Gospel Story Finder

I remember other Mexican Saints who, because floods had destroyed their crops, were fearful that they would not be able to attend the conference but who, after fasting and prayer, sold some of their belongings and pooled their money for transportation. For many there was no money left for food, but it did not matter. They decided they could fast for the three or four days of the conference. As you would expect, other loving Saints filled their plates as the Lord had filled their souls.

In an interview with the patriarch, I learned that his wife was seriously ill, and he struggled to provide for her care. After addressing the issue with the stake president, we gave her a priesthood blessing. I inquired of the patriarch how many patriarchal blessings he gives on average.

“Eight to ten,” he said.

I asked, “Per month?”

He replied, “Per week!” I counseled him that doing that many per weekend was not wise.

“Elder Godoy,” he said, “they keep coming every week, including new members and many youths.” Again, no complaints—only a smiling face and a grateful heart.

In the middle of the winter, a package arrived from my Grandmother Marsh in Los Angeles. I caught my breath when Polly and I tore off the brown wrapping. Inside were two outfits, breathtakingly in style. Mine had a pink flowered top with knee socks to match. Polly’s was identical, except that it was blue. This was our big chance to show the kids at Forsythe Junior High that we weren’t such misfits after all. Boy, would they be surprised!

I was a little nervous about the color because this was no ordinary pink. It was a sizzling, shocking pink. But the outfit was so definitely “in” that I squelched my fear. I slowly hung my oversized plaid coat in my locker and wondered what the kids would think of me appearing in such style.

A sea of eyes followed my dazzling pink presence from my locker to my homeroom. Then the whispering began—but not whispers of envy or admiration, as I had secretly hoped.

“Look what she’s wearing.”

“Didn’t we already have Halloween?”

All day the laughter continued. Resentment and frustration built within me. If only I had a friend to walk with, it would be so much easier. If only somebody who knew what was acceptable would give me some hints. Repeatedly I had tried to fit in and failed. And now even Grandma’s outfit had betrayed me. After that I stopped trying to live by other people’s standards. I warned Polly, and she never even wore her new clothes.

Although we planted the seed, we were totally dependent upon the Lord for the harvest. A young man whose wife was a member of this Church consented to listen to the discussions. He received the first few with great delight. Then, suddenly, before our next appointment, the world got to him and he sent word for us not to come again.

We prayed and felt that we should go back, but not just then. We continued to ask the Lord for direction, and three weeks later we felt the Spirit’s confirmation that we should go to him on the following Wednesday. We prayed to know the right time, and again felt the influence of the Spirit. We knew Wednesday morning wasn’t the right time. In the afternoon we prayed again, and the answer came with urgency, “NOW.”

We immediately left our apartment, but on the way I stopped at a store to drop off a roll of film. As I put that roll on the counter a feeling of force enveloped me and the Spirit seemed almost offended as the word was repeated in my mind, “NOW!” I felt propelled out of that store and into our car. Three minutes later we were at the door of our friend. He had been reading the Book of Mormon and was thinking about us. As we talked, he became willing to listen to the discussions again.

We loved our association with the splendid elders and sisters of our mission. We were touched when an elder who was being transferred from our district said, “I looked up my new district to see if there was a missionary couple there. I hoped there would be, but there isn’t.” He was genuinely disappointed.

We are thankful for President Kimball’s message and the impact it had on us. A mission for couples? Certainly! What is it like? It is filled with wonderful surprises.

There’s a home for unwed mothers and abused children in the Fairfield California Stake, and the young women in the Vacaville Third Ward wanted to help out.
They took several activity nights to make stuffed bears. They also made sugar cookies to take to the home and let the children decorate. The main message they tried to convey was “You are a child of God,” and the smiles on the children’s faces told them they understood.

Craig didn’t know what he was going to do or where he would end up. That afternoon after church his mother had informed him that his parents were getting a divorce. His father would be moving back to Iowa. He could live with whichever parent he chose.

He had listened to her news and then asked, “Is that it then?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

Craig had gone outside and ridden his ten-speed all afternoon, his feelings churning up inside him. He loved both his parents. How could he choose between them? What was he going to do? He never would have thought that his parents would get a divorce. They had even been married in the temple. Why would they want to break up after all these years?

He had never felt so alone in his whole life. It was like his entire world was coming unglued.

At the fireside now, still in shock, he wiped a tear from his eye. Julie noticed, and reached over and touched his arm.

He wanted to tell how much her concern had meant to him. Right now he felt like his friends in the Church were the only thing he could count on. He loved them all so much. He knew some of them had had problems, and they had seemed to get through okay. Maybe if they all stuck together, he’d be able to get through this crisis.

He knew he couldn’t stand up and say anything to the group, but he wished everyone in that room knew how much he loved them.

Brrrrring! The bell rang for the last class of the day. Now that Megan was in middle school, she went to different classes during the day. And there was a lot to learn. Megan was glad her last class was for study time. That meant she could start on her homework.
Megan sat down at an empty table. A boy named Bennett walked up to her.
“Hey, Megan, you’re Mormon, right?”
“I’m a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” Megan said.
“So, you think Joseph Smith wrote the Book of Mormon or something, right?” Bennett asked.
Megan said a quick, silent prayer to know how to an?swer. “He translated the Book of Mormon,” she said. “God called him as a prophet to help bring back Christ’s Church.”
Bennett scrunched his nose. “That’s crazy,” he said. He laughed and walked away.
Megan’s face felt warm. She stared down at her book.
“Hey, Megan.”
What now? Megan looked up. “Oh. Hi, Taj.”
“Sorry about Bennett,” Taj said. He sat down across from her. “What you were saying sounded important to you.”
“Thanks,” Megan said. “It is.”
“I think I know how you feel,” Taj said. “I’m the only Hindu at school. It’s hard when people don’t try to understand your beliefs.”
Megan sometimes felt lonely as the only member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints at their school. But she’d never thought that other kids might feel that way too.
“My parents say that when someone is mean it’s because they don’t feel happy inside,” Megan said. She twirled a pencil around her fingers. “I wonder if Bennett feels sad. Or lonely.”
Taj tilted his head. “I’ll bet you’re right. Maybe he needs a friend.”
Megan grinned. “Maybe he needs two!”
The next day at study time, Megan and Taj saw Bennett sitting alone at a table.
“Hi, Bennett,” Taj said.
Bennett looked surprised. “Hi.”
“What are you working on?” Megan asked, plopping into a chair.
“History.”
“For the quiz tomorrow?” Taj sat down too.
“Yup,” Bennett said.
“There’s a lot to remember,” Taj said. Bennett nodded.
“Maybe we could quiz each other.” Megan opened her history book. They took turns asking and answering questions until the bell rang.
“Hey, Megan, I’m sorry about yesterday,” Bennett said as they stood to go. “I heard some stuff about your church and was curious.” He shifted back and forth on his feet. “I believe different things, but I should have been nicer.”
Megan smiled. “Thanks. My church is important to me, but it’s OK if we believe different things.”
“I think we make a good study group even if we have different beliefs,” Taj said.
Bennett grinned. “Me too. And I think we’ll do great on that quiz.”
This story took place in the USA.

Recently I met an intelligent young man with outstanding parents. There are exceptional material and spiritual resources available to him. He is undecided about a mission. He attends a community college because it is easier than going to a university. In his free time he does only those things that he likes to do. He doesn’t work because he doesn’t need to, and it would take time away from his pleasures. He took seminary classes to pass them, without much thought of how he should personally apply the knowledge gained. Finally I asked:
“Can I speak to you from my heart? I don’t want to offend but rather to point out something. You are making choices today that seem very reasonable to you. They seem to give you what you want: an easy life with abundant enjoyment and not much sacrifice on your part. You can do that for a while, but what you don’t realize is that every decision you make is narrowing your future. You are eliminating possibilities and options. There will come a time, and it won’t be too distant, where you are going to spend the rest of your life doing things you don’t want to do, in places you don’t want to be, because you have not prepared yourself. You are not taking advantage of your opportunities.”
I mentioned how everything I treasure today began to mature in the mission field. Missionary service is not something we do for ourselves. We have our agency. We can choose what we want to do. Yet, for me, the greatest growth and preparation for the future that most youth have today is gained in a mission. There they focus outside of themselves on other people. They draw close to the Lord and really learn His teachings. They find individuals interested in the message but not sure of its worth. They try with every capacity—prayer, fasting, and testifying—to help that person change his life. That’s what a mission does when it is done selflessly, as many can testify. I felt impressed to give this young man a blessing. As he walked out of the room, I prayed earnestly that somehow the Lord would touch him to choose the right priorities. Otherwise his progress will be limited and his happiness short-circuited.

Working with horses also taught me to be patient and to never give up. Progress comes a little at a time. Once I had a colt named Planchet. Someone said, “That horse is weak. He will never be worth anything.” But someone else told me that if I would be patient and exercise my colt’s muscles, he would someday be a good horse. I fed Planchet and took care of him and loved him. For one whole year, I just walked him to strengthen his muscles.
I worked and worked with him. And, sure enough, this weak colt became one of the best horses in Brazil. He won the Brazilian championship in a three-day-long competition.

Two young Hawaiians were credited with saving the lives of their friends in separate incidents. Ranceford K. Shea of the Waianae First Ward, Waipahu Hawaii Stake, received the Honor Medal for Lifesaving from the Boy Scouts of America for helping his friend, Max Miller, reach the safety of the beach after being knocked off a reef by a wave. The younger boy hit his head, and Ranceford pulled him to safety.

While on a class outing near Kualoa Beach Park, Leandra Arlyn K. Data of the Waipahu Ward, Waipahu Hawaii Stake, helped save the lives of several of her fellow classmates. The large group was following a reef to a nearby island when several got out of line and fell off into deeper water. Leandra was one in this group. She resisted panic and helped her friend who couldn’t swim to relax and float. Then after being picked up by a rescue boat, she helped pull others to safety. Even though her friend was carried away by a current, Leandra’s quick instructions saved her life. Her friend was found in good condition still floating like Leandra had taught her.

My name is Alan. I’m eleven years old and a member of the Blazer patrol of Boy Scout Troop 103. We don’t get to do many things with the older Scouts, so when the Scoutmaster came to our meeting and asked how many of us wanted to go on a winter campout with the troop, every hand shot up.
“That’s what I thought,” he said. “I want you to cook in patrols, so start planning your menus.”
We had to plan a supper and a breakfast for six—Josh, Justin, Russel, Mark, me, and Russel’s grandpa. “Spaghetti and garlic bread,” I suggested, and everyone else thought that sounded good. We planned to make hot chocolate and French toast for breakfast.
The campout was set for the day after Thanksgiving. The weather was cold, and there were about four inches of snow on the ground. Mom bought me a new pair of moonboots, put two quilts in our heaviest sleeping bag, and made me wear long underwear, a flannel shirt and a sweatshirt under my coat, and two pairs of socks.
We met Friday afternoon in the church parking lot. The sky was dark and cloudy. We were all waiting when Dave, the assistant Scoutmaster, pulled up in his truck and began loading the tents and camping gear. He told us that the Scoutmaster had had trouble with his truck and that he’d come up later, which he did. Dave said that he could only take two passengers with him in the cab of his truck, and he chose a couple of older Scouts to ride with him. We’d have to find another ride to the camping place. My mother offered to drive the Blazer patrol to the campsite, so we all piled into our station wagon and headed for the hills south of town.
When we came to a sign announcing that we were entering a national forest, Mom asked, “Now where do we go?”
We all looked at each other. No one knew. There was an open meadow nearby where Scouts sometimes camp, and Mom said she’d see if Dave was there. He wasn’t, and I had a sinking feeling. We waited for about an hour to see if Dave would come; then Mark remembered that one of the older Scouts had mentioned something about Lead Drop.
Russel’s grandpa said that he knew where Lead Drop was, so we all got back into the station wagon and drove to a mountain road about two miles from the meadow. The road was fine for a while, but then Russel’s grandpa said that we had to turn left and go up a steep hill. Mom’s car wouldn’t make it up the snow-covered road, so we had to get out and walk from there.
A half mile from the top of the hill we found Dave and the two other boys setting up a tent. Although we were winded after our climb, we couldn’t rest. The sun was going down, and we had to get our tent up. It was an old eight-man tent, and right away we ran into trouble. We tried to drive the stakes into the ground by stomping on them with our boots, but after they went down into six inches of snow, they hit rockhard frozen ground. Luckily, Russel’s grandpa had brought a hammerhead hatchet, and we were able to drive a few stakes solidly into the ground. We had to tie the rest of the tent tabs to trees and bushes and hope that the tent wouldn’t blow away.
When we laid out the tent poles, one of them was missing. Russel’s grandpa found a stout stick, and by shifting the poles around and using the stick, we got the tent up, though one side was a little lower than the other.
By then it was dark, and we still had to cook our supper. First we had to build a fire ring, and the only place where we could find any rocks was a small stream that ran by the camp. When we started gathering rocks, Mark picked up one that was too heavy. He staggered and stepped right into the freezing water. Mark went back to the tent and changed his socks, but he had to wear the wet boots.
We dug a pit in the snow and arranged the rocks, then borrowed wood from another patrol to start our fire. Josh was in charge of cooking, so we left him to fill the water pot while we collected more firewood. I was tugging on a branch of a dead tree when it suddenly broke loose and hit Justin on the head. It didn’t hurt him, though.
We came back to camp with our arms full of wood just in time to see Josh spill the whole package of spaghetti. It looked like a porcupine sticking out of the snow. He just picked it up, snow and all, and dumped it into the pot of water and set it in the middle of the fire. We put our foil-wrapped garlic bread at the side of the fire to get warm. I knew it only took my mom about twenty minutes to cook spaghetti, so we kept testing it, but it didn’t get soft, even though we kept throwing more wood onto the fire. Josh wondered if he should have let the water boil before he put the spaghetti in.
Finally, after more than an hour, we couldn’t wait any longer. We dumped a can of spaghetti sauce into a pan, stirred it until it started to steam, and dished it up along with the spaghetti. We all stood around the fire, crunching hard spaghetti in lukewarm sauce. By that time the garlic bread had burned, but we ate it anyway.
The cold froze our backs when we faced the fire, and our fronts when we backed up to it. After Russel got too close to the fire and burned his glove, we decided to go to bed.
Russel’s grandpa was smart. He had lugged up a propane tent heater and set it up in the middle of the tent. We arranged our coats and boots around it, and Russel scorched his boots by putting them too close. Mark had to break the ice off his socks before they’d come off. We all laid our sleeping bags in a circle around the heater with our heads toward it, except Mark. He put his feet closest to the heater.
It was hard to go to sleep. The ground had looked level when we spread out the tent, but I guess the snow covered a lot of things. I kept rolling over hard bumps, and sharp things kept sticking into me.
The next morning was beautiful. But the sun gleamed so brightly that its reflection off the snow hurt my eyes. Breakfast was much better than supper. Russel’s grandpa sort of took over the cooking chore for us, and he cooked French toast until the bread was gone. Mark dropped the jar of strawberry jam on a rock and put out our fire. I had to eat my last three pieces of French toast without any jam. I’d probably overeaten anyway, because I had a stomachache the rest of the day. We used one of the other fires to finish heating water for our cocoa.
Then the Scoutmaster called us together for some activities. We divided into teams and had a stretcher race. We had to find some sticks, make a stretcher, and carry a victim back to camp. The first team to return would be the winner. We found our sticks, made our stretcher out of coats, and, since I was the smallest, I got to be the victim. We would have won, too, except one of the sticks broke and I got dumped into a snowdrift.
For the next activity, Dave gave us a compass and a piece of paper with directions on it and said that we would find a pot of hot soup if we followed the directions correctly. We took off, with Justin counting the paces and Russel pointing the compass. But something must have disrupted our compass (Mark said a plane flew over and disoriented it), because we ended up halfway down the hill. There was no soup there, so we went back to camp. But Russel’s grandpa was looking out for us. He’d stayed in camp (where we were supposed to have ended up!) and made sure the others saved some soup for us.
While we ate, a black cloud covered the sun, and the wind began to blow. The low side of our tent dipped lower, and the Scoutmaster said that it was time to go home. We threw all the gear into the trucks, stuffed the tents on top of it, buried our fire ashes in the snow and scattered the rocks, and drove off down the mountain before a snowstorm came.
When I got home, I smelled like smoke. I was dirty and hungry and wet and cold—and I’ve never had so much fun in my life!

Who can forget the devastating Australian bushfires of 2019-2020, known as Black Summer, that burnt over 24 million hectares of land, destroyed over 3,000 homes, killed 33 people and killed or displaced an estimated three billion animals?
For the residents of the Bega Shire in southeast New South Wales (NSW), Australia, the devastation can still be seen two years on. Fifty-eight percent of the Bega Valley was destroyed by fire, which also took 448 homes and four lives.
In mid-2020, the chairman of the Bega Shire Recovery Committee sent a request to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and after an evaluation of the situation, a partnership was formed.
The Bega Shire Council, Latter-day Saint Charities (which is the humanitarian arm of the Church) and the Pambula/Merimbula Rotary Club worked together to provide 66 water tanks to selected recipients in the Bega Shire community.
Water is essential for life and sanitation and is amongst the most important requirements for families in Bega Shire to begin rebuilding their lives. Landowners in remote areas are not on town water and previously relied on rainwater or local streams for their water supplies. After the fires took out almost everything they owned, including their water tanks, locals relied on costly 1000L water cubes that had to be refilled by water tankers. A thousand litres doesn’t go very far even when it is being used mainly for drinking, cooking and basic hygiene.
Mark and Denise Hamstead (humanitarian and emergency preparedness specialists for the Church in NSW and Canberra) coordinated the project with Lynne Koerbin, and Daryl and Angie Dobsons (Rotary Club’s community service directors) to identify families who were most in need.
The first tanks were ordered from local suppliers and delivered to the first of the recipients in early 2021. The last orders were placed in mid-2021 but due to COVID-19 restrictions, a number were not delivered until late 2021.
Brother and Sister Hamstead, assisted by Brother and Sister Cummins (representing the Canberra Stake presidency) and Area Seventy Elder Robert Simpson and his wife visited several water tank recipients in early December 2021.
There were many heartrending stories behind this project. Here are just three examples which also demonstrate the resilience of so many.
Gordon and Susie are a down-to-earth couple living in a small hut on their land after the bushfires destroyed their home in late 2019. They had no access to running water and the donation of the water tank was very welcome.
“More than anything, they appreciated the fact that someone cared,” reported Brother Cummins.
A single man, Jamie, who also received a water tank, had moved to the valley from Canberra shortly before the fires. His home was destroyed. He, like many others, has never fully recovered emotionally from the fires and feels very much alone. The fact that people cared enough to donate a much-needed water tank and visit him to see how he was progressing had a positive impact on him.
Jamie is now building his own house on his property with whatever items of material he can find. From time-to-time, friends donate materials, but it is a slow process—he is doing it largely by himself, with the occasional help from professional friends. He is planning to position the water tank next to the new house once completed.
Zoe and Michael are a couple with two young children. Before the fires, they were living in a small town in the Bega Valley called Cobargo. They had purchased a remote rural property complete with house and an orchard and were about to move in when the fires destroyed both their rural property and their house in Cobargo. Since the fires they have been living rough, camping in a borrowed caravan on the rural property. They received a water tank, a shed (donated by another group) and a bathroom pod built into the shed and connected to the water tank (which will be added to their house when it is rebuilt).
Even though the location of the shed and tank is quite a distance from their current camp, they are very appreciative as they can now bathe their children properly—one of whom had been regularly ill, and one who’d had a broken leg. They say that the newly donated infrastructure has helped to reduce their anxiety levels.
Mark and Denise noted, “During the inspection weekend, we were shown properties, such as Zoe and Michael’s, which had not only received one of our tanks, but the households had also received a bathroom pod and shed donated by another organisation that were willing to provide the pods because we had provided the tanks.”
No good deed goes unnoticed and often precipitates additional help from others.

Andy Mair has heard many of the stories about sacrifices made in building the first Nauvoo Temple. He knows about the men and boys who cut stone by hand, hauled heavy loads with just horses and mules, went without good food and clothing, and spent every minute they could building a beautiful House of the Lord.
Andy has plenty to eat and wear and because he’s only 14 he’s not really allowed to work on the temple site. But Andy has made sacrifices. He willingly left his friends and home to come with his family to Nauvoo where his father would oversee the reconstruction of the Nauvoo Temple. “I am not sorry that I came,” says Andy. “I have been able to learn a lot more about the history of the Church and Joseph Smith. I can say that I have walked and lived where the Prophet Joseph and the early leaders of the Church did. As I see the temple workers, I notice that they all have shoes and shirts. They also have modern equipment like cranes, lifts, cement trucks, dump trucks, tractors, and power tools. I try to imagine how people in the 1840s built such a huge building without these things.”
Also, during the construction of the temple, Andy has seen what kind of man his dad is. “It means a lot to me to have my dad be able to oversee the construction of this temple, because I know I am one of a few young men who is able to participate so closely in such an historic event. My dad is a great example to me of hard work and dedication.”

Kenny was going shopping. He had saved his allowance to buy himself a treat. Just down the street from his house was a little grocery store. Mr. and Mrs. Arnett, who ran the store, had big jars of candy on the counter. They used a little scoop to put the candy into a red and white bag. Then they weighed it on a big old-fashioned scale and told you how much to pay.
Kenny had saved enough money to get a whole pound of candy. That was a lot, but he knew that if he was careful, it would last a long time. He had already decided what kind he was getting. It was his very favorite—peas and carrots. Not real peas and carrots. Candy peas and carrots that looked just like real peas and tiny carrots.
Because the store wasn’t very far from his house, Kenny’s mom let him go by himself. He walked, skipped, and ran down the street. As he passed some of his friends’ houses along the way, he thought, What if people are outside when I come back with my candy? They will see the bag from Arnett’s store and want some.
Kenny had worked hard to save his money for a whole pound of peas and carrots, and he wanted it to last a long time. If he shared it with others, it wouldn’t last very long. So he thought up a plan and turned around and ran all the way home.
“Did you get your treat already? Mom asked.
“No, I forgot something.”
“OK, be careful,” Mom said.
Kenny hurried back to the store, this time carrying something besides money in his pockets.
When Mr. Arnett handed Kenny the red and white bag, it felt heavy. A pound of peas and carrots was a lot of candy! He was going to make it last a long, long time. And his plan was going to help.
As he left the store, Kenny pulled some headphones from his pocket and put them over his ears. He plugged them into a little radio in his other pocket. He turned the radio on and made sure the sound was pretty loud. As he started home, he watched carefully for any friends he might see.
Ashley and Isaac were the first friends he saw. They were just coming out of their house to play. Kenny looked straight ahead and pretended not to see them. He could see out of the corner of his eye that they were saying something to him, but he couldn’t hear them. They were pointing at his bag. He knew that they were going to ask for some of his candy, so he walked a little faster and passed them by.
My plan worked! Kenny thought.
Mrs. Moulton was working in her yard when he passed. He gave her a smile and a little wave. She was pointing at his bag and saying something.
She wants some candy, too! Kenny thought. He looked away and tried to enjoy the loud music.
He looked up the street and saw Hannah coming down the sidewalk on her skateboard. She hopped off and started talking to Kenny, pointing at his bag. He just smiled, bobbed his head in time with the music, and went around her. Hannah was asking him for candy, and he just didn’t want to share.
One more house to pass, and he would be home. He thought the Pierce brothers were visiting their grandma, but he was wrong. There they were, and they had already seen him. They also jumped up and down and pointed at his bag. Kenny pretended he didn’t see them and hurried to his house.
Now all he had to do was avoid his sister and brother and get to his room, where he would be safe at last! He rushed in and headed for the stairs. There was Janelle looking right at his bag and asking for some of the candy that he still hadn’t even tasted. He ran past her and up to his room. Dustin was on his way out to play ball. He reached out to touch the red-and-white bag. Kenny pulled it away and told him to leave it alone. Then he noticed something. The bag wasn’t as heavy as it had been when Mr. Arnett had given it to him. He looked inside.
“Oh no!” Kenny yelled. Instead of a whole pound of peas and carrots in his bag, there were only one pea and two carrots in the bottom. And right next to them was a great big hole! All of his candy was gone!
Kenny was sad. The candy must have fallen out a little at a time as he walked home. He hadn’t heard it landing on the sidewalk because he had had the radio turned up so loud.
Then he thought of something else. Everyone he’d passed had pointed at his bag. All those friends weren’t asking for candy—they were trying to tell him that his candy was falling out of the bag! Kenny didn’t feel like being selfish anymore. He wished he had some candy left to share.
He made another plan.
The next time Kenny saved up enough allowance for some candy, he didn’t take his radio to the store. Instead of pretending to not see his friends, he looked for them. He stopped at all their houses on the way home to share his peas and carrots. And the ones that were left tasted extra delicious.

When I helped my older brother, Tahoe, with his Eagle Scout project, I learned important lessons about service. Along with many other people, I helped Tahoe with various acts of service at a local elementary school. Some people helped paint over some old benches, others helped repaint some poles, and some helped build a garden shade. I helped sand and paint two rows of poles. The job took some time and was tiresome, but when we were done, I saw the positive effect it had on the school and how filled with joy the principal was when she saw the improvements. The experience reminded me that we, as members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, are constantly being reminded to live more like Christ and to serve as He did. I saw that even though I was tired, I was happy with what I had done and was glad that I could help with the work.
Diego J., California, USA

One of the most important times I had a prayer answered was with my whole family. A few months after my cousin Christian finished his mission, he was driving late at night on a mountain canyon road. He and another car crashed into each other. The other driver was fine, but my cousin was taken to the hospital by helicopter.
Christian had serious injuries all over his whole body. He went into a coma, and the doctors didn’t think he would wake up. Our family decided to fast and pray. My parents, sisters, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and all my cousins took turns fasting for Christian. I fasted on a school day. I had to explain to my teacher and classmates why I wasn’t eating lunch that day. I really didn’t mind going without food for a day because I was fasting for my cousin.
Heavenly Father answered our prayers, and Christian eventually woke up from his coma. He still doesn’t have his full abilities back, but he has made some progress. I know Christian has a long recovery ahead of him. We still pray for him. Anything is possible with Heavenly Father’s help.

At age 22, Jill married Olga Kozáková. Like Jirí, Olga had been introduced to the Church as a teenager by school friends who had heard the missionaries preaching. “When I attended the lectures,” she says, “I felt very, very warm in my heart, and I said ‘I’m at home!’” She was baptized in Prague six months after Jirí was baptized in Plzen.

Jirí and Olga met later at an outing of young people from various branches. Groups of Saints went on outings every July 24th to Priests Hill near Karlstejn Castle to commemorate Elder John A. Widtsoe’s dedicatory prayer there on 24 July 1929. At times the youth had programs and competitions or studied scriptures together. Jirí and Olga were married 24 April 1954—Jirí’s 22nd birthday and the fifth anniversary of his baptism.

Soon thereafter, Jirí was drafted into mandatory military service. Regarded as an enemy of the state because of his religious affiliation, he spent his two-year stint in a military labor brigade rather than as a soldier. Turning to the Lord for strength, he endured, returning to civilian life “in good health and strengthened in the faith.”

I had a serious case of the “I feel worthless” syndrome. I lacked self-esteem and refused to care for or about myself.
My parents tried to encourage me, but any suggestion could cause an eruption. Talking to me was like walking on eggs. “Just leave me alone!” I would exclaim, louder and more angrily than I had intended. I knew my parents spent many sleepless nights worrying about their daughter.
One Sunday evening, my mother insisted that I go to a stake fireside with her and my father. “I don’t want to go to that stupid fireside!” I said. I was always looking for an argument, for any way to blame others for my misery.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Paige. Of course you’ll go,” my mom answered.
When we walked into the chapel, I noticed that some of my friends were already sitting—not in the pews, but on the stand. Trying to go unnoticed, I sat down.
A youth leader tapped me on the shoulder, “Paige, why don’t you sing with us?”
“I’m sorry, Sister Daines, but I haven’t been to any of the practices. I don’t even know the name of the song.”
“Don’t worry,” she said as she helped me up from my seat. “You’ll be fine.”
Before I knew it, the stake president was introducing “a vocal number by the great youth of the stake.” Panic raced through my heart.
The pianist touched the keys, and the opening bars of the song echoed throughout the chapel. Tears slowly slid down my cheeks as I began to sing. I knew the words to this song. I had all along.
“I am a child of God,” I sang. As the words came from my lips, I looked at my parents, smiling from the front row. Their eyes said, “We love you.”
Suddenly I knew I was not alone. From that moment, I have known that truly I am a child of God and that he has sent me to parents kind and dear.
The words of the song had come out of my mouth many times. Now they had finally entered my heart.

One of these members was a sister from the beautiful island of Okinawa. The story of her journey to the Hawaii Temple is remarkable. Two decades earlier, she had been married in a traditional arranged Buddhist wedding. Just a few months later, Japan attacked Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, thrusting the United States into a conflict with Japan. In the wake of battles such as Midway and Iwo Jima, the tides of war pushed the Japanese forces back to the shores of her island home, Okinawa, the last line of defense standing against the Allied forces before the heartlands of Japan.
For a harrowing three months in 1945, the Battle of Okinawa raged. A flotilla of 1,300 American warships encircled and bombarded the island. Military and civilian casualties were enormous. Today a solemn monument in Okinawa lists more than 240,000 known names of people who perished in the battle.
In a desperate attempt to escape the onslaught, this Okinawan woman, her husband, and their two small children sought refuge in a mountain cave. They endured unspeakable misery through the ensuing weeks and months.
One desperate night amidst the battle, with her family near starvation and her husband unconscious, she contemplated ending their suffering with a hand grenade, which the authorities had supplied to her and others for that purpose. However, as she prepared to do so, a profoundly spiritual experience unfolded that gave her a tangible sense of the reality of God and His love for her, which gave her the strength to carry on. In the following days, she revived her husband and fed her family with weeds, honey from a wild beehive, and creatures caught in a nearby stream. Remarkably, they endured six months in the cave until local villagers informed them that the battle had ended.

“But they won’t want to go,” Tad insisted.
Brother Feagin thought for a moment and then said, “Do you know how many years Sister Arnold has been a widow?” We shook our heads.
“Thirty-five years. Her husband was killed when she was 42. She had eight kids under 18. She went back to college, got a degree, and then taught for the next 19 years. She didn’t have much time for a social life. Have you ever wondered what it would be like to go 35 years without a date? That’s twice as long as you’ve been alive. People never outgrow their need for doing things with other people. Oh, she’s gone to a church dance occasionally, but always with a couple, always feeling like a fifth wheel. Now she has a chance to go out and be the main wheel. Going with someone young enough to be her grandkid won’t be ideal, but it beats staying home for 35 years.”