snapped back into place as Donovan let go, sending the small rock flying. Some leaves in a nearby tree rustled. But the tin can didn’t move. Donovan stuffed the slingshot into his back pocket. He had missed. Again!
Dana tilted her head to the side. “What am I supposed to see?”
“Nothing,” Donovan said. “Come on. Let’s go home.” They started heading back to the house.
Donovan kicked a stick out of his way. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to use Dad’s slingshot right. And he loved that thing! He always liked using it when Dad was out of town working, like now. It helped him feel close to Dad when he couldn’t see him.
He pulled the slingshot from his pocket and spun it slowly in his hand. The rough bark had become smooth a long time ago. Dad had made the slingshot out of a strong tree branch and used it for years before giving it to Donovan.
Dad had pointed at the soup can that day. “When you focus, amazing things can happen.” Donovan still remembered what happened next. Dad had aimed the slingshot and hit the soup can. In one try! He made it look easy. Donovan really missed him.
He was still thinking about Dad when he fell asleep that night.
The next morning, Donovan carried his slingshot to his favorite patch of trees to try again.
“Focus …” Donovan said as he stared at the can on the stump. He placed another small stone in the slingshot and pulled back.
Dad keeps trying, even when things don’t always work out, Donovan thought.
Donovan tried to stop thinking about all the times he had missed before. He closed one eye, the way Dad taught him. He really focused. Donovan didn’t look at anything else but the red soup can.
Taking a deep breath, he let go.
Thwack!
CLUNK!
Donovan blinked in surprise as the can sailed off the stump. “I did it!” he said. “Yes!”
Later that night, Donovan sat next to Mom after dinner. He held up the slingshot.
“I finally hit the can today,” he said, grinning.
“Well done!” Mom said.
“You know, I think this slingshot is my favorite thing in the whole world,” Donovan said.
“Oh?” Mom asked.
“Yup. Because it helps me think about Dad and feel close to him.”
Mom smiled. “I think he’ll be happy to know you feel that way. And guess what? Dad will be home in only three days. You can show him your new skills.”
Donovan could hardly wait! “That gives me an idea,” he said.
He ran to find Dana. He could teach her to use the slingshot the same way Dad had taught him!
“Hey, Dana,” he said. “Wanna learn how to use the best slingshot in Jamaica?”
What special things help you feel close to someone in your family?