Gospel Story Finder

Another appropriate question is, “Where can truth be found?” Perhaps a clue to the answer can be found in the following story.
Ali Hafed, an ancient Persian, owned much land and many productive fields, with orchards and gardens, and had money out at interest. He had a lovely family and “was contented because he was wealthy, and wealthy because he was contented.”
An old priest came to Ali Hafed and told him that if he had a diamond the size of his thumb, he could purchase much more land than he already had. Ali Hafed said, “Will you tell me where I can find diamonds?”
The priest told him, “If you will find a river that runs through white sands, between high mountains, in those white sands you will always find diamonds.”
Said Ali Hafed, “I will go.”
So he sold his farm, collected his money that was at interest, and left his family in the charge of a neighbor, and away he went in search of diamonds, traveling through many lands.
The man who purchased Ali Hafed’s farm led his camel out into the garden to drink, and as the animal put his nose into the shallow waters, the farmer noticed a curious flash of light in the white sands of the stream. Reaching in, he pulled out a black stone containing a strange eye of light. Not long after, the same old priest came to visit Ali Hafed’s successor and found that in the black stone was a diamond. As they rushed out into the garden and stirred up the white sands with their fingers, they came up with many more beautiful, valuable gems. Thus were discovered the diamond mines of Golconda, the most valuable diamond mines in the ancient world. Had Ali Hafed remained at home and dug in his own cellar or anywhere in his own fields rather than traveling in strange lands, he would have had acres of diamonds (adapted from Russell H. Conwell, Acres of Diamonds [1915], 4–8).

I think of a little story President Benson told us a short time ago when he told about being at a banquet back in the East. He sat next to a minister, and the minister said: “Mr. Benson, I’d like to visit with you after the banquet.” So they got in another part of the building, and he said: “Now there are two things in your church we would like to copy.”

Brother Benson said: “And what are they?”

“Well, first, it’s your missionary system,” he said. “You send your missionaries all over the world. You don’t pay them; you make them pay their way to their field of labor, maintain themselves while they are there, and all the Church does for them is to pay their return fare when they come back.” He said: “Now in our church, we have a missionary fund. But,” he said, “we offer to pay our men to the field of labor, to maintain them while they are there, and then to return them after they are released—and we can’t get anybody to go!”

After my call to the Relief Society general presidency, I felt a desire to know more about the women who had served before me. I was impressed by the teachings of Sister Zina D. Young, first counselor in the second Relief Society general presidency. She said, “Sisters, it is for us to be wide awake to our duties.”1 I pondered on the words awake and duty and did some additional searching in the scriptures.
In the New Testament, Paul taught the Saints of his day:
“It is high time to awake out of sleep: for now is our salvation nearer. …
“The night is far spent, the day is at hand: … let us put on the armour of light.”2
In the Book of Mormon, Alma taught his people the sacred duties of those who enter into a covenant with God:
“And now, as ye are desirous to come into the fold of God, and to be called his people, and are willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light;
“Yea, and are willing to mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort, and to stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places. …
“Now I say unto you, if this be the desire of your hearts, what have ye against being baptized in the name of the Lord, as a witness before him that ye have entered into a covenant with him, that ye will serve him and keep his commandments, that he may pour out his Spirit more abundantly upon you?
“And now when the people had heard these words, they clapped their hands for joy, and exclaimed: This is the desire of our hearts.”3
Sister Young’s statement and these scriptures caused me to consider the “duties” we must awaken to in our day.
When we are baptized, we enter into a covenant. Elder Robert D. Hales taught, “When we make and keep covenants, we are coming out of the world and into the kingdom of God.”4
We are changed. We look different, and we act different. The things we listen to and read and say are different, and what we wear is different because we become daughters of God bound to Him by covenant.
When we are confirmed, we receive the gift of the Holy Ghost, the right to have the constant influence of a member of the Godhead to guide us, to comfort us, and to protect us. He warns us when we are tempted to walk away from our covenants and back into the world. President Boyd K. Packer teaches that none of us “will ever make a serious mistake without first being warned by the promptings of the Holy Ghost.”5
To receive this gift and always have the Spirit with us, we must be worthy and vigilant about checking the condition of our hearts. Is our heart soft? Do we have a humble heart, a teachable heart, a gentle heart? Or have our hearts become gradually hardened as we have allowed too much of the noise of the world to distract us from the gentle promptings that have surely come from the Spirit?
When we were baptized, our hearts were changed and awakened to God. While on our mortal journey, we need to regularly ask ourselves, “If [I] have experienced a change of heart, … can [I] feel so now?”6 And if not, then why not?
Many of the early Saints “experienced this mighty change in [their] hearts.”7 It awakened them to receive temple blessings that strengthened them in their duties. Early Saints in Nauvoo went “to the temple all day and long into the night”8 to receive ordinances and make covenants before they began their journey westward.
Sarah Rich, a Relief Society sister in Nauvoo, said this: “Many were the blessings we had received in the house of the Lord, which has caused us joy and comfort in the midst of all our sorrows and enabled us to have faith in God, knowing He would guide us and sustain us in the unknown journey that lay before us.”9
With hearts changed through faith in the Savior, they relied on the power of His Atonement. They were awakened to act. They knew deep in their hearts that there was one—the Savior—who understood their personal adversity because He suffered it for them in the Garden of Gethsemane and on the cross. He felt their fear, their doubt, their pain, and their loneliness. He suffered their sorrows, their persecution, their hunger, their fatigue, and their loss. And because He suffered all these things, He could say to them, “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”10
And they came. They trusted in and followed the prophet. They knew the journey would be long, their duty difficult. They knew that sacrifice would be required, but sustained by their faith and cleaving to their covenants, they were spiritually prepared.
Before leaving Nauvoo, a group of Saints wrote a message in the assembly hall in the temple they were forced to abandon. It read, “The Lord has beheld our sacrifice: come after us.”11
Recently I participated in a pioneer trek with young men and young women in our ward. Each morning I asked myself, “What is my sacrifice? How do I come after them?”
On the second day of the trek we had pulled our handcarts eight miles (13 km) when we came to a place on the trail called “the women’s pull.” Men and women were separated, and the men were sent ahead up a hill. As we started to pull our handcarts, I looked up to see our priesthood brethren, young and old, lining both sides of the trail, hats off in respect for the women.
The path was easy at first, but soon we were in deep sand, and the hill grew steep. I had my head down and was pushing with all my might when I felt a tug on the cart and looked up to see Lexi, one of our young women and my neighbor. She had pulled her handcart to the top and, seeing our need for help, ran back. When we reached the top, I wanted so much to run back to help those following me, but I was breathing heavily and my heart was pounding so hard, the words heart attack entered my mind more than once! I watched with gratitude as other young women dropped their handcarts and ran to help.
When everyone reached the top, we took some time to record feelings in our journals. I wrote: “I didn’t prepare well enough physically so didn’t have the strength to help those following me. I may never need to pull a handcart again, but I never want to let my sisters down spiritually, never!”
It was a sacred experience that awakened me spiritually to my duties to my family and others. Throughout our journey I reflected on what I had learned.
First I thought about my sisters, those who had pulled and those who continue today to pull their handcarts alone. Nearly 20 percent of the women in those early handcart companies were alone for at least part of the way. These were women who had not married, were divorced, or were widowed. Many were single mothers.12 They all pulled together—covenant daughters, young and old, in different life circumstances, on the same path, with the same goal.
Those who ran to help their sisters in need reminded me of rescuers, both seen and unseen, who are quick to observe, see a need, and act.
I thought of the Lord’s words: “I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up.”13
Lining both sides of the trail were faithful, obedient, covenant-keeping men. Their priesthood power—the power God uses to bless all His children—lifted, strengthened, and supported us. They were a reminder that we are never alone. We can have this power with us always as we keep our covenants.
I thought of the men who were separated on the journey from families, leaving them to pull the handcart alone. Many men died on the journey. Some sons stayed behind to serve missions in their native lands. Others had emigrated earlier to prepare for their families’ arrival in the Salt Lake Valley. Some men were absent by choice, having chosen not to keep their covenants.
Like those who went before, many today live in circumstances that are not ideal. We continue to teach and strive for the ideal because we know that continually striving will keep us progressing along the path and prepare us for opportunities to receive all promised blessings as we “wait upon the Lord.”14
Each of us has had and will continue to have adversity in our lives. This mortal life is a time of testing, and we will continue to have opportunities to use our agency to choose what we will learn from the adversity that will surely come.
As daughters of God, we continue on the path in faith because we recognize, as President Thomas S. Monson taught, “The saving ordinances received in the temple that permit us to someday return to our Heavenly Father in an eternal family relationship and to be endowed with blessings and power from on high are worth every sacrifice and every effort.”15
It isn’t enough to just be on the journey; we must be awake to our duty and continue with faith as we draw upon the comforting, strengthening, enabling, and healing power of the Atonement.
Sisters, I love you. I don’t know many of you personally, but I do know who you are! We are covenant-keeping daughters in His kingdom, and endowed with power through our covenants, we are prepared to do our duty.
Relief Society prepares women for the blessings of eternal life by awakening us spiritually to increase in faith and personal righteousness. Let us begin with ourselves. Let us begin where we are. Let us begin today. When we are spiritually awake, we will be better able to strengthen families and homes and help others.
This is a work of salvation, and the strengthening and enabling power of the Atonement makes it possible. Awaken to who we are. Awaken to our duty. We are daughters of our Heavenly Father, who loves us. Of this I testify in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Perhaps less visible than the Prophet’s father, but equally important in shaping and influencing his life, was his mother, Lucy Mack Smith. She gave birth to 11 children and endured faithfully as all but 4 preceded her in death. During her life, she watched six of her immediate family and one grandson die as a result of ruthless mob violence and persecution.

Early in her marriage, Lucy prepared herself to raise a prophet. On one occasion she became seriously ill, and the doctors said she would die. Lucy records that she “made a solemn covenant with God that if He would let me live I would endeavor to serve him according to the best of my abilities.” After a voice assured her that she would live, she told her mother, “The Lord will let me live, if I am faithful to the promise which I made to him, to be a comfort to my mother, my husband, and my children.”3

She gave continual encouragement, support, and strength to her son, Joseph the Prophet. His mother was the first person with whom young Joseph shared some of his momentous experiences of the Sacred Grove. Years later, he shared with her the joy and relief he felt when the Lord allowed others to view the sacred plates of gold.4

The Prophet’s mother shared also in his sorrows, sufferings, and persecutions. One time a mob took Joseph and his brother Hyrum prisoner and threatened to shoot them. The two brothers were confined under a cloth cover in a wagon. Their courageous mother risked her life and forced her way through the hostile mob to comfort her sons. Joseph and Hyrum could not see their mother and could only extend a hand from under the confining cover. As Lucy’s hand and the hands of her sons touched, the wagon drove off, literally tearing the sorrowing mother from her two sons.

Like great parents of all ages, Lucy turned to prayer for divine help to sustain her family. During the march from Ohio to Missouri known as Zion’s Camp, Joseph and Hyrum were seriously ill with cholera, and their lives were almost taken. At one point, “Hyrum sprang to his feet and exclaimed, ‘Joseph, we shall return to our families. I have had an open vision, in which I saw mother kneeling under an apple tree; and she is even now asking God, in tears, to spare our lives. … The Spirit testifies, that her prayers … will be answered.’”5

Lucy’s sons Joseph and Hyrum ultimately sealed their testimonies with their blood. As the grieving mother looked upon their lifeless remains, she cried, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken this family!” As a kind blessing to a faithful mother, the Lord softened her grief and granted to her the peace that only God can bestow. A voice spoke to her soul: “I have taken them to myself, that they might have rest.”6

Once I went with my dad to Sigatoka, Fiji—a great place to swim in the ocean. My parents were divorced, so my mum wasn’t going with us. Before we left, she bought me purple goggles. Sure, they’re just goggles, but she expected me to take care of them and bring them back.
At the end of the second day in Sigatoka, I realized I didn’t have my goggles. I worried that I’d lost them in the ocean. The first thing I did was pray that I would be able to find my goggles. I felt peace and knew everything would be OK.
The only person I told was my brother. He doesn’t believe in God and often criticized my beliefs because I am the only member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in my family. He said, “Yeah, you’re not going to get them back.” I told him, “I prayed about it, and I know my prayers will be answered.”
The next day I scanned the water while we swam. When it was time to go, I still hadn’t found my goggles. I accepted I probably wouldn’t find them and thanked Heavenly Father for His comfort and peace.
Then my brother suddenly shouted. He was holding up the purple goggles!
My brother still doesn’t believe in the gospel, but I am grateful for the comfort, strength, and assurance that come when I put my faith in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.
Shreya S., Suva, Fiji

Another time the words “Parents have a sacred duty to rear their children in love and righteousness, to provide for their physical and spiritual needs” weighed heavily on my mind. Our family members loved and had a good time with each other, but I felt that we were far from our spiritual potential. The words of the proclamation inspired my wife, Juanita, and me to begin having a family testimony meeting on fast Sunday after church. Unfortunately, our first attempt did little to provide for our children’s spiritual needs. None of them really wanted to be there. Several children complained about how hungry they were, and our youngest asked several times, “When is this going to be over?” Still, we persevered, and after a few months the complaining stopped and we started feeling the Spirit more. This family testimony meeting became a precious time to share sacred truths and to help us “rear [our] children in love and righteousness.”

When it was time for Erik’s Eagle project, he found plenty of people willing to help. “I always went out helping the other guys with their projects, and they helped me in return,” he says.
The cemetery in Patagonia sits on a hill and overlooks the town. Although it is still used, the cemetery doesn’t receive continual maintenance, and many of the headstones were buried, and weeds and trash had covered others. For his Eagle project, Erik, with the help of his family, ward members, and friends from the community, cleaned the cemetery.

After a long and hard divorce, my mother decided to move our family from Germany to the United States—the home she’d left many years ago when she married my father. Even though my brothers and I were excited, it was a difficult time for us. We had to adjust to a new home and to a different country and culture.
Soon we found a house, and my brothers and I started school. We had moved to Massachusetts, where we attended a small ward. The members welcomed us warmly, and we quickly made many good friends.
Things weren’t going too badly, but my mother hadn’t been able to find a job as quickly as we had hoped. My older brother was serving a mission, and Christmas was coming closer, so money was tight. My younger brothers and I knew we wouldn’t be getting many presents that year. I often saw my mother sitting in her room, thinking of how to pay the bills and still have enough to buy presents and make this a wonderful Christmas. My brothers and I tried to convince her that we didn’t need any presents. But she knew we were just trying to make things easier and that we would be disappointed if we didn’t get anything at all.
Christmas Eve came, and we each had a couple of presents under the tree. Mother was completing the final preparations when the phone rang. She answered it. All she heard was, “An elf from the North Pole has left something for you at the front door.” Then the line was dead.
I stepped out of my room and saw my mother standing beside the phone. When I asked who had called, she slowly repeated the message she had heard. I quickly grabbed her, and we opened the front door. Outside were five big bags filled with presents. Each was carefully wrapped and had a tag.
I hurriedly woke my brothers, and with great excitement we opened the bags and placed the gifts under the tree. Long after going to bed, each of us wondered who might have called and left the bags on our doorstep. My mother didn’t go to bed for a long time. She just sat in the living room and looked at the Christmas tree with all its lights and the presents lying beneath it.
Christmas day came. We got up and opened our presents, which were all carefully selected to match our interests and needs. It was the nicest Christmas I’ve ever had.
We still don’t know who gave us the wonderful gifts, and we decided to stop trying to figure it out. But I will never forget that Christmas, not only because of the presents, but because of the lesson I learned. We are all saved because of Jesus Christ’s great love for us. He was born and died for each of us, and too often we forget the true meaning of Christmas. That year I was reminded of the love the Savior has for each of us and that he wants us to love and serve one another. I am so grateful for the Christlike example of our secret friend.

I recall a personal experience. A few years ago when my wife and I were involved with a young family, we were struggling to meet our financial needs, and we were in debt, and we were not honest in our payment of tithes and offerings. We were attending church and I thought that we loved the Lord, but one day my wife said to me, “Do you love God?” and I answered, “Yes.”

She said, “Do you love God as much as you love the grocer?”

I replied, “I hope that I love him more than the grocer.”

She said, “But you paid the grocer. Do you love God as much as the landlord? You paid him, didn’t you?” She then said, “The first and great commandment is to love God, and you know we have not paid our tithing.”

We repented and paid our tithes and offerings, and the Lord opened the windows of heaven and poured out blessings upon us. We consider it a great privilege to pay tithes and offerings to the Lord.

I would like to mention that when we were not honest with the Lord, we were disturbed and had difficulties and problems.

After receiving an invitation to “come and see,” I attended The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for the first time at the age of 26. I had recently separated from my first husband. I had a three-year-old boy. And I felt powerless with fear. When I entered the building, I was filled with warmth as I perceived the faith and joy of the people surrounding me. It was truly “a refuge from the storm.” Three weeks later, I made the baptismal covenant with Heavenly Father and started my journey as a disciple of Christ, although my life has not been perfect along that journey.
For me to receive those eternal blessings, many physical and spiritual elements had to be in place. The gospel of Jesus Christ had been restored and preached; that meetinghouse had been built and maintained; there was an ecclesiastical structure, from the prophet to local leaders; and a branch filled by covenant members was ready to embrace me and my son as we were brought to the Savior, “nourished by the good word of God,” and given opportunities to serve.

I was sure Heavenly Father had failed me. Or He had at least forgotten I existed.
I sat all alone at an empty table as the lunchroom around me buzzed with laughter and conversation. I was the new girl. And the first day of seventh grade is not an easy time to make friends.
I had prayed about the move to Texas, and I felt it was the right thing. But now here I was, alone with my mashed potatoes. All the comfort and reassurance I felt before were gone.
As the bell rang I remembered I had my peer mentorship class next—my last hope for getting into the “in” crowd. The counselor had told me that a lot of kids take the class to meet people and get involved—exactly what I was looking for. I hurried down the hall with new hope for my social life. I would finally have friends here.
“Welcome to class. Today you will each be assigned to a student with a special need or concern. Your job will be to help him or her throughout the year.” With that Mrs. Watson began running down the class roll, assigning each student to be a tutor or mentor. When she came to me she asked me to see her after class.
“Kevin is a special case. He needs a lot of help. It won’t be easy. Are you okay with that?”
“Sure!” How hard could it be?
The next day I met Kevin Mathison. He had no hands, no feet, and he controlled his electric wheelchair with a lever held in his mouth. I must admit that, when I saw him, I had less than Christlike feelings. I was afraid. Here I was, desperately looking for friends and popularity in this new place, and I was the one to be picked to help Kevin. Why couldn’t they get someone else to do it?
Kevin had a rare disease that was gradually deteriorating his skin and connective tissues. Although the counselor had talked with me briefly about his condition, I was not at all prepared for what I saw when we met. His arms, legs, and neck were bandaged, his hair was gone, and his face was badly scarred. Perhaps more shocking than all the rest, however, was Kevin’s smile—so bright and so genuine that his blue eyes sparkled with it.
I wish I could say that at that moment I put aside my selfish fears and saw Kevin for the incredible spirit he was, but unfortunately it took me most of that year to even feel comfortable with him. Though very lonely and disappointed, I stuck with Kevin. I helped him get to classes, complete assignments, and eat lunch. But, oh, how I dreaded those lunch hours I spent spoon-feeding Kevin while my classmates were chatting and laughing about clothes and guys. I felt I would never belong. And having to help Kevin around everywhere was certainly not helping.
As for Kevin, he was excited simply to have someone to talk to. His warm smile greeted me every morning. Throughout the year he told me all about his family and his favorite sports teams. I eventually found myself laughing and even enjoying our time together. The last day before Christmas break, Kevin came into class and asked me to open his bag for him. When I unzipped his bag, I found a small box wrapped in green paper.
“Open it. It’s for you.” He seemed more serious than usual as he watched me struggle to untie the bow. When I opened the box, a lump came to my throat. It was a small pin—a guardian angel.
“Thanks for being a friend, Jana,” Kevin said softly.
I couldn’t believe it. All this time I had been searching and praying for friends, and here he was right in front of me. Kevin didn’t give me the instant popularity I had wanted, but he did give me a lesson in service, friendship, and unconditional love that has been with me ever since.
Kevin Mathison died one month before he would have graduated. At our high school graduation ceremony, I stood with the rest of my class as an honorary diploma was awarded to his family. Tears streamed down my face as I silently thanked Kevin for the years of friendship and love he gave me. This young man, the sight of whom made me uncomfortable and afraid five years ago, had become beautiful—not because his appearance ever changed, but because he gave me better eyes with which to see.
I know Heavenly Father put Kevin and me together for a reason. I prayed to have friends, and the Lord showed me that first I had to be one. I still have Kevin’s pin in my room. It reminds me that if I look outside myself, I truly can be a guardian angel—or at least a friend.

Eleven-year-old Pedro sat quietly on the front steps of his apartment building. It was a warm summer day in Santiago. His father, a city bus driver, had left hours ago for work and would soon be home for lunch. Pedro’s mother was busily preparing arroz con pollo (chicken with rice) in the kitchen. Its aroma floating from the open window made him hungry.
He felt the warm breeze on his cheeks and watched it dance across the long grass that separated his home from the post office. Then he saw them, the two young women with white blouses and dark skirts who came this way every Monday. One resembled him with wiry dark hair and soft brown eyes. The other, blond and freckled, was obviously a North American. Mormons, he thought.
He remembered visiting his cousin Carlos on the coast a few summers ago. When the Mormons had come, his aunt invited them in to give their message.
Pedro had felt his heart burn as the young men told the story of Joseph Smith. They opened a blue book. They said that the book was called the Book of Mormon and that it told of Jesus’ coming to America. Then one of them read a promise from the book: God would tell them it was true, if they would just read it and ask Him about it.
Pedro and Carlos exchanged excited glances. Jesus had come to America! Pedro was eager to read this book. Would the missionaries offer them a Book of Mormon? They did!
“No, thank you.”
Pedro stared in disbelief at his uncle, whose words nearly choked the warmth in his heart. Carlos hung his head.
The missionaries smiled politely and, thanking them, rose from their chairs.
Pedro felt tears coming as he watched the missionaries walk away. He couldn’t let them go—he wanted so much to read the book! Feeling as though he would burst, he jumped up and ran outside. “Wait!” He caught up with the missionaries at the gate. “Please don’t leave!”
Both of them smiled, but Pedro could tell that they were sad. The tall one stooped down and spoke softly. “What is your name?”
“Pedro.”
“Well, Pedro, remember what we taught you. Pray to Father in Heaven, and be a good son. Your time will come.”
Pedro watched sorrowfully as they walked away.
Now, remembering, his eyes began to sting again. He did what the missionaries had told him. He prayed every day to Heavenly Father. And he obeyed his parents. When would his time come?
A shadow fell across the grass in front of him. Surprised, he looked up at the two young women with friendly eyes. He noticed the tags on their blouses—Hermana (Sister) Sanchez and Hermana Cartwright—and, in a canvas bag Hermana Sanchez carried, he saw the blue book.
“Buenos días (good morning),” Hermana Cartwright said, smiling. “We noticed you on our way to the post office, and we felt that we should talk to you.”
“Are your parents home?” asked Hermana Sanchez.
“Sí! (yes)” Pedro cried. He quickly opened the door and called to his mother. The missionaries were right. His prayers were answered. His time had come at last. He turned back to the sisters and smiled. “You don’t know how long I have waited!”

While Elder Quentin L. Cook and Sister Mary Cook were in the Philippines, a big volcano erupted. They were glad they were there to help and comfort people.
The air was so ashy that it was hard to breathe. People had to leave their homes. Many families slept in Church buildings.
Elder Cook told the people that Heavenly Father loves them and that He would help them.
Elder Cook thanked Church members for their Christlike service to each other and to friends of other faiths.
“The Savior’s Atonement gives peace regardless of what we are faced with.”*

“The gospel fills my life with such joy!” the young woman at the pulpit in my student ward exclaimed. I could tell it was true, but my own heart was heavy. I had always been a member of the Church, and I believed in the gospel with all my heart. I followed its principles faithfully. But I didn’t feel that there was any true joy in my life, only the never-ending demands of school, Church callings, friends, and family. Why couldn’t I feel the way the girl at the pulpit did?
The question soon began to consume my thoughts. The familiar Book of Mormon scripture echoed in my head: “Men are, that they might have joy” (2 Nephi 2:25). I became determined to find an answer.
“Father in Heaven,” I prayed late one night, “please, oh please. I’m not happy, and I’m not sure why. Where can I find the joy that prophets and others speak of?”
I crossed campus the next day, sure that now I would get the answer to my prayers. Rain had been falling for three days, filling the flower beds and spilling down the sidewalks. As I plodded through the puddles, I peered into the faces of the other students and wondered if they were truly happy.
The day passed as usual, and I was still discouraged. I sat doing homework, more downhearted than ever.
The shrill ring of the telephone shattered the silence of my self-pity.
“Catherine!” It was my dad’s cheery voice. “How are you?”
“Hi, Dad,” I said. “I’m okay.”
“Just okay?” he asked.
Soon I had told him the whole problem. Finally, I asked, “Where can I find true joy?”
He was silent for a moment, thinking.
“When I was in Germany on a mission,” he said slowly, “the sun sometimes shone for only a few hours a day. Depressing darkness would fill the rest of our waking hours. I struggled with the gloominess for some time before I learned that if I wanted to have sunshine, I had to carry it with me in my heart.”
I think back on this conversation with my dad regularly. My answer came then. Joy is something inside a person. It comes from living the gospel, being grateful for the opportunity to do so, and then remembering to simply be happy about it.

“May I see you a moment, sir?” The shabby naval officer opened his eyes wide in surprise at the young man who had called to him. One reason for his surprise was that the boy was tall and healthy—a rare sight aboard the prison ship Jersey. The Jersey, anchored off Long Island, was the terror of American seamen during the American Revolution.
Another reason for the officer’s surprise was that the young man was black. The British usually sold black prisoners-of-war as slaves in the West Indies rather than hold them prisoner.
“What can I do for you?” the officer asked curiously. “I’m due to get off this old hulk tomorrow morning. I’ve some arrangements to make.”
“That’s what I wanted to see you about,” James Forten replied. “Do you need help carrying your things to the American ship tomorrow? I’m one of the few able-bodied sailors left on this ship, and I’m willing to work.”
The officer smiled. “Yes, I could use some help. I’ve a heavy sea chest and some other things.” He paused. “But I have nothing to give you in return for your help.”
“Oh, but you do, sir.” The young man glanced cautiously around him. “I want to escape,” he whispered, “hidden in your sea chest.”
The officer stared. No one escaped from the Jersey unless he were wrapped in a shroud and buried at sea. “All right! You may use the sea chest. But you’re on your own. I can’t be caught helping anyone escape. I’d hang for it.”
“Leave it to me, sir,” the boy answered. The light in his eyes shone even brighter than before.
The officer turned to go below. Then he looked back. “Good luck to you,” he whispered.
Just then Commander Sproat appeared. “I’ll have no idle chatter aboard this craft!” he snarled at James. “Get below and check for bodies. Bring up any sick men you find.”
All the men hated David Sproat. Under his tyranny, more than eleven thousand men died during the three years the Jersey was used as a floating prison.
The tall black boy disappeared below deck. Sproat scowled. There was too much zest in the fellow’s stride for his liking.
James had then been placed on the Jersey. It was a fate preferable to slavery, James felt. At least on the Jersey he might have a chance of returning to his home in Philadelphia. Now the opportunity he had been waiting for had arisen.
James searched the hold of the wretched ship for men who had not survived the night. To his relief, there were none. Then, looking for sick men to help to the deck, he found his friend Daniel Brewton, former ship’s boy on the Royal Louis.
In the sunlight on deck, James saw that Daniel’s eyes were glazed. His body was covered with sores, and his sunken face was pale. With a horrible feeling, James realized that Daniel was dying. Unless …
James tried to thrust the thought from him. He’d made his plans. He would not spend another night on the Jersey!
“James,” Daniel whispered. “Would you get me some water?”
James scooped up a dipperful of the thick, almost-green water from its cask. Daniel choked down the liquid and lay down again with a shudder.
The next morning, Daniel Brewton escaped in the officer’s sea chest and returned to his home in Philadelphia to recover. James was finally released from the Jersey almost three months later.

Every day at recess, Jason sat under a shady tree and read a book. Most of the other kids played soccer. Jason had played with them before, but he didn’t really like it. He wasn’t very good at running fast or kicking the ball. And being around lots of kids running and yelling made him uncomfortable.
But Jason didn’t like feeling lonely and left out. The other kids seemed to have so much fun! He wanted to have fun with friends too.
One day at recess, Jason looked up from his book. He noticed Kira sitting at a picnic table, reading. Then he saw Mark kicking a rock against a wall. Why weren’t they playing soccer like all the others?
The next day, Jason watched again. Kira was reading at the picnic table, just like yesterday. Mark was sitting on the ground. He was twirling some grass. Jason went back to reading. But he kept looking at Kira and Mark. Maybe they liked doing quiet things too.
That afternoon, Jason talked to Mom. “Every day at recess, I read a book,” he said. “But the other kids play soccer.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that.” Mom smiled. “I was the same way when I was your age. Always reading.”
Jason smiled too. He liked it when he and Mom read books together.
“I thought I was the only one who didn’t like soccer,” Jason said. “But there are two other kids who don’t play either.” He told Mom about Kira and Mark.
“Maybe you could be their friend,” Mom said.
Jason nodded. “Maybe. But I don’t know what to do with them.”
“Well, you and Kira both like reading, but that’s something you do by yourself,” Mom said. “What else do you like to do?”
“I like to play checkers,” Jason said. “And there’s a checkerboard at school.”
“Hmm,” Mom said. “What could you do with that checkerboard? Maybe at recess?” She pretended to think about it.
Jason laughed. “I think I have an idea.”
The next day when the bell rang for recess, Jason grabbed the checkers set. He walked over to the picnic table where Kira was reading. When she looked up, he held up the game. “Want to start a tournament?”
“Maybe,” Kira said. “But there are only two of us.”
“Wait a minute,” Jason said. He ran over to Mark, who was sitting in the grass again.
“Hey, Mark,” Jason said. “Want to play checkers? We could start a tournament.”
Mark smiled. “I play checkers with my dad,” he said. “I’m pretty good at it.”
“OK!” Jason smiled back. “Let’s go play.”
This story took place in the USA.

The next few weeks were busy ones. School started again, and then my eighth birthday came along almost before I realized it. After my baptism and confirmation, a few things began to change. I started getting up a little earlier each morning to read the Book of Mormon before I went to school. That was hard because I hate getting up in the morning, but I was determined to make it all the way through that book.
I also started fasting each month on fast Sunday. There aren’t many things I like to do more than eat, so I forgot sometimes; but even so, I started noticing a difference in how I felt about testimony meeting.
I began paying more attention to what each speaker was saying, and that made the meeting a lot more interesting. I found out that Sister Johnson had joined the Church when she was twenty-six years old. I thought she’d been a member all her life! And I loved it when Brother Badger bore his testimony. He had exciting stories to tell about his life and about miracles he had witnessed.
I finished the Book of Mormon early the next summer. There were great stories and teachings in it, and I was happy that I’d reached my goal. But Moroni had written in the last chapter that if you read the Book of Mormon and want to know if it’s true, you should ponder it in your heart and pray to Heavenly Father about it. He promised that if you do that with faith in Jesus Christ and with a sincere heart, the Holy Ghost will help you know that it’s true. I decided to try it out for myself.
The rest of that week I prayed every morning and night. Sometimes I even said a quick prayer in my mind when I was at school, but I never saw a vision or even heard a voice that told me the Book of Mormon was true. I felt like giving up, but I really wanted to know, so I just kept on praying.
The next fast Sunday, I fasted to know if the Book of Mormon was true. I spent a lot of time on my knees, and I reread some of my favorite parts. It was amazing how seldom I thought about food.
Testimony meeting was going along great that day. I was even happy for Molly Prentiss when she went up and bore her testimony. Then Brother Badger went to the front to speak. His quiet voice trembled as he spoke of his great love for the scriptures and how he knew of the truth of the gospel.
As he spoke, a strange feeling started in a little spot in my chest. It got warmer and bigger until my whole body was filled with glowing, tingly warmth. When he finished, that warmth seemed to make me want to go right to the pulpit. As I stood to bear my testimony, a few words came right from my soul: “I know that the Book of Mormon is true. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”

“I prayed with such a tiny seed of faith, and still I felt Their love.”
Theo’s dad is diabetic and has relied on a dialysis machine (a machine that cleans blood for those who have damaged kidneys) for the past 18 years. Growing up, it was hard for Theo to think of what the future might hold for his dad.
“When I was just starting high school, his health declined to the point where losing him became a very real possibility,” Theo says. “There was no stopping the fear and sadness of knowing that could happen.”
On top of this trial, Theo didn’t feel worthy enough to pray. “Church just wasn’t as important to me as it should be,” he says. “I didn’t think I was in the right mind-set.”
But when the day came that Theo thought his dad was ready to go, Theo felt a clear prompting that he needed to turn to God.
On the day he thought his father would die, Theo decided to get on his knees and pray. “I began that prayer not expecting a response. But instantly I felt comfort and strength.”
Today, Theo’s dad is still alive and defying all medical odds. Theo recognizes how big of a miracle that is, especially since a lot of people don’t survive illnesses like these. Most of all, he’s grateful he felt God’s love. “Heavenly Father and the Savior are so generous. I prayed with such a tiny seed of faith, and still I felt Their love.”

After surveying the many travelers in the closest coach section of the train and finding no empty seats, I decided to sit in the quiet solace of the luggage car. The solitude would give me a chance to reflect and prepare for my new assignment as a missionary in Amsterdam, Netherlands. Since leaving Sint–Niklaas, Belgium, I’d made several train transfers with armloads of luggage, and I was relieved this train would be taking me all the way to my destination. With a little more than four months left as a missionary, I anticipated this would be my last transfer.
My stomach growled as the train thudded along. I had left Belgium early and without breakfast. There were vendors on the train platforms selling snacks, but after crossing the border, I realized I had forgotten to change my money and carried only Belgian francs.
Lost in thought, I hardly noticed as the train lurched to a stop between stations until the luggage car door screeched open. I looked up to see a Muslim woman enter, followed by her three young children. Her scarf covered her hair, and her black dress reached the ground, covering everything but her hands. She found the orange vinyl seat closest to me, flipped it down, and sat. Her children followed her lead and sat facing me. My secret hope that they would leave me to my pondering vanished. They were here to stay, so I smiled politely.
“Are you going to Amsterdam?” she asked.
I told her I was and learned they were going there as well to see her sister. Neither of us had been to Amsterdam before, and we were both curious about what we might find there.
Then she read my name tag aloud slowly: “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“Yes, I have heard of Him,” she told me, referring to Christ, “but we worship Allah and follow the teachings of Muhammad.”
“Yes, I know,” I answered, nodding. “I mean, I can tell.”
She smiled knowingly, turned to her children and then back to me. “Are you hungry?”
“No, I’m fine,” I answered as my stomach growled. She gave me a disappointed look, and I saw the faces of her children fall.
“My children are hungry,” she replied as she pulled bread, cheese, and juice from her bag. “And it is rude in our culture to eat without sharing with others,” she explained. “So you must eat with us. Otherwise, we do not eat. If you do not eat, we do not eat. And my children are hungry.”
The children looked at me with pleading eyes.
Then their mother laughed and added, “Why do you think we sit in here? We cannot share with so many,” she nodded toward the crowded coach section, “but with one, it is easy to share.”
I laughed too, her point well taken. I spent the rest of the train ride accepting gifts of chewy chunks of Turkish bread and red, wax-covered pieces of Gouda cheese from her children. We sipped apple juice from cardboard cartons with Arabic writing and spoke both English and Dutch as we conversed. The children wanted to know if I wanted more bread, more juice, more cheese, more crackers, or more cookies.
When we parted on the platform we felt like old friends, wishing each other luck and hoping we would see each other again. We waved good-bye, and they disappeared into the crowd. As I watched them go, I was reminded of Matthew 25:35: “For I was an hungered, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in.”
I felt enriched because of our brief encounter. Our differences of religion, culture, and race were overshadowed at the moment by our common destination, a common meal, and her common courtesy.

My name is Somaro Manning, and I am a professional building contractor in Jamaica. In October 2023, my business partner, Loren McDonald, a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and I had the opportunity to bid on and complete a Church humanitarian project in our area. Little did I know this opportunity would lead to my baptism into the Church.
My business partner, whom I consider to be my brother, would often nudge me, encouraging me to be baptized. After working on the humanitarian project and having in-depth conversations with strong men in the gospel, I met with the missionaries and saw how truthful and sincere they were in spreading the gospel of Christ. On November 6, 2023, I was baptized a member of the Church. My wife is not yet a member, but my hope is that she will accept the gospel soon so that she, too, can experience the joy and blessings that the gospel brings.