Gospel Story Finder

Ashlie played in the backyard sprinklers with her new neighbor, Nicole. They screamed with delight, splashing each other in the cool water.
Ashlie stamped her wet footprint onto the porch. “I’m glad you moved in yesterday,” she said.
“Me too.” Nicole stamped her footprint next to Ashlie’s.
“Look, the same size!” Ashlie said.
Ashlie wanted to give Nicole something great, something for a new friend. She went inside to ask Mom about her idea.
“Can I give Nicole my Book of Mormon?”
“Don’t you think you should get to know her first?” Mom asked.
“But Mom, I do know her,” Ashlie said.
When it was time for Nicole to go home, Ashlie handed her a blue Book of Mormon. “I want you to have this. It’s a book about our church.”
“Thanks,” Nicole said.
But later that week, Nicole rang Ashlie’s doorbell and thrust the Book of Mormon at her. “My mom says I can’t have this. She says Mormons go to too much church.”
With tears puddling in her eyes, Ashlie showed Mom the Book of Mormon. “Maybe Nicole doesn’t want to be my friend anymore.”
“I’m sorry, Ashlie.” Mom hugged her tight. “Sometimes becoming friends takes time. In the Book of Mormon, a missionary named Ammon wanted to teach the people of Lamoni about Jesus Christ. But he decided to get to know them first by serving them.”
Ashlie wiped her eyes. She remembered how Ammon had helped guard the king’s sheep and prepare his horses and chariots.
“Because Ammon served King Lamoni and showed him love, he was able to share the gospel with the king and his people,” Mom said.
Ashlie smiled. “Maybe I can still be Nicole’s friend.”
“And we can pray as a family to be missionaries to Nicole’s family,” Mom added.
Over the next few months, Ashlie prayed for Nicole and got to know her better. They played at school and on the weekends, and they exchanged treats on holidays.
One Saturday after Christmas, Nicole and Ashlie were playing when Mom stuck her head into Ashlie’s room. “Nicole, your mom is here. It’s time for you to go home.” Mom motioned for Ashlie to come into the hall. “You could invite Nicole to church with us tomorrow,” she suggested.
“What if she doesn’t want to come?” Ashlie asked. “What if her mom says no?”
Mom squeezed Ashlie’s arm. “You don’t know until you ask. If she says yes, I’ll ask her mom.”
Ashlie went back into her room and started cleaning up.
“Maybe you could play at my house tomorrow,” Nicole said.
“I don’t play with friends on Sunday because we go to church and do family things,” Ashlie said. “But you could come to church with us.”
“OK!”
Ashlie walked Nicole to the door and tugged on Mom’s hand. “Nicole said yes,” she whispered.
Mom smiled and asked Nicole’s mom if Nicole and her older brother Devin could come to church.
“Well, are you sure that’s not a problem?” Nicole’s mom asked.
“We would be happy to take them,” Mom said.
Nicole’s mom smiled. “All right. What time?”
Just before it was time to leave for church the next day, Devin and Nicole came over dressed in Sunday clothes. After Primary, Nicole linked arms with Ashlie and said, “I liked the singing and lesson time the best.”
A few weeks later, Nicole came to church again. A Primary activity was announced.
“Do you want to come?” Ashlie asked.
“Yes,” Nicole said, “but I’ll have to ask my mom.”
All week Ashlie waited, but Nicole didn’t say anything about it. On Saturday morning, Mom handed Ashlie her jacket. “Go get in the van. We’re going to be late.”
“But what about Nicole?” Ashlie said. “Can I go see if she can come?”
“Sure, but hurry,” Mom said.
Nicole answered the door in her pajamas.
“Do you want to come to our Primary activity?” Ashlie asked.
“Yes. Just a minute!” Nicole shut the door, and when it finally opened again she and Devin both came out dressed and smiling.
Soon Devin started attending church with a friend he had met at the Primary activity. Nicole kept coming with Ashlie.
“Do all of you have your scriptures?” Mom asked one Sunday morning before they headed to church. Everyone said yes except for Nicole. “Would you like a Book of Mormon?” Mom asked.
Nicole nodded yes.
Ashlie was worried that Nicole would give it back, like last time.
That evening, there was a knock at the door. Devin and Nicole stood on the porch, Nicole holding her copy of the Book of Mormon.
Ashlie’s stomach flopped.
But then Devin smiled and said, “Can I have a book too? My mom says it’s OK.”
After Nicole and Devin left, Mom said, “Ashlie, you’ve been a great missionary!”
Ashlie smiled. “That’s because I got to know them first.”

Miriam looked at the floor. “I think I goofed,” she said. “I didn’t come up with a good idea like the others.”
“I’m sure you did fine,” Mom said. “Please tell us what you did.”
“Well, I didn’t eat my Popsicle,” began Miriam. “I saw Tony on his front porch. I said, ‘Hi,’ but he didn’t say anything. Then I remembered that he had his tonsils taken out Monday. That really makes your throat hurt. So I gave my Popsicle to him, and I sat by him and told him stories and jokes until I saw everyone else coming back here. When I left, he still didn’t say anything, but he smiled.”
“Miriam,” said Mom, kissing her, “that was a good idea. You made someone just as happy as Benjamin and Johnny and Katie did. In fact, now we have a problem.”
“What?” asked the children.
“I don’t think I can decide which idea was best. They were all wonderful.”

A television commercial inspired Matt Bryant, 12, to make a light that could be turned on by the sound of a voice. In the commercial, Matt saw a light that turned on by the sound of hands clapping, and he thought he could produce a similar light and enter it in his school’s “invention convention.” Matt’s light that responded to the sound of a voice attracted a lot of attention.
Matt was chosen as one of 55 finalists in the statewide contest. He was selected to attend a reception with the governor, and his light was then put on display at the New York State Museum in Albany.
Matt is a deacon in the Fairport Ward, Rochester New York Palmyra Stake.

“Sharon, wait up!” I called. “You’re walking too fast.”
“Hurry up!” she snapped.
“Why do we always argue on Sunday mornings?” I thought as I struggled to keep up with my older sister on the way to church.
When I walked into Primary, Sister Rawlins was playing the piano. I listened to the soft music and thought about the words to the Primary songs. Soon my bad feelings had disappeared. I continued to feel better through Sunday School and sacrament meeting.
As Sharon and I walked home after church, we chatted cheerfully about our friends and what we had learned. I couldn’t help but notice how different our walk home was from our walk to church. We were on the same streets, and we were the same girls—but our attitudes had changed.
“Why do we argue on the way to church but not on the way home?” I wondered.
Next Sunday started the same as always. The clock radio woke us up with a popular song. We sang to the music and danced as we got ready for church.
I went into the bathroom, and before long I heard pounding on the door.
“Hurry up, Clara!” Sharon yelled impatiently. “I still need to take a shower!”
Sour feelings grew inside me. I frowned into the mirror as I brushed my hair. “She knows how long it takes to get ready for church,” I thought. “Why can’t she just get up a few minutes earlier?” Sharon and I walked to church in total silence.
In my Primary class that day, Sister Rios asked, “What are some ways we can keep the Sabbath day holy?”
I said by going to church. Rebecca said by reading the scriptures. James said by not going to the store on Sunday.
Sister Rios read from Doctrine and Covenants 59:9: “That thou mayest more fully keep thyself unspotted from the world, thou shalt go to the house of prayer and offer up thy sacraments upon my holy day.” She explained that when we keep the Sabbath day holy, it helps us stay in tune with the Holy Ghost.
When I thought about arguing with Sharon earlier in the day, I realized that probably wasn’t keeping the Sabbath day holy. I wanted to change, but how?
As Sharon and I walked home after church, I talked about the scripture Sister Rios had read. The phrase “unspotted from the world” stuck in my head. Then an idea began forming in my mind.
“Do you think listening to the radio while we get ready for church makes us feel like arguing?” I asked Sharon.
“Maybe,” she said. “Next Sunday, let’s not listen to the radio and see what happens,” she suggested.
The next week we tried our experiment. Instead of setting the radio to wake us up with popular music, we set the alarm to wake us with a buzzing sound instead. We dressed quickly and without arguing. We were even ready on time.
We felt happy as we walked to the church. The morning sun shone through the windows in the Primary room. I sat down with my class and listened to the music with a peaceful feeling in my heart.
This was going to be a good Sunday.

Cristin Shaner of Coffeyville, Kansas, found an influential moment to talk about the Church. Performing in a contest, she sang a solo and, during the interlude between verses, gave a monologue about the Church.
The song was “If I Ruled the World” from the musical Pickwick. Cristy talked about how when she was small she thought that if she ruled the world she would tell everyone about her church, because it made her feel so good inside. She added that even as a young woman she still wanted to tell everyone about her church.
After Cristy won the contest, many people asked her about her church and wanted to know more about its teachings. And since she won the title she was competing for, Cristy has an even greater opportunity to be an example of the gospel.
Cristy is a seminary graduate and a recipient of the Young Womanhood Recognition. She is a member of the Coffeyville Kansas Branch in the Tulsa Oklahoma Stake.

A year or two later I learned another lesson about chickens. Each fall in Idaho there is a big state fair that is open for one week. Part of the fair includes a carnival. Just before the fair opened one year, I was surprised to see that a family had moved into an old abandoned house at the end of our street. It had no windows, the doors were kicked off, and it was full of trash. It did offer a little shelter, though. The family staying there was with the carnival that came with the state fair.
They had a boy about my age named Billy, and we quickly became friends. But Billy was a little different than many kids, because he had a mild form of epilepsy. Whenever he would get excited or embarrassed, he would raise his shoulders, put his arms together over his head, and then uncontrollably hit his wrists and elbows together, jerking and twisting as he did. It was a sad thing to see, but it was okay because he was my friend.
Billy’s parents made him go to school whenever he could, so for a week he went to my school. One day I remember coming out of the junior high and hearing a lot of kids shouting. I walked to the side yard and saw about 50 kids huddled in a crude, loud circle, cheering on a fight.
In the circle I saw a big kid named Todd, who was known around town as a real bully and always seemed to be in fights. I couldn’t see the other person, so I moved closer. And then I saw Billy in the circle, curled up and lying on the ground.
Todd would kick Billy and then laugh when he lost control and started his seizure. All the other kids were laughing too. It was just disgusting. Acting out of anger, not courage, I stepped into the circle and yelled at everyone to leave Billy alone. Suddenly, Todd ran over and punched me in the face. I fell to the ground and everyone left.
Just like the junkyard man, Billy was picked on only because he was a little different.
The next day, the fair ended and Billy’s family left town. But a year later, I saw Billy again at the fair. He was running a coin toss carnival booth, calling out for people to throw their pennies, nickels, and dimes into dishes for a chance to win a prize. I wasn’t sure at first that it was Billy, but when he looked my way, we recognized each other. He stopped his work and ran over to me. He smiled, gave me a hug, and thanked me for helping him get out of the fight the year before. I will never forget the great feeling I had that day.

A dear friend told of the passing away of his atheistic father. As he bid good-bye to his family who had gathered around, he expressed no hope of any future, saying, “No, this is the end.”

Then, as the last moment came, he suddenly opened his eyes and said distinctly, “Mother, how good to see you! Sister, you look lovely. How beautiful it all is!” Then he died. What a surprise it must have been for him! I hope he was happy about it.

One Sunday, right in the middle of the branch sacrament meeting, a woman walked in the door off the street. She was a homeless woman who was wearing dirty, ragged clothes, coughing, choking, and blowing her nose into a filthy handkerchief. In a loud, hoarse voice she said, “I want to sing! I want to pray!” and walked right to the front row and sat down next to a member who was wearing a white blouse, leaned against her, and laid her head on her shoulder. The member immediately put her arms around this guest and held her in her arms throughout the remainder of the meeting. It happened that the speaker had been talking about the parable of the good Samaritan as the woman had come in. As this woman coughed and choked, the speaker continued telling of the parable. As he came to the end of his talk and was quoting a relevant scripture, suddenly, in a loud voice, this homeless woman finished giving the verse that the speaker had begun. In talking of this after sacrament meeting with the speaker, we thought it had probably been a long time since someone had affectionately put an arm around our visitor. We wondered what better illustration you could have of the parable of the good Samaritan than what we had just seen, and we were reminded of the Savior’s words that preceded His telling of that parable, “Thou shalt love … thy neighbour as thyself.”

A new girl joined our school class in the middle of the year. She looked and spoke differently than the other students. She had moved around a lot and had a hard time making friends. She had sad things happening in her family and came to school crying on some days. I knew I wanted to try to help this girl, but I wasn’t exactly sure what I should do because she did not always like to talk with other children. I prayed about what I should do and could feel the Holy Ghost whisper that I should just try to be her friend.
I helped her with her school-work, and told her that our Heavenly Father gave her special talents for her to use and share with others. I invited her to play with me and other students at recess. A few months later, she said I was the first friend she ever had.
She had to move again, and I felt really sad. I asked the school secretary to send a letter to her at her new address. In the letter, I told my friend I would miss her and that she would always be my friend. I drew pictures of us playing together and reminded her of some of her talents. I told her she should be brave and try to make a new friend because she could help someone else. I prayed that she would find a friend in her new school and that the other children would be nice to her.
I know that Heavenly Father loves all of His children, and I am thankful that He helps us to help each of them.

Brother John A. Widtsoe traveled to England during the First World War, and the English immigration official who interviewed him said, “No, we are not going to let you land. We have been letting your missionaries in, but we do not want any of your leaders.” He said, “Go and sit down.” So Brother Widtsoe went and sat down.
In a few minutes the official called him back and said, “If I let you land in my country, what will you teach my people?” And Dr. Widtsoe said, “I will teach them where they came from, why they are here, and where they are going.” The officer looked up at him and asked, “Does your church teach that?” And Brother Widtsoe said, “It does.”
“Well, mine doesn’t,” he said, and he came down with his stamp on the passport, signed it, and said, “You may enter.”

We had just moved to a small rural town where not many members of the Church lived. Our little branch was a friendly, close-knit group, and we enjoyed each Sabbath day and the opportunity to attend church. Our only concern was for our children, who had few playmates their ages in our branch. My husband and I decided to look for ways to make friends outside of the Church so our children could have new friends and get to know people from different faiths.
My hopes were soon dashed, however, when a local children’s group told me that because we were “Mormons,” we were not welcome in their group. I had belonged to similar groups in other areas where there weren’t many Latter-day Saints, and religion had never been an issue before. I assured the leaders of the group that I would not try to proselytize or force my religion on anyone; my family and I just wanted to make friends and meet new people. But they remained firm in their decision and did not allow us to join.
I decided that I would be kind, Christlike, and friendly to the people of this town so they would see that members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints are good people. We started inviting other children over to play, inviting neighbor families to dinner, and visiting with others in an effort to get to know people. I read conference talks, Church magazine articles, and scriptures about fellowship, kindness, and serving others. Then I worked to put these principles into practice in my life. I knew if I could show the people of this town how kind and loving Latter-day Saint families can be, this group would be sure to accept us in time.
Time passed, however, and although we were able to befriend the leaders of this social group, they remained firm in their “no Mormons allowed” position.
I decided then to continue being neighborly and kind to the people in my town, but I also decided to search out a similar social group in a neighboring town. But even there I was told that Latter-day Saints were not allowed to join their group. By then I was so frustrated I wanted to cry. What was wrong with the people in these two towns? Couldn’t they see that we were a kind, fun family?
I prayed for the Spirit to guide me and help me be as friendly and Christlike as possible. I prayed that those who knew me would feel in their hearts that we were good people. I prayed they would experience a change of heart that would lead them to accept us. Still, I felt as if my prayers weren’t being answered. No matter how hard I tried, I was unable to soften their hearts.
Then one evening I received a phone call that shattered my hopes altogether. The leaders of the group called and told me once again that my family was not welcome in their group. They were concerned that we might be expecting to join in the future because we had made so many friends in the community. They said some very hurtful things, and I cried with a broken heart. All of the dinners, service projects, cookies, and sidewalk chats had meant nothing to these people. Where had I gone wrong?
That night I prayed a heartfelt and sincere request for help in dealing with those who had such strong feelings against the Church. I felt as if I were now entitled to their favor because of my efforts, and I explained this to my Father in Heaven.
The answer was stronger than any impression I had received for quite some time: “Follow Christ.”
It confused me at first. “Yes,” I thought, “but I already do.” The cookies, the friendship, the reaching out—I was being as Christlike as I could. Still, the only impression I received was “Follow Christ.”
I then realized that when my energies are focused on following Christ, I am not affected as much by the opinions of others. I serve them because it is right and not because it will help my image as a Latter-day Saint. I am friendly and neighborly because I feel friendly and neighborly, not because I have some self-centered reason for being friendly.
“Follow Christ” has become my motto whenever I am troubled by those who dislike us because of our faith. I now find joy in serving others regardless of their reaction to my kindness, and I am blessed for it. I did not come to earth to win the approval of others. I came here to prepare to return to my Father in Heaven, and the only way to get there is to follow the Savior.

One of the most trying experiences in Spencer W. Kimball’s life was losing his mother, who died when he was 11 years old. He recalled that the news “came as a thunderbolt. I ran from the house out in the backyard to be alone in my deluge of tears. Out of sight and sound, away from everybody, I sobbed and sobbed. … My eleven-year-old heart seemed to burst.”

Even at this young age, however, Spencer knew of the comfort and peace that prayer could bring. During this time of sorrow, a family friend wrote, “My children wept with [my wife and me] as we heard of the prayers of little Spencer and how the loss of his mother weighed so heavily upon his little heart and yet how bravely he battled with his grief and sought comfort from the only source.”4

With a physical handicap and learning disability, Billie, at 15, was all but forgotten by our quorum. It was not necessary to baptize him. He had his own school to attend. With his physical handicap, Scouting had not seemed realistic. Then a new teachers quorum adviser was called. “If Billie is going to be on the rolls, then he should at least be included in the activities.” Brother Wilson made the first contact, and the response was overwhelming. Sure Billie wanted to come. “No one had even thought to ask,” his mother said apologetically.
Over the next few months of spring and summer Billie was at every Mutual activity, and we started to get acquainted with him. He felt like he belonged. Some of the boys didn’t understand Billie and were critical of him for being clumsy and awkward, but Billie felt wanted and knew our adviser loved him.
When Billie was 16 years old he was forgotten again, but only until some of the rest of us reached our sixteenth birthdays and became priests. We remembered Billie and started bringing him out to our activities; with us around him again Billie felt even more accepted.
Volleyball season came. We knew we were the best team in the stake. For two years we had been close to winning the stake championship, and this was the year we were going to win. We had the veteran “senior” boys. We had the height; we had the talent. And we even had a mascot—Billie. We even let Billie play. Just hitting the ball was a major achievement, but everyone clapped and encouraged him, so Billie really felt that he was making a contribution.
Being at each game was more important than ever to him. During the regular season, Billie might have cost the team a few points, or even one game in a series, but he played and we all felt good because of our sacrifice.
Finally the stake championship came. It was the same rivalry that had been there for the last two years. This time we would win. We had beaten the other team during the regular season’s games, and we would beat them in the championship. Perhaps as an extra precaution someone “forgot” to tell Billie about the game.
Saturday afternoon at game time some of our players were overconfident and had gone to the store for some soft drinks. The first game started without them, but the substitute players were good enough. Then in came the bishop with Billie. Both teams were well coached. The game was an even match of the teams, but we lost. We couldn’t afford to hold back our best players for the next game. We had to win the next game to give us a chance at winning two out of three games.
Billie had been at the coach’s side the whole first game. “Now? Should I go in now? Do you want me to play now?” His persistence was distracting. The coach spoke firmly but kindly, “Go sit down; I’ll tell you when, Billie.”
At the end of the first game, Billie couldn’t wait any longer. Scores didn’t mean anything. The only thing that was important was playing. The coach looked at Billie; for a long minute he agonized. He had always let all the boys play. Would he change the rules now? Was the principle more important than the game?
This was a unique group of boys. Just weeks before, the coach had told us that sometime in his life every coach should get a chance to work with a group like ours. He felt that we could understand principles. There wasn’t any choice; he had to let Billie play.
The other team served—right to Billie. Another serve—to Billie; and another. Again and again the serve was to Billie. The other coach called time-out; he was talking to his server. Another serve—right to Billie. The score was 11 to 0; no service had been returned. Finally a service went into the net, but it was too late. The final score was 15 to 6. It was our year to win, and we lost.
The other team walked off the court with heads lowered. We were fighting back tears. We didn’t understand. We went outside, and the coach tried to talk. “I thought I knew what was right.” Even he was fighting for composure. “I believe it’s important for everyone to play. I’ve always let everyone play. I hope I’m doing what’s right.” The bishop was there with Billie. He looked as if he wanted to talk but didn’t know what to say. Finally Billie broke in and said, “Well, we won another one!”
Something happened after that. The bishop gave a lesson in priesthood meeting on winning. He said something about an inactive father going to the temple because his handicapped son was loved by our quorum. He said that was winning. Somebody said if Billie could play volleyball he could come to priesthood meeting. All of a sudden Billie was really part of us. We’d invested a volleyball championship in him, and he was important to us.
Basketball season came. Everybody knew Billie by now. Everybody knew he would be playing. The referees knew what to do when he tried to bounce the ball down the basketball court. The teams made certain allowances for his inabilities. He was really part of things.
Stake championship time again. We successfully played the other teams in the stake, and the final game was between us and the same team we had faced in the volleyball championship.
Well, it was close the first half of the game, but then everything went wrong for us. The coach could see what was happening, and by the third quarter it was pretty obvious that nothing was going to work for us that night. While we were looking for some way to get even with the same guys that beat us in volleyball, something unique was happening on the basketball court.
Billie was playing. He really couldn’t shoot the ball. One arm and hand was withered, and he couldn’t give much direction to the ball. But every time he got the ball, their coach yelled for someone to make a foul play against Billie. I was really upset. Even the people in the crowd couldn’t believe their ears. Why was our bishop smiling? Then one of their players carefully tapped Billie. One referee blew his whistle, and when he did everyone—even me—understood. Billie got to shoot a foul shot. In fact, he got to shoot two foul shots (intentional foul), and when he missed those, one of the boys on the other team was standing with his foot over the line and Billie got to shoot again, in fact several more.
The crowd was clapping and cheering for Billie; we were cheering for him but so was the other team. Was this really losing? Everyone was pulling together. No one seemed to care what the score was; everyone was helping Billie. Both teams were helping and cheering and pulling for Billie.
Billie shot a lot of free throws that night. We all cheered; we laughed a little; and Billie went home the star of the evening. Who won? They did, we did, and the stake did.
We found out that when we forget ourselves and our selfish goals, scores aren’t as important as the individual; and we found out that we all care about the same thing. Those guys on that other team aren’t so bad. The referees are really human. And losing a game isn’t the end of the world, not when you’re winning.
We went on that year to play in the Explorer Scout Olympics. We played team sports in volleyball and basketball, and we won some and we lost some. But our investment in Billie was there, and we taught some other teams—or Billie taught some other teams—that winning only matters if you’re building your own stature or, as our bishop says, “if you’re developing character.” And I guess that’s what we learned from Billie, character.
Our bishop said that Billie is here to teach us. We’re all watching him a little more closely to see what other lessons we might learn from him.

Summer vacation had always been a wonderful time for spiritual growth. It seemed I could feel the Spirit more when I had more time and didn’t feel the pressures of school.
But this summer was different. A strange emptiness filled me, and I felt confused. I had always heard that Heavenly Father communicates with his children through the scriptures. So I sat on my bed with the Book of Mormon in my hands and began to pray. “Father in Heaven, I thought I was doing everything right. I make good choices so the Holy Ghost will find me worthy of constant companionship, yet this emptiness fills me. Father, let me know what I have done wrong.”
Then I opened my scriptures to Alma 37. The answer to my prayers began in verse 39. Alma was speaking of the Liahona: “And behold, it was prepared to show unto our fathers the course which they should travel in the wilderness. …
“Nevertheless, because those miracles were worked by small means it did show unto them marvelous works. They were slothful, and forgot to exercise their faith and diligence and then those marvelous works ceased, and they did not progress in their journey” (Alma 37:39, 41).
It was as though a voice had spoken to me. Heavenly Father was not angry with me. He knew the desires of my heart were good and pure. But I had become a little slothful in my efforts to maintain my spirituality and to keep my testimony strong and growing. This lack of diligence was slowing my progress “in [my] journey.”
Since my study of the scriptures had not been very focused, I decided to start there. After all, the scriptures are our modern-day Liahona. How grateful I am for a Father in Heaven who cares for us so much that he speaks to us through the scriptures.

As a young missionary, I spent three Christmases in Tonga. Christmas there was the hottest, most humid season of the year, but the spirit of the holiday was the same.
People thought more about others and less about themselves. There was lots of music and singing, and the feeling of peace and good cheer seemed to permeate everything.
There was not a lot of physical gift giving, since there weren’t a lot of things to give. But people gave marvelous gifts of love, service, and kindness.
A few days before Christmas, a nine-year-old granddaughter, who had come to spend the holiday with her grandparents, developed a high fever. They spent all their time caring for her, but the fever seemed to get worse. They called for the missionaries to give her a blessing. We did, and felt prompted to tell her everything would be all right. Then we went on about our other activities.
The day before Christmas, I was visiting various families with a teacher from the local Church school. As we concluded our visits, I asked him where else we should go that Christmas Eve. He said, “I’ve heard ‘Ofa’s granddaughter is still doing poorly, and the grandfather is out of town. I’m sure ‘Ofa is very tired. Why don’t we volunteer to watch her granddaughter tonight and let ‘Ofa get some rest?”
I thought, What a great idea! Why don’t I think of things like that?
It was early evening when we arrived at ‘Ofa’s house. As we explained what we wanted to do, I saw gratitude in her eyes. ‘Ofa looked at us a long time and then said, “She is very ill. I have been up day and night the last three days. I’m not sure I can make it another night. Thank you. Thank you!”
She then explained she’d been using a cloth dipped in water and a woven fan to cool her granddaughter and give her some air. All the girl had done for the last two days was moan.
“I’m not sure if she will get well or not,” ‘Ofa said. “Maybe I should try to stay up and help.”
My companion said, “No, you go on and rest. We’ll fan her and cool her forehead and she’ll be all right. You go get some sleep.” ‘Ofa finally left. I imagine she was asleep the second she got to her room.
We immediately started waving the fan and cooling the girl’s forehead. She seemed in a bad way. Her breathing was strange, her fever high, her eyes closed, and her moans pathetic.
We devised a system where one would hold the wet cloth and the other fan the air through it to get some moist air moving around her mouth and head. It doesn’t sound like much work, but the anxiety of the situation, the sweltering evening, and the effort to get water, rinse the cloth, and constantly wave the fan, caused us both to soon tire. I appreciated what ‘Ofa had been through the last few days.
There was an old wind-up clock where we were. Around 11:00 P.M. we realized we were going to have to do something different to make it through the night. My companion again came up with an idea.
“Why don’t we take turns?” he said. “You sleep for an hour. Then I’ll wake you and you care for her for an hour while I sleep. Then you wake me, and so on. We’ll get through the night that way.”
“Fine,” I said. “Who should start?”
“I’ll start,” he replied. “You rest first.” At midnight he woke me and I fanned with one hand and sponged her forehead with the other until 1:00 A.M. Then I woke him. He did likewise and woke me at 2:00 A.M. I, again, woke him at 3:00 A.M. I knew I would be awakened for my next turn at 4:00 A.M. I was very tired, but felt we would make it through the night all right.
The next thing I remember is sunlight streaming into my eyes. I suddenly awakened, jumped up, and said, “My goodness! What time is it?”
“It’s six o’clock.”
“Six o’clock! Why didn’t you wake me at four?” I asked.
He smiled broadly, a smile that came from deep within and seemed to encompass his whole being as he said, “Oh, you looked so tired. I decided to let you sleep. That’s my present to you. Merry Christmas!”
I couldn’t say anything. Again I thought, Why don’t I think of things like that? My companion stayed up for me! I thought of the Savior coming to his sleeping disciples and asking, “Could ye not watch with me one hour?” (Matt 26:40). The Savior stayed up nearly all night performing one of the greatest works this world will ever know, while those close to him slept.
I felt a little ashamed, yet I also felt happy, as I could see the joy in my companion’s face. He hadn’t been able to give me anything else for Christmas. There was, literally, nothing material for him to give. But what he could give, he had given freely, just by letting me sleep.
I wonder how many of us, in our Christmas giving and our giving all year long, think of not just exchanging material possessions, but of giving of ourselves, fully and freely. True giving comes from the heart, not the wallet.
Sometime during those early morning hours, the girl’s semidelirious moaning ceased, her fever broke, and we could tell the crisis was over. She stirred and opened her eyes.
We waited until midmorning and then knocked on the door to wake up ‘Ofa. She responded quickly, possibly expecting the worst. As she came out on the porch, her granddaughter was there, sitting with us. We were all smiles as we said in unison, “Merry Christmas!”

A month into meeting with the missionaries, they invited me to be baptized. I didn’t want to turn them down, but I was hesitant to leave the tradition of my parents and everyone around me. There were two paths before me, and I knew there was only one way to know which one to take—I had to pray like Joseph Smith. I asked Heavenly Father, in the name of Jesus Christ, if the things the missionaries had been teaching me were true.
That was my turning point. From then on, I knew for myself that the restored gospel is true. No one could take that knowledge away from me. I knew which path to follow, and nothing could change that.

Eric stood in the darkened living room, looking out the window at the lighted spires of the temple on the hill. It was wonderful to have the temple so near.
Now that his family had moved, the temple was within walking distance, instead of several hundred miles away. In fact, his mother had walked there tonight.
Eric’s father came into the room. “Time for bed, son.” He glanced out the window, then quickly pulled the curtains shut.
“I was looking at the temple,” Eric said. “It’s beautiful when it’s all lit up. Don’t you think so?”
“Sure,” Dad answered gruffly. “Now head up to bed.”
Eric went upstairs to his room and began to undress. He was worried about his father. Several years ago, Dad had been an active member of the Church and had gone with Mom to the temple often. Now he never went to church with his family, and Mom attended the temple alone.
Eric finished putting on his pajamas and knelt beside his bed. “Heavenly Father,” he prayed, “please help us find a way to help Dad go back to church.”
It was the same thing Eric had prayed about since he was seven years old. Now, even after three years, he hadn’t given up.
When Eric finished his prayer, he climbed into bed. He stared at the dark ceiling, thinking. After a while, he heard Mom come upstairs. She poked her head into his room. “Are you still awake?”
“Yes—I can’t go to sleep.”
Mom walked in and sat down on the bed. “What’s bothering you?”
“Why did Dad stop going to church?”
Mom took a deep breath. “One of the ward members said something that offended him. He’s never been able to forgive that person.”
“Do you think he’ll ever decide to go back to church?”
“I don’t know. I pray for him all the time.”
“I pray for him too.” Tears began to well up in Eric’s eyes, and he brushed them away. He could see that his mother was crying too. She put her arms around him.
“Heavenly Father loves your dad,” she said. “He knows what he needs. We have to pray and then listen to what Heavenly Father tells us to do.”
Suddenly Eric thought of something. “Mom, I have to give a talk in Primary next Sunday. I think I’ll invite Dad to come and hear it.”
“That’s a good idea,” his mother answered. “But don’t be too disappointed if he doesn’t.” She squeezed his hand. “Good night, Eric.”
“Good night, Mom.”
The next morning, Eric felt like his insides were ready to burst. He had decided that he’d give a talk about why he loved to go to church. Then, when Dad came to hear it, maybe he’d remember all the good feelings he used to have a long time ago.
When he found Dad alone in the bedroom, he felt that it was just the right time to talk to him. “Dad,” he began, “I’m giving a talk in Primary next Sunday. I’d really like you to come and hear it.”
Dad didn’t look up from the shoelace he was working on. “I’m sorry, son—I can’t come.” He looked up at Eric. “But you can practice your talk on me. I’ll be glad to listen, no matter how many times you want to practice giving it!”
That night, Eric wrote his talk. It was the most difficult one he had ever written, because he was writing it “to” his dad. He wrote about the good feelings he had when he went to Primary and Sacrament meeting. He didn’t write anything about wishing Dad would come to church, even though he wanted to.
When he had finished, he went to find Dad. Halfway down the stairs he stopped. Dad was sitting quietly in front of the living room window, staring out. Was he doing the same thing Eric had done the night before? Was he looking at the temple? Eric turned and went back upstairs. Practicing the talk could wait.
That week, Eric practiced his talk many times on Dad, praying each time that something he said in it would make Dad want to come to church on Sunday.
But when Sunday finally came, only his mother and his sister, Lisa, were there to hear him. Eric had a hard time giving the talk. He had to keep swallowing to keep from crying.
On the way home, Eric stared out the car window. He had wanted so much for his dad to go to church. Finally he said, “I’d like to walk around the temple this afternoon.”
“Me, too,” said Lisa. “We talked about temples in my Primary class.”
“That’s a good idea” Mom agreed. “It’s such a beautiful day—that would be a perfect Sunday thing to do.”
When the family was seated at the dinner table, Eric told his father. “After dinner, we’re going for a walk around the temple. Do you want to come too?”
Eric’s father chewed for a minute. Then he spoke. “I’d like that.”
Eric felt warm all over as they walked together on the temple grounds. They didn’t talk as they walked, but Mom and Dad were holding hands, and he could tell that they felt something special too.
After they had walked for a while, Dad stopped them. “I want to talk to all of you. How about sitting down over there?”
They sat down on a bench, and Dad sat on the grass beside them. “I don’t know how to explain this,” he began. “Since we moved here, the temple has been, well, ‘following’ me. I see it out the windows of the house. I drive past it on my way to work. It stands over me when I’m taking the garbage out to the curb.” Tears began to stream down his cheeks. “The temple has turned on a light in my heart where there used to be only darkness.”
Eric’s heart began to pound, and tears filled his eyes too.
Dad continued, “This week, as I listened to Eric’s talk, I realized that I’ve been missing too much. I’m going to go to church again, if that’s OK with all of you.”
“Oh, Dad!” Eric cried. “It’s more than OK—it’s fantastic!” When he threw his arms around his dad, he found himself entangled with two other pairs of arms, as Lisa and Mom joined in the hug.
Dad looked up at the temple spires. “Soon I’ll be able to come here with your mom again,” he said. “But it won’t be easy. I’ll need your help and prayers.”
Eric and Mom looked at each other and smiled. “For as long as you need them, Dad,” Eric said.

On the same day members in other areas of London joined in Helping Hands projects at Haven House Children’s Hospice and Richard House Children’s Hospice.
At Richard House, 18 members of the Stratford Ward painted an office space, weeded, cut plants, swept the grounds, and fixed tools. This was the hospice’s first contact with the Church, said Charlotte Illera, project manager for the service project at Richard House.
“I was touched with the way the volunteers took on their tasks with enthusiasm and joy,” she said. “Even a simple task such as sweeping a path was done to its best.”

Stephen Owino is a longtime resident of the city and a modern-day pioneer in every sense of the word. Neatly woven into his rich tapestry of faith are the comely threads of curiosity and patience in pursuit of truth. His soul-stirring conversion story involves multiple actors, across two different continents, working in concert to help him along the well-traveled path of discipleship. This mild-mannered, sociable father of three wrestled with the same questions that Joseph Smith and every honest seeker of truth must inevitably ask. Who am I? What is the purpose of life? Which church should I join?
Stephen’s onward march on the covenant path began with a simple online search for churches in Kenya, back in 2018. It was during one of those searches that he stumbled upon a passing reference to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and thought to himself, “What a peculiarly long name for a church.” Several clicks later—and what can only be described as a prompting from the Spirit—he would reach out halfway around the world to Tonya Isom, inquiring about the possibility of meeting with the missionaries so he could learn more about her beliefs. Why Tonya? For some reason he can’t explain, her thumbnail image stood out above the rest on the Church’s official Facebook page and he felt like she could help him find the answers he was looking for.
Several weeks elapsed before Tonya got around to reading Stephen’s message. In her reply, she included links to the official Church website and directed Stephen on how he could contact local missionaries. With the help of the Church’s online meetinghouse locator, she helped Stephen find the nearest chapel, which was some 9,570 miles away from her own hometown of Alamo, California.
On January 24, 2020, Tonya helped Stephen connect with Elder James Steward and his companion who were full-time missionaries serving in her California ward at the time. Over the course of the next three months, these missionaries would visit Stephen remotely via WhatsApp, sharing with him the message of the restored gospel. They encouraged him to read the Book of Mormon and to attend church regularly.
Because Stephen lives in Nairobi, the responsibility for teaching and preparing Stephen for baptism was assigned by Nairobi Kenya Mission president Khumbulani Mdletshe to sisters Clementine, Fretton, and Dingili—serving in Nairobi as full-time missionaries. They began teaching Stephen the missionary lessons.
Elder Steward—who had kept a meticulous digital record of Stephen’s progress—could not hide his joy when learning that, six months after their virtual encounter, Stephen had committed to baptism. Elder Steward credits this early experience with online teaching—long before it became the norm in his own mission—to “the Lord’s perfect timing”.
On August 23, 2020, Elder Steward—along with Tonya (and some invited members of Tonya’s family)—tuned in on a video call to watch Stephen’s baptism, confirmation, and subsequent ordination to the Aaronic Priesthood under the hand of Bishop Benard Oliech, of the Upper Hill Ward in Nairobi. It is remarkable when contemplating all the realities made possible by modern technology—that during this time of COVID-19, the Lord’s work is still able to proceed. Those present by video at the baptism described a feeling of the Spirit from their different regions of the world. “It’s a modern-day miracle,” Tonya observed.
Tonya finds great comfort in sharing the gospel. She firmly believes, “Where much is given, much is expected.” (See Luke 12:48.) In a recent video call attended by members of Upper Hill Ward, she admonished all to, “Remember the worth of souls is great in the sight of God” (D&C 18:10).
Stephen, like thousands of Church members around the globe, isn’t shy about flooding the world with gospel light of his own through social media. And who knows? Perhaps another wandering soul in a part of the world, near to or distant from Stephen, will catch a glimmer of his light thus shared, and find a friend—and thus redemption.

During my professional life as an airline pilot, passengers sometimes visited the cockpit of my aircraft. They asked about the many switches, instruments, systems, and procedures and how all this technical equipment would help such a huge and beautiful airplane fly.
I would explain that it takes a great aerodynamic design, many auxiliary systems and programs, and powerful engines to make such a flying machine equal to the task of bringing comfort and safety to those joining the flight.
To simplify my explanation by focusing on the basics, I would add that all you really need is a strong forward thrust, a powerful upward lift, and the right aircraft attitude, and the laws of nature will carry the airliner and its passengers safely across continents and oceans, over high mountains and dangerous thunderstorms to its destination.
Reflecting on my experiences with those visitors, I have often contemplated that being a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints invites us to ask similar questions. What are the basics, the fundamental principles of our membership in the kingdom of God on earth? After all is said and done, what will really carry us at times of greatest need to our desired eternal destination?
The Church, with all its organizational structure and programs, offers many important activities for its members aimed at helping families and individuals to serve God and each other. Sometimes, however, it can appear that these programs and activities are closer to the center of our heart and soul than the core doctrines and principles of the gospel. Procedures, programs, policies, and patterns of organization are helpful for our spiritual progress here on earth, but let’s not forget that they are subject to change.
In contrast, the core of the gospel—the doctrine and the principles—will never change. Living according to the basic gospel principles will bring power, strength, and spiritual self-reliance into the lives of all Latter-day Saints.
Faith is such a principle of power. We need this source of power in our lives. God works by power, but this power is usually exercised in response to our faith. “Faith without works is dead” (James 2:20). God works according to the faith of His children.
The Prophet Joseph Smith explained, “I teach them correct principles, and they govern themselves.” To me, this teaching is beautifully straightforward. As we strive to understand, internalize, and live correct gospel principles, we will become more spiritually self-reliant. The principle of spiritual self-reliance grows out of a fundamental doctrine of the Church: God has granted us agency. I believe that moral agency is one of the greatest gifts of God unto His children, next to life itself.
When I study and ponder moral agency and its eternal consequences, I realize that we are truly spirit children of God and therefore should act accordingly. This understanding also reminds me that as members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we are part of a great worldwide family of Saints.
The organizational structure of the Church allows great flexibility according to the size, growth pattern, and needs of our congregations. There is the basic unit program with a very simple organizational structure and fewer meetings. We also have large wards with great organizational resources to serve one another. All are established within the inspired programs of the Church to help members “come unto Christ, and be perfected in him” (Moroni 10:32).
All these varied options are equal in divine value because the doctrine of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ is the same in each unit. I testify as an ordained witness of the Lord Jesus Christ that He lives, that the gospel is true, and that it offers the answers to all personal and collective challenges the children of God have on this earth today.
In 2005 my wife and I visited with members of the Church in many countries throughout Europe. In some parts of Europe, the Church has been present for many years, even since 1837. There is a great heritage of faithful members in Europe. Currently, we have more than 400,000 members on that continent. As we look at all the generations who have emigrated from Europe to America during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, that total number could easily be multiplied a few times.
Why did so many faithful members leave their home countries in those early days of the Church? Many reasons can be named: to escape persecution, to help build the Church in America, to improve their economic circumstances, to be close to a temple, and many more.
Europe still feels the consequence of this exodus. But the strength that comes from several faithful generations of Church members is now becoming more apparent. We see more young men and women and more senior couples serving missions for the Lord; we see more temple marriages; we see more confidence and courage by the members to share the restored gospel. Among the peoples of Europe and many other parts of the world, there is a spiritual vacuum of Christ’s true teachings. This vacuum must, can, and will be filled with the message of the restored gospel as our wonderful members live and proclaim this gospel with greater courage and faith.
With the expansion of the Church in Europe, there are countries where the Church has been for no more than 15 years. During our visit in 2005, I spoke with a mission president serving in his homeland of Russia who had been a member for only seven years. He told me, “The same month I was baptized I was called as a branch president.” Did he feel overwhelmed at times? Absolutely! Did he try to implement the full range of Church programs? Fortunately not! How did he grow so strong in such a small congregation in such a short time? He explained, “I knew with all my soul the Church was true. The doctrine of the gospel filled my mind and my heart. As we joined the Church, we felt part of a family. We felt warmth, trust, and love. We were only few, but we all tried to follow the Savior.”
The members supported each other, they did the best they could, and they knew the Church was true. It was not the organization that had attracted him but the light of the gospel, and this light strengthened those good members.
In many countries the Church is still in its beginnings, and the organizational circumstances are sometimes far from perfect. However, the members may have a perfect testimony of the truth in their hearts. As the members stay in their countries and build the Church, despite economic challenges and hardships, future generations will be grateful to those courageous modern-day pioneers. They abide by the loving invitation of the First Presidency given in 1999:
“In our day, the Lord has seen fit to provide the blessings of the gospel, including an increased number of temples, in many parts of the world. Therefore, we wish to reiterate the long-standing counsel to members of the Church to remain in their homelands rather than immigrate to the United States. …
“As members throughout the world remain in their homelands, working to build the Church in their native countries, great blessings will come to them personally and to the Church collectively.”
May I add a word of caution to those of us who live in large wards and stakes. We have to be careful that the center of our testimony is not located in the social dimension of the Church community or the wonderful activities, programs, and organizations of our wards and stakes. All of these things are important and valuable to have—but they are not enough. Even friendship is not enough.
We recognize that we are living in a time of turmoil, disaster, and war. We and many others feel strongly the great need for a “defense, and for a refuge from the storm, and from wrath when it shall be poured out without mixture upon the whole earth” (D&C 115:6). How do we find such a place of safety? President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) taught: “Our safety lies in the virtue of our lives. Our strength lies in our righteousness.”
Recall with me how Jesus Christ instructed His Apostles, clearly and directly, at the beginning of His mortal ministry: “[Come,] follow me, and I will make you fishers of men” (Matthew 4:19). This was also the beginning of the ministry of the Twelve Apostles, and I suspect that they had a feeling of inadequacy. May I suggest that the Savior Himself teaches us here a lesson about core doctrine and priorities in life. Individually, we need to first “follow Him,” and as we do this, the Savior will bless us beyond our own capacity to become what He wants us to be.
To follow Christ is to become more like Him. It is to learn from His character. As spirit children of our Heavenly Father, we do have the potential to incorporate Christlike attributes into our life and character. The Savior invites us to learn His gospel by living His teachings. To follow Him is to apply correct principles and then witness for ourselves the blessings that follow. This process is very complex and very simple at the same time. Ancient and modern prophets described it with three words: “Keep the commandments”—nothing more, nothing less.
Developing Christlike attributes in our lives is not an easy task, especially when we move away from generalities and abstractions and begin to deal with real life. The test comes in practicing what we proclaim. The reality check comes when Christlike attributes need to become visible in our lives—as husband or wife, as father or mother, as son or daughter, in our friendships, in our employment, in our business, and in our recreation. We can recognize our growth, as can those around us, as we gradually increase our capacity to “act in all holiness before [Him]” (D&C 43:9).
The scriptures describe a number of Christlike attributes we need to develop during the course of our lives. They include knowledge and humility, charity and love, obedience and diligence, faith and hope (see D&C 4:5–6). These personal character qualities stand independent of the organizational status of our Church unit, our economic circumstances, our family situation, culture, race, or language. Christlike attributes are gifts from God. They cannot be developed without His help.
The one help we all need is given to us freely through the Atonement of Jesus Christ. Having faith in Jesus Christ and in His Atonement means relying completely on Him—trusting in His infinite power, intelligence, and love. Christlike attributes come into our lives as we exercise our agency righteously. Faith in Jesus Christ leads to action. When we have faith in Christ, we trust the Lord enough to follow His commandments—even when we do not completely understand the reasons for them. In seeking to become more like the Savior, we need to reevaluate our lives regularly and rely, through the path of true repentance, upon the merits of Jesus Christ and the blessings of His Atonement.
Developing Christlike attributes can be a painful process. We need to be ready to accept direction and correction from the Lord and His servants. Through the Church’s regular worldwide conferences, for example, with their music and spoken word, we feel and receive spiritual power, direction, and blessings “from on high” (D&C 43:16). It is a time when the voice of personal inspiration and revelation will bring peace to our souls and will teach us how to become more Christlike. This voice will be as sweet as the voice of a dear friend, and it will fill our souls when our hearts are sufficiently contrite.
By becoming more like the Savior, we will grow in our ability to “abound in hope, through the power of the Holy Ghost” (Romans 15:13). We will “lay aside the things of this world, and seek for the things of a better” (D&C 25:10).
This leads me back to my aerodynamic analogy. I spoke of focusing on the basics. Christlike attributes are the basics. They are the fundamental principles that will create the wind beneath our wings. As we develop Christlike attributes in our own lives, step-by-step, they will “bear [us] up as on eagles’ wings” (D&C 124:18). Our faith in Jesus Christ will provide power and a strong forward thrust; our unwavering and active hope will provide a powerful upward lift. Both faith and hope will carry us across oceans of temptations, over mountains of afflictions, and bring us safely back to our eternal home and destination.