Gospel Story Finder

Everyone in the third grade class likes Sarah. She always has someone to eat her lunch with and is the first one chosen for team games. She has pretty, dark brown hair and can draw beautiful pictures. I wanted everyone to like me the way that they liked Sarah. I thought about it as I walked home from school. Maybe, I decided, if I was just like Sarah, everyone would like me too.
The next morning I had my mother put my hair in braids just like Sarah’s. I tied a red ribbon bow at the end of each braid—red was Sarah’s favorite color. Then I put on a sweater. Sarah always wore a sweater.
When it was time for art class, Mrs. Williams wanted us to draw a picture of summer. I watched Sarah, then drew frogs and ducks and kids swimming in a pond just like in Sarah’s picture. The kids liked her picture, but nobody said anything about mine.
At recess, Sarah was playing jump rope with a bunch of girls, so I went over and joined in. But I don’t really like playing jump rope, and I was glad when the bell finally rang.
At lunchtime, Sarah ate with Sally and Anna. I ate by myself. I’m not trying hard enough, I thought. Tomorrow I’ll do better.
The next day, I brought my purse to school just like Sarah does. I dressed like Sarah, too. I even brought the same kind of sandwich that Sarah likes so much. When Sarah volunteered to help clean the chalkboards after school, I did too. At recess, I followed Sarah to the kickball field. She got picked first. I was chosen second to last. I didn’t like playing kickball any better than I liked jump rope. At lunchtime Sarah ate with Jenny and Michael, and I ate by myself again.
When we had music class, I played the xylophone like Sarah. And when Sarah helped Billy during math class, I told Mrs. Williams that I could help too. She said, “Thank you for offering, but you need to finish your own work first.” Some of the girls giggled at me, and Mrs. Williams told them to be quiet. I felt horrible. Being like Sarah was hard.
After school I stayed and helped Sarah clean the chalkboards because we had volunteered. Everyone else went outside to play while they waited for the school buses to take them home. The sun was shining, and I wanted to leave too.
“Which board do you want to clean?” Sarah asked.
“I’ll do the front one,” I said. It was the smallest, and I wanted to get done fast.
“OK,” Sarah said, and she got out two clean erasers. Sarah hummed the new song that we had learned in music class as she worked. It was a catchy tune. Pretty soon I was singing the words.
Sarah stopped working. “Katie,” she said, “you have such a pretty singing voice—and a good memory too. I could never have learned all those words yet.”
I looked up in surprise. “Thanks,” I said. “I guess music is my favorite class.”
All the way home, I thought about what Sarah had said. I am good at remembering and singing, I thought. Then I figured out that each person was different but that everyone was the best at something. I also realized that I couldn’t really be like Sarah—except maybe in one special way that I hadn’t tried yet.
The next day, I wore my favorite shirt to school. I had my mother fix my hair in a big ponytail, and I took a sandwich for lunch that I liked. At recess, I played volleyball—I love playing volleyball.
At lunchtime, Sarah ate with Susan. I looked around and saw Andy eating by himself. Not many people talk to Andy. I walked over and smiled at him. “Could I eat my lunch with you today?” I asked. “You can tell me about the farm that you visited.”
Andy smiled. “Sure,” he said, moving his lunch sack over to make room.
I sat down to eat, and I felt happier than ever. Being friendly and kind was the best way to be just like Sarah.

(2) At a nursing home in our valley, two young men prepared the sacrament. While doing so, an elderly patient in a wheelchair spoke aloud the words, “I’m cold.” Without a moment’s hesitation, one of the young men walked over to her, removed his own jacket, placed it about the patient’s shoulders, gave her a loving pat on the arm, and then returned to the sacrament table. The sacred emblems were then blessed and passed to the assembled patients.
Following the meeting, I said to the young man, “What you did here today I shall long remember.”
He replied, “I worried that without my jacket I would not be properly dressed to bless the sacrament.”
I responded, “Never was one more properly dressed for such an occasion than were you.”
I know not his name. He remains anonymous.

In the early stages of my friendship with Michelle, all I knew about her was that her values were much stronger than those any of my other friends had. It wasn’t until I was invited to her house for a family home evening that I found out she was a Mormon.
At this family home evening I was introduced to the gospel by two wonderful missionaries. When they asked if I wanted to hear the discussions, I was filled with an unfamiliar but comfortable feeling. I accepted.
After I had received the discussions and had many of my concerns resolved, I set a date for baptism. But, even though I felt good about my decision, I wanted some kind of confirmation that I was doing the right thing. I started to search desperately for the answer to my question, “Is the Church true?” I prayed morning, noon, and night, but I didn’t seem to be getting an answer.
Then I met Davie Wilden, a Church member. After spending many hours together talking and reading, we decided it was time to pray. We knelt, and Davie prayed first, asking Heavenly Father to help me; then it was my turn to pray.
I had just begun my prayer when I heard a voice. It said, “Say sorry. Just say sorry.”
I prayed with all my heart for Heavenly Father to forgive my sins. I felt a warm, tingly feeling come right down through my arms and seem to pierce me to the very center. Five days later I was baptized.
Since then, my testimony of the gospel has grown stronger and stronger. Exactly one year and two days after I was baptized, I entered the New Zealand MTC, having been called on a mission to Perth, Australia. I now experience the same joy as the people who taught me the gospel by sharing my testimony with others.

The ward also supports Sesame Counselling Services, a charity who specialise in providing discounted counselling services that people so desperately need, but cannot afford. When Sesame Counselling was unable to use their regular meeting place, a member who was aware of this asked the Bishop if they could help. Bishop Hayes enthusiastically arranged a visit to the chapel to showcase the space. The Board of Trustees attended and the head of the board was heard saying “Isn’t there a restful atmosphere here?” and “There’s a nice atmosphere here, a feeling of safety.”

The group also delivered 10 desktop computers and a new laptop and monitor to the Seventh-day Adventist Church-run Kauma High School. The computer lab at Kauma High School had earlier been destroyed by fire.
Elder Tune and President Kendall expected to drop the computers off at the door of the school but were delighted to find that the entire student body was gathered to express their sincere thanks. The students further gladdened the visitors’ hearts by singing in their beautiful harmonic voices “Joy, Joy, My Heart is Full of Joy”.
“The feeling there was so powerful, it was almost overwhelming,” Elder Tune said. “We felt so much love and yes, we felt hearts full of joy.
“The Kauma High School principal, Tekemau Ribabaiti, is a wonderful, energetic man who is 78 years of age and still contributing so much. He was thankful for the computers, but even more so, he was touched that we would come so far to visit.”
Principal Ribabaiti told his students, “These people come with their hearts. We can feel their love. We are grateful for the computers, but we are more grateful for their hearts.”

Peter felt much better about Grandpa after that lesson. But then he began to wonder if it would hurt Grandpa to have his spirit leave his sick body. Grandpa was already suffering so much that Peter couldn’t stand that thought. Mom suggested that he talk to Grandpa about it. She said that Grandpa lived close to Heavenly Father already and that he would explain his feelings to Peter.
Sure enough, when Peter told Grandpa his concern, Grandpa explained, “Petey, do you remember that day I took you to the zoo last year?”
“Yes. We stayed so long and had such fun that I fell asleep in the car on the way home.”
“That’s right. You didn’t know that when we got home, I lovingly picked you up and carefully tucked you in your bed. The next morning you were surprised to see where you were. You knew that you were in a different place from where you fell asleep. You didn’t know how you got there, but you knew that someone who loved you took you there. Well, that’s how I believe it will be. Perhaps I will fall asleep, and when I awake, my spirit will be somewhere else. I won’t hurt anymore or be uncomfortable, and I’ll know that Someone who loves me took me there.”

In the darkness we started along an icy ledge that dropped off into some unseen black depth. The night and the darkness had come quickly—too quickly for me. Our only source of light now came from a hazy moon rising up between the horizon and a ceiling of storm clouds.
“What am I doing here? What are we doing here?” I kept asking myself. It was late November, the day after Thanksgiving, and, as is almost always true of high places in the Northeast, in winter, there was a hard, icy wind blowing. I was with Scout Troop 235 from the Westchester Ward in New York State.
“Nor far now,” one of the leaders ahead of us shouted. “You won’t want to miss this.”
But I did want to miss it. What I wanted most was to be back in the camp we’d just set up, back safe and warm and dry in my sleeping bag. We’d come a long way since morning and were all wet and tired. The Scouts and the leaders ahead of us stopped and were forming a line on the ledge.
“This is incredible,” I heard someone say. What I saw was incredible. I forgot the cold and the wind and found my heart beating faster. In a lifetime a few scenes, a few images, have seared their lines and shapes and colors indelibly into my memory: there was a lightning storm rolling over the Grand Canyon, 50-foot waves crashing into rocks on the northern coast of California, the moon at midnight rising over El Capitan in Yosemite Park. This was such an image. It was as if the universe had been tipped upside down and we were looking down into a clear, star-filled night sky.
These were no ordinary wilds. These were the wildest of the wilds, a place of legends and dreams, the capital of the new Byzantine Empire. These were the wilds of the Big Apple, New York City; and the Milky Way galaxy we were looking down into was the east river, and the stars, the lights of Manhattan Island.
The place where we were standing—the place that, beyond the railing, dropped straight down 107 stories—was the top of the World Trade Center. The twin towers of the World Trade Center are the tallest buildings in New York City and the second tallest in the world. We—Troop 235 plus 150 other Scouts and their leaders, all from the Yorktown Stake, New York State—were to be the first group to camp out there.
The camp-out on the World Trade Center began that morning when we arrived at St. Mark’s Church in the Bowery district of Manhattan Island. Good weather had been forecast, but the night before the camp-out it started raining, and by morning the rain turned to snow. By the time we had started on a seven-mile hike that was to end at the World Trade Center, a hard wind was blowing, turning the storm into a blizzard. What had started out as an easy hike down Broadway became a test of survival just like any winter camp-out can become. On a regular winter camping trip we would have been able to find temporary shelter from the storm in caves or in quickly constructed lean-tos. Here we had to improvise, stopping at laundromats and restaurants. The stops were short. One hundred and sixty Scouts and their leaders in a laundromat doesn’t leave much room for customers.
The rain and the snow and the wind gave the city a kind of iridescent beauty. The streets were a black pearl color reflecting the bright reds, yellows, and greens of street lights, stop signs, and taxi cabs. “It even made the graffiti look good,” John Merrick, 13, from Poughkeepsie, said.
Like bulbs from Christmas trees, in the alleys, against fences, and in the gutters, umbrellas, some of them with broken spines and some that had been stolen by the wind from unsuspecting hands, were piled like tumbleweeds.
The Scouts followed the Old New York Historical Trail, visiting China Town, St. Paul’s Chapel (George Washington worshipped there during his presidency), Wall Street, Trinity Church, Battery Park, and Fraunces Tavern, where George Washington said farewell to his troops after the Revolutionary War.
Manhattan Island is rich in history, beautiful buildings, and parks, but for Rich Poccia, 15, from the Westchester Ward, they weren’t what he found most interesting about the city.
“The people are the most interesting thing here,” he said. “You can stand on any street corner and in just a few minutes see people from a dozen different countries.”
Even though the wind was blowing at over 40 miles per hour and the snow was coming down hard, most of the streets we passed through were crowded. It was business as usual for the Hasidim, wearing full beards and long, dark wool coats; Indians with colored turbans wrapped around their heads; and businessmen with heavy trench coats and copies of the Times held over their heads.
In the city, where almost nothing is surprising, people stopped and stared as they watched 160 Scouts and their leaders march down the streets.
Hiking through Manhattan and camping on top of the World Trade Center was unusual enough to be front-page news in the Reporter Dispatch of White Plains, New York. USA Today and the Poughkeepsie Journal also covered the story.
Late in the afternoon, the fury of the storm began to slow until the wind and the snow stopped. The evening sun dropped below the dark clouds, and golden light spilled in long rays onto the city. The effect was magical. The city was transformed into the fabled city of gold, El Dorado. The buildings and sidewalks, the water in the bay, and the people were turned into a bright, warm, gold color. The air was cool and clean. The city was at its best. In this golden light the Scouts took a ferry to Governor’s Island to eat dinner.
Because of the work the leaders put into organizing the trip, costs for the Scouts were kept to a minimum. Discount rates were obtained for meals, ferry and subway rides, and admission to museums. Several food companies donated hot dogs, drinks, and snacks. A national sporting goods company donated eight basketballs to give away as awards. The U.S. Olympic Committee donated 160 U.S. Olympic pins.
“What we have learned from this event,” Doug Jackson, a Yorktown stake Scouting leader said, “is that people and corporations are very willing to help the Scouting program.”
After dinner the Scouts returned to Manhattan and took a subway to the Natural History Museum. The rides on the New York subway were among the most exciting events of the trip.
Imagine, if you can, a group of 160 Scouts waiting in a subway station, the subway cars rattling and groaning with the sound of a flood roaring down the tunnel, then screeching to a stop. Amazed passengers watch as leaders hurry Scouts onto the cars. The doors slam shut as the Scouts get on. Then the subway cars groan again, shake, rattle, and start off with a jerk. The ride has the smoothness of an old-fashioned buckboard wagon and makes a roller coaster seem smooth. Lights flash off and on. Through the windows other stations are seen—a blur of lights, people, and graffiti. The leaders are studying the subway route, schedules clutched in their hands, with worried looks.
Erik Anderson, 12, from the Poughkeepsie Ward, said the subway was great but that he wouldn’t want to ride it every day.
Tired and wet and hungry, the Scouts finally arrived at the twin towers of the World Trade Center.
We had planned to sleep on the roof of the number two tower. But when the leaders found the decks were iced over and there was a 30-mile-an-hour wind blowing, it was decided the Scouts would spend the night one floor down in the warmth of the observation deck. The Scouts were able to go up onto the roof to see what is one of the most spectacular views in the world.
“Nothing beats this,” said Warren Moon, 14, from Pawling, as he looked down at the city lights.
Elder Robert L. Backman of the First Quorum of the Seventy, and a member of the National Executive Board of the Boy Scouts of America, joined the Scouts at the World Trade Center and spent the night with them on the observation deck. Among the highlights of the trip for many of the Scouts, along with the views of the city at night and the sun rising up over the city the next morning, was the talk Elder Backman gave.
“This morning when I saw the sunrise and light started to hit all of the buildings up and down Manhattan,” Elder Backman, dressed in full Scout uniform, stated, “it occurred to me that none of us better limit ourselves as to what we can accomplish. Just look at this engineering marvel we’re in, 107 stories up. It’s breathtaking. I’m convinced that if we really understand we are sons of God, and I know we are, we can accomplish even greater things. Being sons of God, we can even become like him, and there’s nothing more exciting than that.”
While he was packing his gear and getting ready to leave the building, Brian Fields from the Newburg Branch said camping on the top of the World Trade Center was something he would never forget.
“Camping here overnight and having Elder Backman with us—well, it’s the kind of thing I’ll tell my grandchildren about. We were the first people to ever camp up here. It’s history.”
During the night the storm blew out to sea, leaving the sky cloudless and a deep blue color.
We visited the Statue of Liberty, watched a recreation of a Revolutionary War battle, and explored the aircraft carrier Intrepid (now an air and space museum).
Then it was time to go home. While we waited for our rides, tired and happy, we sat watching the city. The air was cool and still smelled of the rain from the night before. Sea gulls circled overhead. There was a rushing sound, like the sound of a river, coming from the city. A lone man moved along a street pushing a hot dog cart.
“Hot dogs. Get your red-hot hot dogs here. Pretzels, hot fresh pretzels,” he was singing the words.
“It’ll be hard to beat this one,” Douglas McEldowney said, biting into a pretzel covered with mustard. “But I can’t wait to try.”
We all agreed.

A young father bore witness to me of a great blessing that had come to him and his family. He was awakened one night by a voice that clearly told him to get up and go downstairs. He heeded the warning, and in going into the kitchen he found one wall engulfed in flames. Hurriedly he awakened his family, called the fire department, and with the help of his family fought the fire, keeping it down until the fire department arrived and put it out.
There was no question in his mind that this warning was a manifestation of the protection the Holy Ghost can give to those who keep their lives in harmony with the Spirit.

Natalie laid her head on the back of her seat and looked out the window. She tried to focus on the houses and cars flashing past. But it wasn’t easy. A bunch of older kids at the back of the bus were saying bad words again. Loudly. And it wasn’t just swear words, either. The things they were talking about were not things Natalie wanted to hear.
Natalie wasn’t the only one who felt uneasy. Her friend Katy frowned and stared down at her hands. Thomas looked at Natalie and shrugged his shoulders. The bad language was bothering all of them!
Natalie peeked back at the older kids. Then she hurried and turned around before anyone saw her. She could ask them to stop, but that thought made her stomach flip-flop. It probably wouldn’t do much good anyway.
She decided to pray instead.
Dear Heavenly Father, she silently prayed. Please make them stop.
Natalie finished her prayer and waited. Nothing happened. The older kids kept saying the same bad words. Katy was still staring at her hands. Thomas still looked uncomfortable. Why didn’t Heavenly Father do something? Why didn’t He make them stop saying those bad words?
Please, Heavenly Father, she prayed silently.
Then a thought came into Natalie’s mind: Talk to the bus driver.
She scrunched up her nose. Talk to the bus driver? What if he yelled at her? What if the older kids saw her and made fun of her?
The thought came again. Talk to the bus driver.
Natalie felt a peaceful feeling.
Help me be brave, Heavenly Father, she prayed. As the bus pulled up to her stop, Natalie took a deep breath and walked up to the bus driver.
“Mr. Avery?”
“Yeah?”
“Um … some of the older kids in the back are saying really bad words,” Natalie said quietly. But then she felt a little braver. Her voice was a little stronger. “It makes other kids and me uncomfortable. Is there something you could do about it? Please?”
Mr. Avery glanced at the back of the bus through the rearview mirror. He nodded.
“Thanks for telling me. I’ll talk to them.”
Natalie smiled and walked down the bus steps. She hopped off the last one and skipped home. She was feeling much better.
The next day, Mr. Avery smiled at Natalie as she got on the bus. “I talked to our friends in the back of the bus,” he said. “I reminded them that what they say affects those around them. I told them I didn’t want any bad language on our bus anymore. Let me know if it happens again.”
Natalie grinned. “Thanks, Mr. Avery.”
Natalie had a happy feeling in her heart. Heavenly Father had helped with the swearing. He didn’t make them stop. But He did help Natalie know what to do. He helped her be brave. And next time she needed courage to speak up, she knew she could do it with His help.

There are a lot of fun things you could do for Mutual. The youth of the Plymouth First Ward (Plymouth England Stake) used their Mutual night as an opportunity to do missionary work.
Each of the eight young women and seven young men in the ward, which covers about 15 square miles, brought a less-active or nonmember friend to Mutual. At the activity they had a barbecue, played games, and just got to know each other better. The full-time missionaries were invited, too, and they joined in the fun.
“I was so overwhelmed at the success of the activity,” says Ruth Ng, one of the Young Women. “My testimony of missionary work was surely increased.”

Although President Benson loved horses and would always admire a good team more than a good car, his timing was perfect for greeting the age of the auto in Whitney. “When I was 16, on the farm, Father purchased his first car, a 1915 Dodge. It was of solid, substantial construction, but rode like a hay wagon. There were very few cars in the community. Uncle John Dunkley was the first one to get a car, which was a Ford. The children would all gather around it after Sunday School, to see him crank it and start it off down the road. There were no paved roads in our county anywhere.

“Occasionally Father would let us drive to a distant town for a basketball game, dance, or other entertainment. One Saturday we drove to Logan. The only stretch of pavement between Whitney or Preston and Logan was from Smithfield to Logan. There is a slight slope to the south toward Logan. I pushed the Dodge to the limit this particular Saturday and got the speed up to 51 miles per hour. When I reported this to Father and to the people back in the Whitney Ward, they were shocked to think I had dared to drive at that terrific speed and seemed to question whether the car would actually go that fast or not. I finally had to get evidence from some of the other boys who were with me to confirm my claim of the 51 miles per hour, which was the highest record of speed known in the community at that time.”

Jacob latched the gate on the new fence. “Stay, Annie,” he said. “You get this whole big yard. Have fun!”
Jacob had only been in the house long enough to take three bites out of his sandwich when he heard Annie scratching at the door and barking to get into the house. “How did she get out?” he wondered.
He grabbed Annie by her collar and led her back through the open gate. Maybe he hadn’t latched it right before. He pulled the gate shut and carefully pulled the latch into place. “Stay, Annie,” he said again.
“Woof,” Annie said, watching him. Jacob turned to go back into the house, but he looked over his shoulder just in time to see Annie pushing the latch up with her nose and marching through the gate.
“Annie!” Jacob was partly impressed and partly annoyed. “You have to stay in the back.” He took Annie back through the gate. Maybe the dog didn’t remember all the things Jacob’s family had done to make her happy out here. “See, here is your doghouse,” he said. “And here are some of your favorite toys.” Annie picked up her bone and lay down to chew it. “Your water dish and everything you need are right here. I’ll come play with you after I finish my lunch.” But he hadn’t even gotten to the kitchen before he heard Annie barking at the door again.
That night at dinner, Jacob told the story to his family. “So after I put a big bolt through the hole to keep the latch from lifting, I thought for sure that Annie would stay. But she figured out how to pull the bolt out with her teeth. Then she opened the latch and out she came.”
“That dog is too smart for her own good,” Dad remarked.
“So what did you do?” Jacob’s brother Tim asked.
“I put a nut on the bolt,” Jacob said smugly. “Now she can’t pull it out. She’s smart but not as smart as I am.”
The doorbell rang. Jacob jumped up to answer it. He was expecting his friend Ryan to come over, but it wasn’t Ryan at the door. It was a man in uniform with Annie.
“Is this your dog?” the animal-control officer asked. Annie wriggled past Jacob into the house.
Jacob nodded.
Jacob’s mom came up behind him. “Uh-oh,” she said. “We thought Annie was locked in the backyard.”
“She was at large,” the officer said.
“At large?” Jacob asked, puzzled.
“That means loose and uncontrolled,” the officer explained. “We’ve talked to your parents about this before. Your dog has to be secured. That’s the law.”
Jacob remembered that his parents had built the fence because Annie had been in trouble before. She had dashed out of the house when the door had opened and run off down the street.
“She doesn’t mean to be bad,” Jacob said.
“No, but she depends on us who know the rules,” the officer said. “She’s not safe when she’s loose, and neither are the children in the neighborhood. You’ll have to pay the fine.” He handed a ticket to Mom. She wasn’t smiling.
“We’ll figure out how she got out and fix it,” Mom said.
As the officer was leaving, Ryan rode up on his bike. “What’s up?” he asked. “Who got arrested?”
“Ha, ha,” Jacob said. “Actually, Annie did.”
The boys went around to the backyard. Mom and Dad were already there. Dad pointed to an Annie-sized hole under the fence. A pile of dirt on the other side told the story.
Everybody pitched in. Dad and Tim buried big rocks in the most obvious digging spots. Then Jacob and Ryan took logs from the woodpile and laid them along the bottom of the fence where Annie might try to dig. By the time they were finished, it was getting dark.
For two days Annie stayed in the backyard. Jacob was sure the problem was solved. But on Friday, their neighbor Mr. Kopiak called to say that Annie had climbed the woodpile and leaped into his yard over the fence. “She’s OK,” he said, “but I’m surprised she didn’t break a leg.”
“You need to trust me on this,” Jacob said to Annie as he walked her home. “You just don’t realize what’s out there. You could get hurt! You have to stay, Annie.”
That afternoon, Ryan called to invite Jacob to go swimming. “We can bike over to Pizza Village on the way back,” Ryan said.
It was a fun idea, but Jacob knew it would be hard to get permission. The pool was out of his biking territory. Still, Ryan had never invited him to go for pizza before. Jacob felt it was important to their friendship that he say yes. Surely Mom would understand.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Son,” Mom said when he asked her.
“It’s not that far!” Jacob said. He felt angry and frustrated. “Ryan rides his bike all over the place and he’s OK. What could happen?” Jacob was trying not to lose his cool, but he heard his voice getting louder with every syllable. “These rules are stupid!”
Mom looked him right in the eye. “Jacob, you’ll have to trust me. You don’t know what’s out there.”
Jacob felt tingles across the back of his neck. That was the same thing he had said to Annie that very day!
Jacob went to his room to think. He thought about what the animal-control officer had said. He remembered what his dad had said about Annie being so smart. He thought about how much he loved Annie and all the work the family had done to make her safe. He thought about rules, and how much his parents loved him and wanted him to be safe. He thought about the Holy Ghost helping Mom know what to say—the same words he’d told Annie.
After a while, Jacob called Ryan. “I can’t go,” he said. “But if you come over, we can make brownies. Mom says she’ll order pizza to be delivered.”
Ryan happily agreed.

One couple said:

“Serving a senior couple mission was our righteous desire, but we [faced] many challenges. We exercised our faith in the Lord Jesus Christ to have the Holy Ghost guide us in every step. Despite our challenges, we were blessed with peace and confidence to move forward. We were able to save sufficient funds for our mission, paid off debts, and organised our family. We are blessed to have a better relationship as husband and wife, as well as [with] each of our children.”

In conclusion let me share an experience that is tender and even sacred to me. When I was first called to serve as Young Women general president, I felt terrified and inadequate. I lay awake for many nights worrying, repenting, and crying. After several nights of this, I had a very moving experience. I started thinking about my young women nieces, then about the young women in my neighborhood and ward, then about the young women I saw regularly at the high school, and then I envisioned young women of the Church throughout the world, over half a million of them. The most wonderfully warm feeling began to envelop me and surge through me. I felt such exquisite love for Latter-day Saint young women everywhere, each one of you, and I knew that what I was feeling was our Heavenly Father’s love for you. It was powerful and all-encompassing. For the first time I felt peace because I knew what Heavenly Father wanted me to do. He wanted me to witness to you of His great love for you. And so I testify to you again that I know beyond doubt that Heavenly Father knows you and loves you. You are His special daughter. He has a plan for you, and He will ever be there to lead you, guide you, and walk beside you (see “I Am a Child of God”). I earnestly pray that you will know this and feel this, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Randy McGee has imagination. He’s unintimidated as well. He’s also the cheerleader at Thomas Jefferson High School in Washington who had “lost so many school elections” he decided to run for an office he could win! He invented the office of Archduke, and his campaign included the wearing of a red cap and the handing out of a job description with his picture to student voters. The student council admitted that his speech got the most raves at the election assembly, and Mormons in the area appreciated the good publicity in the local papers. As Archduke, Randy spreads good cheer, stirs up goodwill efforts between schools, and acts as chief pepper-upper at games. “As far as I know,” comments Randy laughingly, “I’m the only Archduke in the USA”.

Everyone has to be converted. Everyone at some point in life has to know for themselves that Jesus is the Savior. At youth conference, the testimony was so strong that I began to feel it too. I prayed the night we got home, and the next day at testimony meeting, for the first time since I was a child, I bore my testimony. I felt for myself that Jesus is the Savior.
Rachel Yorke, 16Hayward, California

I think of two women, once the closest of friends. The one, through an accident of which she was innocent, became in effect a party to the death of a child of the other. It is difficult to say which of those women suffered the most over the death of that child. The one who was not the mother, but who was involved in the accident that led to the fatality, has grieved and wept these many years, not only for the child who was lost and for her part in the tragic situation, but perhaps even more over the unforgiving spirit of the mother who lost the child. It is understandable why the bereft mother, mourning over the loss of her baby, felt bitter. But long since there should have been a realization on her part that her friend was innocent, that she too has wept, and that there should have been an outpouring of love toward her rather than recrimination. An absence of charity has cankered the soul of that woman, destroyed her happiness, brought only misery to her days and sorrow to her nights.

My grandfather was a farmer. When I was quite young, I used to go to work with him at planting time. I loved to see him get the animals ready, put on their yokes, and hitch them to the harrow and plow. “Where are we going to plant today?” I would ask. “Down yonder,” he would reply. He knew well where the fruitful ground was.
I loved the moist, rich smell that rose from the ground when the tip of the plow broke the earth. As my grandfather prepared the furrows, I would bury the seed. “This ground is fruitful,” he would say. Later we would go back to the field to see the first green sprouts coming up. Soon the shoots became stalks, and then the grain would appear. The plants continued to grow until they were mature.
At harvesttime, the workers would cut the sheaves and take them to the threshing area, which consisted of poles wired together into a large circle. The sheaves were placed on the ground around the outside of this circle. Then the horses came and ran around the circle, trampling the sheaves, which loosened the grain from the stalks and crushed the kernels. Next, workers came with their tools to fan the chaff, separating it from the grain. After their labor was done, the workers sang and danced and enjoyed a traditional meal of roast lamb. It was a beautiful rustic celebration. The grain was stored in sacks and later processed into a variety of useful products.
And yet, despite all that we did to plant and harvest, the success of the whole process was primarily based upon the richness of the ground, the weather, and other conditions beyond our control. Without these conditions, the seeds would not have germinated, and there would have been no harvest.

One day in the summer of 1969, a young missionary in Chuncheon, Republic of Korea, handed a pamphlet on the purpose of life to the man at the post office who distributed the foreign mail. The young elder probably had no idea what a chain of conversions he had begun.
Neither did the postal worker who accepted the pamphlet. Cho Joong Hyun did not know why his civil service job had taken him so far from his home in Suncheon, near the southern tip of the Korean peninsula. Only later would he come to understand that he had to be in that place at that time to receive the pamphlet.
This small incident would lead to the conversion of his entire family, as well as many others they would later influence. But those conversions would not come easily. “It took more than 20 years to get all of my family baptized,” he says. Through his efforts, his parents and his brothers and sisters and their spouses and children have come to enjoy the blessings of the gospel.
Cho Joong Hyun’s own conversion was difficult. The pamphlet given to him by the missionary was “really good,” he says, in that it provided answers about the purpose of life that he had never been able to find in the Christian church he formerly attended. Still, he did not think an unknown American church could be taken seriously, so he tossed the pamphlet into a drawer and forgot it for a time.
He forgot it until early one morning when, awakening after another evening of drinking and billiards with friends, he lay thinking that he ought to change his life. Then he remembered the pamphlet that gave him answers.
The first Sunday he attended a Latter-day Saint meeting, he was not impressed. The rented building was small, and the congregation at Sunday School, he recalls, consisted of the missionaries, their cook, a grandmother and two children, and a couple of college students.
But the answers supplied by that pamphlet, along with the humility and testimony of the young elders, kept him talking to the missionaries, even though he was wary of their Church. He remembers arguing with them about religion. When they quoted scriptures from the Book of Mormon, he thought to himself, “These guys are really good at making this up. It sounds like the Bible.” They gave him a Book of Mormon with Moroni 10:3–5 printed by hand in the front of it, carrying the promise that the reader would learn of the truth of the book through the Holy Ghost. Remembering the story of Joseph Smith, Cho Joong Hyun went to his favorite spot in the mountains to offer his personal prayer. But he received no immediate answer.
Then one day as he sat in a library reading the Book of Mormon and the Doctrine and Covenants, he clearly heard a voice speak to him saying, “These are true, and they are mine.” He looked around to see if anyone else had heard the voice. Tears streamed down his face as he realized the message had been for him alone.
After his baptism and confirmation in 1969, the world changed for Joong Hyun. People and things that had seemed disagreeable before no longer did. He saw beauty around him, even though nothing was different. He spent time going door-to-door with the missionaries sharing his testimony.
He had to put his missionary work aside for a time while he served in the military during the Vietnam War. But he began trying to share the gospel again when he returned home to Suncheon in the mid-1970s.
There were no other Church members in the city. One way he tried to change that was to give copies of the Book of Mormon to people he met. “I thought I needed to share this true and precious book,” he says. Little came of that, however. His greatest impact as a missionary would be with his own brothers and sisters.
His youngest sister, Cho Sungja (Korean women retain their birth family name after marriage), recalls that at first her brother simply held family home evenings with his brothers and sisters and taught gospel principles. But eventually he introduced them to missionaries.
His youngest sister accepted the gospel readily. She felt the Holy Ghost testify to her of the truth of Joseph Smith’s First Vision. Members of another faith had shown her a scripture in the book of Revelation that they said warned against adding to the words of that book (see Revelation 22:18–19). But as she opened the Book of Mormon one day to read in 2 Nephi 29, some of the verses in that chapter told her of the need for additional revelation (see vv. 11–14), and again she felt the Spirit testify that it was true.
Her father was against her joining the Church, but finally, in answer to her prayers, he gave his consent. She was baptized and confirmed in 1976, at age 16.
Like her pioneering elder brother, Joong Hyun, Sungja wanted to share the gospel she had found. She shared it freely with friends at school, and eventually five of them were also baptized and confirmed.
Sungja’s next oldest brother, Cho Yong Hyun, had listened to the missionaries with his siblings. Their parents were busy running the family restaurant, and Joong Hyun, the second son, was frequently charged with caring for his younger brothers and sisters. His siblings all learned to love him and trust his judgment. “I really respected my older brother, so when he first introduced the gospel to me, I could accept it,” Yong Hyun says.
But Yong Hyun’s conversion was not based on his brother’s testimony alone; he received his own strong witness of the truth, and once a member, he dedicated himself to serving faithfully.
That dedication led him, while he was a college student, to want to serve a mission—a choice his father opposed. But Yong Hyun won his father’s consent by promising to be a better student when he returned, and he kept that promise.
Father and son would clash over the Church again some years later when Yong Hyun was offered a position with the Church Educational System. He was doing well in his job with an oil refining firm at the time, but he accepted the Church position and has served as CES coordinator in the Gwangju area of southern Korea since 1986. His father opposed the change, considering it unwise for his son to leave a good position with a prestigious firm to work for a relatively unknown church that had started in America. His father said later that he had cried bitterly over Yong Hyun’s decision and had come close to disowning him. Fortunately, the rift was healed.
All of the Cho brothers and sisters will say that their father was the hardest opponent to their studying and living the gospel. He could be demanding and, in his traditional role as head of the family, expected obedience.
But some of the siblings also had their own reservations about the Church. The second daughter, Cho Gil Ja, had doubts centered in part on why her older brother was asked to give so much service to his church without being paid, as ministers were in other churches. She dated, married, and was raising her own young children before she finally heeded her brother’s request to listen to the missionaries.
When they asked her to read the Book of Mormon, she became absorbed in the reading and finished the book in three days. She heeded Moroni’s admonition to pray about its teachings and received a strong confirmation that they are true. At that point, she says, “I felt there must be something I could do for God.” The impression she received in answer to this desire was that she too should attend church and serve.
Gil Ja had learned service by example. Her mother always lived by that principle, serving Church members even before she became one herself.
Her mother had come to love the members of the Church and the sister missionaries who wanted to teach her. But it was difficult to give up her traditional religion. In her closet she had a small statue of Buddha to which she prayed each day. The turning point in her conversion came after she dreamed that she was praying to her Buddha when it began to cry tears from its painted eyes and slowly turned its back on her. She understood that the dream meant it was time for her to follow a new religious path.
Three years after her baptism and confirmation, her husband—by then the lone member of the family who was still outside the Church—finally consented to listen to the gospel and was converted. After he joined the Church, he became a changed man, his children say—sweeter, kinder, more tolerant.
Some 26 years after Cho Joong Hyun’s baptism, all of his family were at last members of the Church. It was a high point for the family when their mother and father were sealed in the Seoul Korea Temple. A touching moment for the entire family came at a later gathering when the Cho children sang to their father the lullaby he had sung to them when they were small.
Their mother served faithfully in the Church until the end of her life. Even in the hospital, suffering from stomach cancer, she was a missionary to the young woman in the next bed, introducing her to the gospel.
Her sons and daughters carry on the tradition of service. There are two President Chos in the family. Yong Hyun, the CES coordinator, has served in a variety of priesthood leadership callings through the years and is currently president of the stake in Gwangju. Cho Joong Hyun, who led the way into the Church for his family, has also served in a variety of leadership roles in Suncheon, including district president. He is currently president of the Suncheon Branch. Cho Gil Ja has served for more than 16 years as president of the Relief Society in the ward and stake. Other brothers and sisters in the family are active in their own areas as well, and all are married to active members.
Seven of the Cho children and grandchildren have served as missionaries so far, and still others are preparing to serve. Several of the children and grandchildren have married returned missionaries. Now the fourth generation of Chos is beginning to be reared in the Church. Their days have not been free of life’s difficulties, but blessings have come through their obedience.
The missionary who handed that pamphlet to a young postal worker nearly four decades ago could not have known what would grow from the small seed he planted. But the harvest has been plentiful—and it may be only beginning.

Kelley could not find Samuel’s wife. Kelley knew her name, but Samuel’s wife just wasn’t where she was supposed to be. It was like unraveling a mystery, and it was frustrating. “His wife had a nickname, and we had to get a special form for the census to get her record. Then we had to put their names in code before we asked for it. We would do these names in code, and then we were wrong, wrong, wrong.”
For a little while one Saturday afternoon in Anchorage, Alaska, Kelley Staats, a Beehive in the Anchorage Sixth Ward, got a taste of what doing family history was really like. Even though Kelley was having a hard time for a few minutes, she was actually having a great time figuring out how to find information from census, cemetery, immigration, and church records.