Gospel Story Finder

And President Spencer W. Kimball shared the following in a conference talk to the priesthood of the Church:
“I remember when I was a deacon. (It has been a long time ago, however.) I thought it was a great honor to be a deacon. My father was always considerate of my responsibilities and always permitted me to take the buggy and horse to gather fast offerings. My responsibility included that part of the town in which I lived, but it was quite a long walk to the homes, and a sack of flour or a bottle of fruit or vegetables or bread became quite heavy as it accumulated. So the buggy was very comfortable and functional. We have changed to cash in later days, but it was commodities in my day. It was a very great honor to do this service for my Heavenly Father; and though times have changed, when money is given generally instead of commodities, it is still a great honor to perform this service.

On the 22nd of February 2024 Chloe and Mandy Pritchard, twins, were set apart as full-time service missionaries by President Haji, Stake President of the Preston England Stake.
After a series of visits to the Preston England Temple, Sister Jessica Pritchard felt very strongly that she should serve a mission. Sister Chloe Pritchard had spent a lot of time helping and serving with the sister missionaries and felt a great desire to serve. When Sister Mandy Pritchard discovered the opportunity to serve a service mission she also desired to apply. Their mother went on to say, “I knew that they wanted to serve a mission, but I never expected them all to serve at the same time.”

A ministering sister in New Zealand was led to a unique way to help a sister in her ward. This sister had recently gone through a separation from her husband. The ministering sister was up late with her baby and noticed that this sister seemed active online in the late hours of the night, so she decided to message her. After praying about how she could help, she was inspired to take some time to sleep during the day and set her alarm to wake up late at night to keep this sister company by messaging with her online because this was the time of the day the sister felt sad and lonely and especially missed her husband.

With regular interactions and invitations from both ministering sisters, over time this sister started coming back to church. Her ministering sisters would pick her up and accompany her to meetings and activities. She then had the desire to talk to her bishop about renewing her temple recommend.

The week after receiving her recommend, she and her ministering sisters attended the temple together. Through this time of inspired watchcare, she no longer felt lonely.

These ministering sisters truly became trusted friends and spiritual first responders for this dear sister going through a challenging time in her life. They provided temporal and spiritual relief. But it took time, patience, loving-kindness, and gentle invitations.

By seeking the Lord’s inspiration, this ministering sister was led to a unique way she could help. Ultimately, that inspired ministering led this sister back to the temple and the blessings of a covenant relationship with God.

For the efforts of these ministering sisters to be sustainable, however, it took their love of God and the love they had for this sister. We can pray for that love if we don’t feel it at first. Ministering to others only out of a sense of duty won’t be sustainable over the long term, especially if those we are assigned to are resistant at first.

Illustrations by David Malan
As a young man, I looked forward to the day when I would serve a full-time mission. When I finally entered the mission field, I discovered that missionary service was not what I had expected—it was better. It was harder than I thought, but the satisfaction that came from doing what the Lord asked of me was indescribable.
Never before had I experienced the joy of helping someone attend church. Never before had I felt the thrill of hearing someone say, “Sure, come on in” so that they could hear the restored gospel. Never before had I sensed the reality of the power that came as we declared repentance. Never before had I prayed with such real intent. Never before had an hour of scripture study gone by so fast. Never before had I been brought to tears by the realization of my imperfections. Never before had I experienced the devastation that comes with the words, “Elders, please don’t come by my house anymore.” Never before had I gotten a blister on my foot the size of my thumb. Never before had I felt so protected. Never before had I felt so much responsibility for my actions because I wore the name “Jesus Christ” on my chest.
Never before had I been so close to my Heavenly Father as I came to be during my full-time mission.

When my wife, Sandra, and I were called to serve in the South Africa Durban Mission, we began looking for a community service project. I had been a member of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir for over 20 years, and my wife, a library aide, had conducted story time in an elementary school. When our mission president decided to open missionary work in a nearby township, we knew this was our chance.
We visited the township and discovered that there were no libraries in the schools, just a small community library in the town. The young elders introduced us to the library director. We explained to her that we would like to hold a weekly story time for children. She was skeptical, but after some thought she agreed to get the word out and we could try.
On the first day five children attended. Gradually more came. After several months we enlisted the help of a young lady, a recent convert, who spoke beautiful English and Zulu. Attendance at story time grew, and the director and parents were excited about what was happening.
The Zulu people love to sing, so we added simple songs and rhymes to our story time. By the end of our mission, we were holding two or three sessions of song and story time a week to accommodate the more than 100 children who attended. What a blessing it was when we would see the children elsewhere and they would start singing our songs and reciting our rhymes to us.
Another blessing came out of our service in this area. As the local Church membership grew and we needed a place to start holding our Sunday meetings, the library director insisted that we use the library at no charge.
We are so grateful that the Lord helped us find a way to use our talents, serve the community, and help open an area of the mission.

In the spring of 1829, Mary and Peter Whitmer welcomed Joseph and Emma Smith and Oliver Cowdery into their home so the translation of the gold plates could be completed. The demands on Mary’s time were high. She cared for nine people in her own home and assisted her married children who lived nearby.
Mary’s five sons and both of her (eventual) sons-in-law became official witnesses of the gold plates in June 1829. That same month, Mary received a witness of her own.
Outside her home, a gray-haired man with a knapsack over his shoulder approached Mary and said, “My name is Moroni. You have become pretty tired with all the extra work you have to do.” Taking the knapsack off his shoulder, Moroni continued, “You have been very faithful and diligent in your labors. It is proper, therefore, that you should receive a witness that your faith may be strengthened.” He then revealed the contents of his knapsack—the gold plates.1
Mary became a witness of the gold plates, like the Three Witnesses and Eight Witnesses, whose testimonies are in the introductory pages of the Book of Mormon. Mary’s humility and diligence prepared her to be a witness. Her testimony isn’t written in the introductory pages of the Book of Mormon, and her name isn’t on plaques, monuments, or the minds of many Saints who came after her. Although her daily contributions in her home and family likely went unnoticed by many, they were known by God.

Isaac Stern, the world-famous musician-violinist, was asked by a television talk show host at what point in his life he determined to devote his energies toward a career as a concert violinist. Mr. Stern told of having given his first concert in San Francisco at a young age. Music critics were extremely impressed and predicted a fine future for the promising young talent. With this encouragement, Isaac Stern began preparations for another concert a year later in New York City. The critics were not so kind to him there. It would require a tremendous amount of work, they judged, if Isaac Stern were to achieve success as a soloist.
Dejected and discouraged, the young Mr. Stern boarded one of New York City’s double-decker buses and rode it up and down Manhattan a number of times. He was, in his words, “crying inside” as he tried to decide where he was going from there. Were his critics correct? Had he gone as far as he was capable of going? Should he now seek a profession as just another member of an orchestra?
After his fourth bus ride through the city, he returned to his apartment where his mother was waiting. He had made his decision. “I am going to work, mother—work at my music until it works for me.” Today Isaac Stern is acclaimed as one of the finest violinists in the world. Work is a principle with a blessing. Work builds us physically and spiritually. It increases both our strength of body and our strength of character.

Elder Zivic faced another difficult decision when it came time to choose a vocation. For four straight years of secondary school, he had to take an additional end-of-year test in accounting because he did so poorly in the subject during the year.
“I really didn’t like accounting,” he says. But when he prayerfully considered his career path, he felt strongly that he should go into accounting. Trusting in the Lord, he received his accounting degree from the University of Buenos Aires and enjoyed a career as a certified public accountant.

Ever since he was little, Jack had wanted a dog. Mom and Dad surprised him with a little tan puppy with big brown eyes and white paws. Jack named his new dog Skout, and soon they became great friends.
Jack worked very hard to take care of Skout and teach him how to be a good dog, but Skout was only a puppy and often made mistakes. One time he chewed up Grandpa’s umbrella, and another time he ate the pepperoni pizza and drank the pink soda at a family party.
Skout lived in the backyard behind a locked fence. Soon he learned how to dig a hole under the gate and crawl out onto the street. Every night Jack tried to patch up the spot where Skout escaped, and every night Skout found a new way to get out of the backyard.
One day Jack’s mother received a phone call. “Hello, Mrs. Reynolds, this is Mr. Hoolihan, your neighbor. I’m calling because your dog has been getting into my yard every night. He has ruined my new flowers and destroyed my garden! If that dog comes in my yard again, I’m calling the dogcatcher to take that naughty dog to the pound.”
“I am so sorry, Mr. Hoolihan,” Jack’s mother said. “We’ll make sure that this does not happen again.”
“It better not, or you can say good-bye to that naughty dog!” Mr. Hoolihan yelled.
The whole family felt terrible. After dinner, Jack and his father gathered some large rocks and bricks and stacked them near the gate to make sure Skout could not dig a hole under it or push it open. Everyone was so worried about Skout that they hardly slept.
The next morning before school, Jack ran into the backyard to check on his dog. He was almost scared to look, but there was Skout happily wagging his tail behind the gate. Jack sighed with relief. “Hi, boy!”
But just as Jack was filling Skout’s food bowl, he noticed something—a large chewed-up shoe. Jack had seen this shoe somewhere before, but it was too big to be Dad’s. Then Jack remembered—every night after working in his garden, Mr. Hoolihan left his muddy shoes on his front porch. If this was Mr. Hoolihan’s shoe, Skout must have been out again last night.
Jack ran to the front yard and looked across to Mr. Hoolihan’s front porch. Sure enough, one shoe was missing. Only Jack knew where the matching shoe was.
Jack was worried. If he told the truth, Mr. Hoolihan would be angry and Skout would be sent away. Jack quickly hid the shoe behind a bush and went inside.
“I knew those rocks would work!” Dad said.
“I am so glad that Skout was a good dog last night,” Mom said.
Jack dragged his heavy feet upstairs into his room. He sat on his bed and thought about what to do. Jack knew that telling lies was bad, but this seemed different. Maybe Mr. Hoolihan would think that somebody else stole the shoe. Maybe no one would ask Jack about it, and then he wouldn’t exactly be lying.
He looked around his room for an idea of what to do. He saw his scriptures on his bookshelf, and he saw a photograph of his family on the dresser. He saw his Sunday clothes hanging in his closet, and he saw a picture of the Savior hanging on the wall. The song “I Am a Child of God”* came into his head and he began to hum the tune. Jack’s frown melted away. He knew what he had to do—he had to be honest.
Jack explained the truth to his parents, grabbed the shoe from behind the bush, and walked over to Mr. Hoolihan’s house. Jack nervously rang the doorbell. Mr. Hoolihan answered the door in his pajamas with an angry look on his face.
“Mr. Hoolihan, I am very sorry, but my dog, Skout, was out again last night. He chewed up your shoe and brought it into our yard.” Jack held up the mangled shoe. “I will work to pay for some new shoes for you.”
Mr. Hoolihan grabbed the shoe, mumbled something about calling the dogcatcher, and slammed the door. Jack walked home with a few tears in his eyes. He went to the backyard and gave Skout a hug.
After Jack went inside, the doorbell rang. Mr. Hoolihan stood on the porch, dressed and with a little bit of a smile on his face. “Jack, I’m glad that you came and told me the truth. I owe you an apology for reacting so rudely. You can wash my car every Saturday for one month to pay me back for the shoes. And to pay you back for my bad manners, I would like to help you fix your fence so Skout will be safe in your backyard.” Jack could hardly speak; all he could do was smile.

Receiving my mission call to the Philippines Cebu Mission was a momentous occasion in my life. I had been preparing for quite some time, and I was ready to serve. Entering the missionary training center was a great experience. It struck me that the first thing that they do there is give you a name tag. But this is no ordinary name tag—it has two names. One is the missionary’s name and the other is the name of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Putting on that name tag was the start of a new understanding for me of what it really meant to be a representative of Jesus Christ.

The best part about the pageant is the spirit that surrounds it. Eighteen-year-old Janna Halcomb’s brother encouraged her to try out for the pageant with him just before he left on his mission to Hungary. “That year we were able to be angels together,” she says. “It was such an incredible experience. The Spirit on the temple grounds is so strong, and as we bore witness of the Savior and His life my testimony was strengthened.”

I remember a woman in my ward some years ago when I was a bishop. She and her husband were having marital problems. As they spoke with me, she began to tear down her husband in all the key areas that a man needs praise in order to respect himself. She talked of his inadequacy as a father, his inadequacies in marital relations, his inadequacy as a provider, and his inadequacies socially.

I asked her, “Why do you do this to a man you should love and sustain?”

She replied, “It’s much better to argue with someone you love because you know where you can hurt him the most.”

And she meant it.

We get many letters about athletes who clean up the courts or the fields but not many about athletes who clean up the team’s language. Andy Fuhriman was chosen basketball MVP and All-Star, not only for the baskets he made, but for the way he influenced the team. He even helped the coach stop swearing.
Andy made the sacrifice of turning down a chance to play in an AAU tournament because it was held on Sunday. He’d rather be in his priests quorum in the Sandpoint Ward, Sandpoint Idaho Stake. His other interests are painting and studying, as demonstrated by his high grades.

Dear Mom, Dad, Matt, Lucy, and Tyler,
I can’t tell you how neat it was to see the Christmas card photo. It looked great, even if I wasn’t part of it. Maybe I’m the reason they never seemed to turn out very well!
We’d had a rough day. It was dark, windy, and cold, and we didn’t have much luck with the work. We had so many doors slammed in our faces that my companion and I joked about needing plastic surgery to straighten out our noses. Anyway, we picked up our mail at the post after lunch, and I jammed your letter into my overcoat pocket.
It was on the bus that I opened the letter. When I saw you standing in front of the tree in our yard, I started to giggle. A woman sitting across the aisle said something about how I must be reading a nice letter. I showed her the card, and she was impressed by the photo. One thing led to another, and we’re going by her home to drop off a Book of Mormon tomorrow. Who knows if anything ever comes of it, but it wouldn’t have happened if a certain photo of a good-looking family hadn’t appeared in the mail.

“My father was killed when I was four years old. He went to help a young woman who was being assaulted by two men, and he was fatally stabbed. I missed my dad so much that I always had this hurt inside me. But when I was thirteen years old, I met the Latter-day Saint missionaries and that hurt was healed when I discovered the love of a Father I could talk to, a Father who would listen to me, a Father who would comfort me. And through the plan of salvation, I learned that I could meet my dad again some day.”
As a young teenager, Sister Ruchirawan Phonphongrat of Bangkok, Thailand, came into contact with the missionaries when she attended an English language class they offered. Following her first class, she was invited to attend a Mutual activity. “After an enjoyable evening, one of the members offered a prayer. As he prayed, I had the feeling that Someone was listening. I had a warm feeling inside, as though I were being hugged. It was that prayer and the accompanying feeling that began to heal the hurt of missing my dad. I decided that I wanted to be able to pray, to have this feeling often. So I asked the missionaries if it would be possible for me to learn the gospel and learn how to pray.
“They gave me the discussions over the next two months, and then I was baptized. I remember that when they taught me how to pray I was so excited that I would be able to pray by myself. I went to my room that night, closed the door, and prayed to Heavenly Father to know if what the missionaries had told me was true. Heavenly Father did hear me, and that’s when I found out that he does care for me. I was so very, very happy. Early next morning, on my way to school, I stopped by the apartment building where the missionaries lived on the top floor. I shouted up to their apartment window, ‘Elders! I know there is a Jesus. I know that Heavenly Father lives!’
“I told my mother that I had found a way I could meet my dad again and that we could be together again as a family some day. My mom really loved my dad, and she had never remarried. She knew that I always aimed for the best, in school or in whatever I did. Although she was an active Buddhist, she knew that the Church would be the best for me, too.”

On May 12, 1846, soon after the first group of Latter-day Saints left Nauvoo, the United States declared war against Mexico. President James K. Polk sent Captain James Allen to recruit five hundred Mormon men to serve in the U.S. Army and march to California to conquer the territory for the United States.
Brigham Young recognized that fulfilling this request would provide some opportunities for the Saints’ trek west. He said that by serving, Mormons could show their loyalty to their country, earn money for their families, and receive free transportation to the West. He also hoped that approval would be given for the Saints to camp on Indian lands. “Let the Mormons be the first [United States soldiers] to set their feet on the soil of California,” President Young said.
After Brigham Young’s reassurance, the men volunteered to serve. They were promised by Church leaders that their families would be cared for, and Brigham Young told them that if they were faithful and kept the commandments, they would not be in any battles.
On July 21, 1846, the 541 men of the Mormon Battalion began their march under the command of newly promoted Lieutenant Colonel James Allen. Thirty-five women and forty-two children, most of whom were families of the soldiers, accompanied the battalion on their journey.
They first marched to Fort Leavenworth (in present-day Kansas), where they were given supplies, guns, and forty-two dollars each for clothing. Every soldier was able to sign his own name on the payroll, which impressed the paymaster—only a third of the previous recruits had been able to do so. Parley P. Pratt collected part of the Mormon soldiers’ pay to help support their families and the poor still in Nauvoo. The money was also used to help Parley P. Pratt, John Taylor, and Orson Hyde on their mission to England.
The Mormon Battalion stayed at Fort Leavenworth for two weeks. The days were extremely hot, and many of the men were ill with fevers. Colonel Allen was gravely ill and did not go with them when they left for Santa Fe. Later, they learned that he had died.
After crossing the Arkansas River on September 16, the new battalion commander, Lieutenant A. J. Smith, sent most of the women and children to the Mexican village of Pueblo (in present-day Colorado) for the winter. The soldiers were upset because they had been promised that their families could travel with them to California. But it was a wise decision because the battalion marched at a rapid pace with little time to rest. Just a month later, a group of sick men and women were also sent to Pueblo.
The weary soldiers trudged into Santa Fe, New Mexico, on October 9, 1846. Colonel Philip St. George Cooke became their new commander, with orders to blaze a wagon trail from Santa Fe to California. The work wore heavily on the battalion, and in November 1846, a third group of fifty-five weakened and tired soldiers turned back for Pueblo.
When the remaining soldiers marched toward Tucson, they were stampeded by a herd of wild bulls. The bulls charged toward them, and the men ran for cover. The stampede was brief, but three soldiers were wounded and several animals were killed, including two battalion mules. The event became known as the Battle of the Bulls—the Mormon Battalion’s only battle!
The soldiers marched peacefully through Tucson, even though a small group of Mexican soldiers was stationed there, then beyond the Colorado River into a hot desert where water could be found only by digging deep wells. They suffered through scorching days and freezing nights. Many had worn out the bottoms of their boots and were walking practically barefoot. Some wrapped rawhide and rags around their feet to protect them from the hot sands.
The end of their 2,030-mile (3266-k) march came on January 29, 1847, when they reached Mission San Diego. Fortunately the Mexicans had already surrendered and the United States had control of California, so the Mormon Battalion helped protect and build up the areas where they served. On July 16, 1847, the men were discharged; eighty-one chose to re-enlist for another six months.
Most of the discharged men planned to join their families in the Salt Lake Valley. But President Brigham Young sent a messenger to them, requesting that the men without families remain in California for the winter. Many of those who stayed behind worked at Sutter’s Fort on the Sacramento River. They were involved in the beginning of the California gold rush. The next summer, however, they left the gold fields to rejoin the Saints.

Lisa groaned as Chelsea’s hand flew into the air. This would be Chelsea’s seventh comment during this class alone. Lisa tried to ignore her grumbling stomach and force a polite smile on her face as Sister Beldon invited Chelsea to speak.
“When I was seven we went to a dog show. I just loved all the dogs we saw, so I know just what you mean.”
Lisa stifled a laugh. Her Laurel teacher had been talking about how the power of love can change lives. Couldn’t Chelsea understand that the lesson didn’t have anything to do with dogs? If Chelsea’s comments ever had anything to do with the lesson topic, it wouldn’t be so frustrating to have her in class.
The bell rang, and Lisa sighed with relief. The Sunday afternoon church schedule always made her so hungry. As soon as the prayer was said she rushed from her class. Unfortunately, she was intercepted.
“Hello, Lisa. I was wondering if I could talk with you for a few minutes?”
Lisa had to remind herself how much she liked her new bishop before she could bring herself to cheerfully say, “Of course. Just let me tell my parents, so they won’t worry.”
Bishop Jacobson asked her a few questions about her honors classes and her cheerleading and then got to the point.
“Lisa, we’d like to call you to be Laurel class president. We’ve prayed and feel that you are the one the Lord would like for the job at this time. Will you be willing to accept this call?”
Lisa’s heart jumped with excitement. She had been a class counselor before but never a president. “Of course. I’ve always wanted to be class president.”
The bishop gave her a sharp look. “This job might be harder than you expect. The girls in your class—and even the younger girls in the Young Women program—really look up to the Laurel class president. You’ll have a big responsibility to be a role model as well as a leader.”
“I can do it.”
“Great. I have confidence in your ability. Your first responsibility as president will be to choose your counselors and secretary.”
“That’s easy. I want—”
The bishop held up his hand. “No, Lisa. That’s not how it’s done. I want you to go home and make a list of all the girls in your class. Write them all down, so you can really discover who Heavenly Father wants you to choose. Then I want you to think very seriously about your choices and, most importantly, I want you to pray. Heavenly Father has the final say, not you.”
Lisa bit her lip. Maybe the bishop was right. This job was harder than she thought. Still, she knew she could do it, and she was sure Heavenly Father would be willing to let her have her two best friends as counselors. They were smart and creative and would be a terrific help in planning activities.
As soon as she got home, she looked longingly at the dinner her mother was setting out. Her stomach hated late Sunday meetings, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to settle down to eat. The bishop’s words about responsibility were still ringing in her ears, and she wanted to get started right away.
“Mom, would it be all right if I just grabbed a piece of fruit and went to my room? I’ll eat later, after I’ve chosen my counselors.”
Her mother agreed, and Lisa hurried to her room, chewing on an apple as she went. Lisa closed her door and thought.
How should she start? The list. The bishop had said to make a list. Lisa wrote the names of eight girls in her class: Karen, Allyson, Lindsey, Carla, Amy, Denise, Janet, and Shari.
Lisa studied the list. The choices seemed obvious to her. Her best friend, Allyson, would be a perfect first counselor; and since the Laurels seemed to get put in charge of a lot of parties, she wanted Lindsey as her second counselor. Even the deacons liked Lindsey’s parties.
Lisa knelt down and began to pray. She explained why Allyson and Lindsey seemed like the best choices to her and asked for Heavenly Father’s approval.
She received quick approval for Allyson as first counselor, but somehow the confirmation of Lindsey as second counselor just wouldn’t come. Lisa tried again, explaining to Heavenly Father why Lindsey was the perfect choice for second counselor, but she soon began to feel Lindsey should be secretary. That was fine with Lisa, but who could be the second counselor?
Lisa picked up her list and tried again. She decided to pray about Carla. Still nothing. Resolutely, Lisa went down the list, but still no feelings of approval came.
“Heavenly Father, I have to choose someone. The bishop needs an answer. Who do you want?” Would someone new move into the ward tomorrow who was right for the job? She studied her list again.
Was someone missing? Only Chelsea, but she couldn’t choose Chelsea anyway. Chelsea couldn’t read or even speak clearly. Lisa wasn’t sure just how, but she thought Chelsea might be mentally handicapped.
As Lisa started to put down her pencil, the bishop’s words nagged her. “Write them all down,” he had said. Had he guessed she might leave Chelsea out? Lisa sighed and wrote Chelsea’s name on the list. Should she pray about Chelsea for the job? How could she have Chelsea as a counselor? Everyone would think she was crazy, and, anyway, Chelsea would never be able to do everything a counselor would have to do. The others would end up doing all her work for her, and they certainly didn’t have time for that.
Lisa looked at her list again. There was no one else left. She got back down on her knees and began to pray. For a long time, she felt nothing, so she tried again. Gradually, she found herself really wanting an answer and not just doing her job.
That’s when the answer came. She felt a peace stronger than any she had felt before, and she knew Chelsea was the right choice for second counselor.
Lisa paused to thank her Father in Heaven for his help and then hurried off to satisfy her growling stomach.
The next Sunday, Lisa was surprised to realize that for once she was not hungry. “I guess my stomach’s filled with butterflies,” she whispered to her mother, as she entered the Young Women’s room.
Lisa was pleased to see the smiles on the faces of the other girls as her name was announced as Laurel president. Then she steeled herself as her counselors were announced.
“And as second counselor, we’ve called Chelsea Stanton.”
The eyes of every young woman in the room turned to Lisa in shock. She saw several of the girls whisper to each other. Then she groaned. Chelsea’s hand was raised. The bishop smiled and invited Chelsea to the front of the room.
Lisa caught her breath as she got her first good look at Chelsea. She had tears streaming from her eyes as she stood with the bishop’s arm around her shoulders.
“I just wanted to tell Lisa how happy I am to be her counselor. I never thought I could have a calling because of my disabilities, but now I do have one. I guess I even have a friend, and I’m going to be a good counselor and work hard. Thank you.”
Lisa looked around at her friends. Then she stood up and hugged Chelsea.
“Thank you, Chelsea. I can really use a good counselor—and a good friend. I’m glad you accepted.”
As Lisa returned to her seat, she felt so good, she couldn’t help but smile. The bishop had been right. This job really was teaching her a lot, but it was worth it. Nobody could ever have too many friends.

Shortly before Gina was baptized in December 2001, her nonmember friends left her. They thought Gina was joining a cult. But Gina didn’t let that stop her, because joining the Church was so important to her.
A couple weeks after her baptism, Gina drove two hours to her first Church activity: a semi-formal dance. Gina knew only one person there. At the next activity, ice skating, she met more Latter-day Saint teens and exchanged e-mail addresses with them. In the months following her baptism, she began to get to know more youth in her stake.
Gina lives in a stake that covers a lot of territory. Her Church friends live about two hours away. Besides the time involved, the cost of gas makes it expensive to drive to see her friends. But it’s worth it to Gina because her friends are strong members of the Church and such good influences on her.
Gina was the only active teenager in her branch; she was the only student in seminary; and her Church friends live far away. Why does she go to all the effort? “I know what I know, and I know it’s the truth,” she says. “To be with people who have a strong testimony of the same things I do is worth driving two hours to have that spiritual backing up.
“There is wear and tear during the week, but you just have to stay strong. When that weekend comes, you’re ready for some Latter-day Saint fun and goodness surrounding you,” Gina says, laughing. “It’s definitely worth it.”

One morning during a windy snowstorm, we were riding in the car. Two sister missionaries were walking in the storm, and we offered them a ride. One was from Samoa. We asked them if they needed anything. The other missionary said her companion’s gloves weren’t warm enough. We had an extra pair of gloves in the car, and they fit the sister from Samoa. It warmed our hearts that we were able to do something for the missionaries who are serving the Lord.
Garrison and Kempton M., ages 10 and 8, Idaho

On William’s 21st birthday, May 1, 1858, he and the crew received shore leave in Honolulu. William heard prior to leaving Britain that President Brigham Young had sent missionaries to the Pacific islands, so the young convert tried to locate some Saints “but could find no record of them.” Unknown to him the Church had called home its Pacific missionaries to help defend Zion, if necessary, against a United States army then marching toward Utah. Ironically the last elders working in Hawaii left the islands the very day that William landed in Honolulu.

The seaman, an isolated Mormon cut off from contact with the Church, continued to nourish his faith by himself. He read and reread the “works of the Church” that he had brought along. A priest in the Aaronic Priesthood, he was “posted in regard to the authority of a priest to administer the sacrament,” so he felt justified in holding his own private sacrament service in his “beef house” aboard ship. “I prayed often, to the Lord,” he said, “and asked Him to acknowledge me in the administration.” On Sundays, after the ship’s religious service, William returned to his room where “I would place the hardtack [ship’s bread] and water upon a table and then offer prayer, after which I would ask the blessing upon the bread and water and partake of it. In this way I received much spiritual strength.”