Gospel Story Finder

One Saturday afternoon I decided to study the Sunday School lesson for the next day’s class. It was on miracles. “If ever we needed a miracle, it is now,” I thought. My mother was a widow, and our family was going through a difficult time financially.
Ever since my sisters and I were little girls, we had devoted ourselves to the art of horsehair weaving. We would wash the horsehair, color it with dyes, and then weave it hair by hair into shapes such as butterflies, mice, and copihues (the national flower of Chile). It is very fine work and unique to our country. All winter long we would weave, and in the summer we would sell our work at art fairs.
The national economy was depressed that year and greatly affected our business. In the past a major source of our income had been an art fair in Temuco, a tourist town in southern Chile. But that year we had not been invited. We had even called the fair’s organizers, but they refused to give us a booth. We worried about how this loss of income would affect us.
But as I studied the Sunday School lesson that afternoon, my attitude changed completely. First I read Mormon 9:19: “[God] ceaseth not to be God, and is a God of miracles.” This promise lifted my spirits. Then as I read verse 21, I felt even better: “I say unto you that whoso believeth in Christ, doubting nothing, whatsoever he shall ask the Father in the name of Christ it shall be granted him.”
I thought about the miracle my family needed, and I decided to travel the four hours to Temuco to plead our case.
When I arrived at the office of culture, I was discouraged to see many other people there to make the same request and to learn that all these people had been told no. Still I felt the Lord was with me.
When my turn came to speak to the man in charge, he bluntly told me there was only a remote possibility we could have a booth but that a final decision could not be made yet. I explained that a booth would mean bread for my mother during the winter months, but I felt as if I were talking to a wall. Then without thinking, I told him I believed in miracles and left his office.
I called my husband and asked him to fast with me. My mind constantly reverted to the words of the Sunday School lesson: “[God] is a God of miracles.” I needed a miracle—now.
I waited for six hours at the office of culture, feeling greater anguish with each passing minute. Finally I saw craftspeople arriving from every corner of Chile and also from other countries. The fair was starting. With a lump in my throat, I prayed, “Thy will be done.” Suddenly a feeling of peace overcame me, and I decided to talk one more time to the man in charge.
When I entered his office, I could see his attitude had changed. He courteously told me I could have a booth. Once again I told him I believed in miracles.
We made the money we needed at the fair, and I learned for myself that God continues to work miracles today. My faith grows each day because of all He gives me.

—The snow outside didn’t mute the lights inside of the Paisley Scotland Stake celebration, either. They were putting bows all over the stake Christmas tree, each bow representing an act of service performed by one of the young women. Among other things, they had collected household equipment and used clothing for a women’s refuge center and had put on a concert at a home for the elderly.
“We should serve everyone, not just those we like being around. Christ is our best example of service,” said Heather Wallis, as she pulled her coat on and prepared to walk out into the snowy dusk.

On the other side of town, in a fine, large home live the van Littens, a family that has preserved Christmas traditions from Holland for generations. Dirk is wistfully remembering the fun when Sinterklaas (Saint Nicholas) came to their house on December 5.
Dirk had put his shoes on the hearth and filled them with sugar and hay for Sinterklaas’s white horse. The next morning the sugar and hay were gone, and in their places were a fine set of paints and new skates for Dirk.
Dirk sighs. The saintly old bishop in his red robe is gone, along with the gay parties and nonsense of Saint Nicholas’s Eve. Christmas Day is for going to church and eating a great dinner. Dirk wishes that Sinterklaas would come again instead.

Many Ivory Coast pioneers exemplify a total change of life. Perhaps no story is more typical of such change than that of Mammadou Zadi, a retired border guard.
Before Brother Zadi joined the Church, he was in poor health because of liver problems related to alcohol abuse; nevertheless, he decided to open a bar with his savings. He purchased a good location and was soon enjoying a brisk business. He little realized then how his life would change after his wife, Josephine, met the full-time missionaries. Josephine was impressed with their message, but in Ivory Coast’s culture she needed her husband’s permission to take the missionary discussions. He granted approval but told her he wanted nothing to do with the Church. The life he had chosen to live, he realized, was incompatible with gospel teachings.
Josephine, however, wanted to share her growing gospel knowledge with her husband. It was her fervent prayers, Brother Zadi insists, that brought the influence of the Holy Ghost into his life and prompted him to listen to the missionaries. He, too, was quickly impressed—so much so that he began living the Word of Wisdom. After his health dramatically improved, he became convinced of the truthfulness of the gospel.
With the Zadis’ baptism, membership grew not just by two but, within a short time, by all 18 members of the couple’s immediate family. The Zadi family spread the gospel to many extended family members as well, and now a son and a nephew, as full-time missionaries, are spreading the message of the Restoration to more Ivorians.
Because the gospel became foremost in their lives, Brother Zadi closed his bar and donated the building to be used for Church meetings. Brother Zadi supports his family off a pension and income from rental properties. He and Sister Zadi have donated many hours of service to the Church as well. Brother Zadi has served as a district president, and Sister Zadi as president of the Dokui Branch Relief Society.

When I was president of the Southern States Mission, one of our missionaries preached on that dream of Nebuchadnezzar in one of our meetings where we had some investigators, and I stood at the door to greet them as they went out. A man came up and introduced himself as a minister, and he said, “You don’t mean to tell me that you think that the Mormon Church is that kingdom, do you?”

And I said, “Yes, sir, why not?”

He said, “It couldn’t be.”

I said, “Why couldn’t it?”

He said, “You can’t have a kingdom without a king, and you don’t have a king, so you don’t have a kingdom.”

“Oh,” I said, “my friend, you didn’t read far enough. You just read the seventh chapter of Daniel, where Daniel saw one like the Son of Man coming in the clouds of heaven, ‘and there was given him dominion, and glory, and a kingdom, that all people, nations, and languages, should serve him.’ (Dan. 7:14.)

“Now,” I said, “my friend, tell me how can the kingdom be given to him when he comes in the clouds of heaven if there is no kingdom prepared for him? That is what we Latter-day Saints are doing.”

When the first COVID-19 lockdown was implemented in May, Paisley Stake director of communication, Douglas Yates foresaw that a Scottish government requirement to wear face masks may be imposed on most people as they went about their daily lives.
Using good local contacts, he persuaded six local community organisations, including The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, to donate to procurement funds to allow him to source and purchase fabric, elastic, tape and thread.
Cotton fabric, elastic and thread was sourced from a Glasgow supplier and purchased as they were needed over a five-month period. Volunteer sewers were recruited locally, including some Latter-day Saints, and production of various coloured face masks began. The goal was to produce a sufficient number of good quality, 100 percent cotton face masks which were washable and reusable, at a very modest cost, making them affordable to all families. The price point was set at £1 for a pack of two face masks.
The face masks went on sale at the end of May and by the end of September, when demand waned, more than 5,000 face masks had been bought by local families. Money raised through the sale of the masks was donated back to three charitable organisations which have outreach programmes to help others.
An evaluation of the initiative by the volunteer arm of East Renfrewshire Council judged the face masks initiative to have made a valuable contribution to the community and to have been a great success.

Since I have grown up in the Church, people expect me to have a strong testimony. And for a long time I thought I did. But then a Sunday School lesson on testimonies made me realize that mine was not as strong as I thought it was. I just repeated what other people said, and I really didn’t know the truth for sure in my heart. I decided that I needed to pray.
Over the next few days I began to pray sincerely and I started to read the scriptures every night. Nothing happened.
Suddenly my father was called away to be with my grandmother. She had been in the hospital for a while, but she had taken a turn for the worse. When I finally was able to see her I couldn’t believe it. This couldn’t be the same active, fun-loving woman that I knew.
As I stood there and looked at her body hooked up to machines, I realized, to my surprise, that she was extremely peaceful. Someday I wanted to be able to have that kind of peace in the presence of adversity. What I needed was a testimony. I still didn’t think I had one, and I didn’t know why. I was praying and reading the scriptures, but I hadn’t yet had the “special” feeling that so many people get to let them know when they receive an answer to a prayer.
Then my grandmother died. The funeral was beautiful. The speakers were comforting. What moved me, though, was not the flowers or the kind words that were spoken. It was a song. As we sang “O My Father,” I could see, in my mind, my grandmother singing with us, actually talking to our Heavenly Father. It was the most beautiful experience I have ever had.
That afternoon, when the family was gathered in the living room, one of the nurses at the hospital who was also a member of the Church came to talk to us. She told us that our grandmother had wanted to give her grandchildren something special. She presented each of us with a single red rose in a vase with a card that read, “Always with Love.” Then she said our grandmother loved each of us and that she said, “Tell them I’ll be waiting.”
That was what I needed! I kept saying it over and over in my mind. “I’ll be waiting. I’ll be waiting.” And then I knew where I was headed in life. I knew that the only way to get there was through the Church. I had truly received an answer to my prayers and I thanked God for it.
I still do not have the “perfect” testimony, but it’s strong and it’s my own. As long as I keep praying, reading the scriptures, and doing the things that I know are right, my testimony will grow even more. Then I will be able to meet my grandmother again, and she will say to me, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

As missionaries in the Argentina Buenos Aires South Mission, my companion, Elder Allred, and I received a referral card to contact a family from Russia. When we found the house, the woman recognized us as missionaries and invited us in to meet her family.
We quickly realized the Balva family understood very little Spanish, and it was difficult for us to understand them as well. From their broken Spanish, we gathered that they had been in Argentina only a short time but were eager to learn about the Church. We adapted the first lesson into simplified Spanish, and the family flipped through their two Russian-Spanish dictionaries as we slowly taught our message, but we weren’t sure how much of it they really understood.
After making an appointment to return, we walked home, discussing how difficult it had been to convey the meaning of our message. We wondered if the family would understand the other lessons any better or if they would get frustrated and ask us to stop coming.
We returned to visit the Balva family the following day to see how they were and if they had begun reading the Book of Mormon and praying to know of its truthfulness. To our surprise and joy, they excitedly showed us a paper on which they had written in Spanish the principles we had taught them. They also shared with us what they had read in 3 Nephi 11 regarding the Savior’s visit to the American continent, assuring us that they had understood all we had discussed the day before and that they were excited to learn more.
Over the next few weeks my testimony was strengthened as the Holy Ghost witnessed to the Balva family of the gospel’s truthfulness and enlightened their understanding in Spanish. Heavenly Father knew the desire of their hearts and recognized the sincerity of their prayers to find truth. Together, the Balva family, Elder Allred, and I experienced the joy described in D&C 50:22: “Wherefore, he that preacheth and he that receiveth, understand one another, and both are edified and rejoice together”—not because we spoke the same language but because of the universal language of the Spirit.
The Balva family introduced us to another Russian family, whom we were also privileged to teach. Both families made covenants with Heavenly Father by entering the waters of baptism not long after we met them.
I am a witness that the words of President Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994) are true: “The influence of the Spirit is the most important element in this work. If you will allow the Spirit to magnify your callings, you will be able to work miracles for the Lord” (new mission presidents’ seminar, June 25, 1986).

When I was a young girl, I desperately wanted my brother, Juan Fernando, to run and play like other children. When I asked my mom why he couldn’t, she said he had suffered a severe brain injury at birth from lack of oxygen and would never be able to do those things.
My brother spent his entire life in bed. Because I was raised in the Church, I understood and accepted his condition and knew the greatness of his spirit. Nevertheless, my young heart longed for him to be like others, even though I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to watch him walk or run or speak.
I was worried about who would take care of him if the rest of the family died before he did. In heartfelt prayers I pleaded with Heavenly Father not to take us before He took Juan Fernando. I knew He would answer me.
My brother was 16 when he died on a cold winter afternoon, leaving a tremendous void in our family. We felt sadness but also hope. A few days after he died, I fell asleep while thinking about him and had a beautiful dream.
I was walking, but my vision was dimmed by clouds. I could see something in the distance, so I continued walking slowly toward it. As I drew closer, I saw that it was a wagon full of beautiful flowers. While staring at them, I noticed a handsome young man, dressed in white, standing by the wagon. I paused a moment, trying to recognize him, and then I realized it was my brother. I was so happy to see him. He spoke to me, and I wanted to hug and kiss him. Then I woke up.
I was so grateful that I heard his voice and saw him looking whole. I can only imagine the moment when we will meet again. I’m sure there will be hugs and kisses and loving words—all thanks to the Atonement of Jesus Christ. Because of the Savior we will all rise from the grave and can be reunited as families, never to be separated again.

The Norwich England Stake decided to depart from their usual routine for their annual youth conference. After their Saturday activity, the youth came back to the Lowestoft Ward meetinghouse to find that some of their leaders had organized a “quilt factory” and chosen some team leaders and a factory manager from among the youth. Stations were set up for cutting, pinning, sewing, and tying, and dinner was served in shifts. After watching a Church-produced video about humanitarian aid, the youth got to work.

Their goal was to make 100 quilts from scratch. Three and a half hours later, they had completed 106 quilts, ready to be donated. The Norwich youth had a great time and felt the Spirit as they partook of the atmosphere of service at their youth conference.

Playing football for a major college seemed like nothing more than a remote possibility. In many ways, I was an average kicker and punter on our high school team in Converse, Texas, a suburb of San Antonio. But then during my junior year I had a few lucky breaks. At one game I kicked a 58-yard field goal. Later our team played the number two team in the nation, and we beat them by a score of 54 to 22. Recruiters were at that game, and I repeatedly kicked the ball out of the end zone. I guess they liked seeing that power in my leg because the offers started coming in by mail and the phone started to ring.
Five major colleges, including BYU, tried to recruit me. I was pretty excited because they were all prestigious schools. Visits to the different campuses were arranged, and the process of elimination began. My dad, who never missed a game I played in, encouraged me to be thorough in my investigations. I was not LDS, so Church membership did not entice me to BYU. However, all my life I had lived many of the same principles and values taught in the LDS faith but didn’t realize it. I knew nothing of their beliefs.
In high school I had many opportunities to drink and smoke and do a lot of other unwholesome things. It just didn’t make sense to me to participate. In fact, it seemed destructive. So I got very good at saying, “No thanks.” Sometimes I would even challenge my friends to give it up. Also, I could see the misery that immorality caused, and I wanted no part of it. I made a personal commitment to save sexual intimacy for marriage. It seemed the only right way. At times I felt pretty alone, but I held on to my personal beliefs.
My family was not religious, so I didn’t belong to a church. It was through evangelists on television that I first learned about prayer. It made sense to pray, so I did and it felt good to be able to talk to my Heavenly Father. I felt I had a friend I could talk to who understood how I felt.
When I visited the different campuses, the recruiters tried to show me a good time, and it always seemed to include drinking. When one took me to a bar, I said, “Please don’t offer me a drink, because I don’t drink.” I can remember thinking, “This is going to be just like high school with everyone trying to get me to be a part of a lifestyle I’m not interested in.”
Then BYU flew me in to visit their campus and meet the coaches. What a difference! The whole atmosphere was refreshing. People were genuinely friendly, and I was treated with courtesy and respect. I was not taken any place where people were drinking, and I was never even offered a drink. I couldn’t believe it, but it felt so good. The coaches were great, and their winning record was impressive. But then again, there were some impressive things about the other schools too.
When I returned to Texas I had narrowed it down to two colleges, BYU and one other. I decided to pray about which one would be right for me. After the prayer I knew it had to be BYU.
My freshman year at BYU was like coming home. I felt so comfortable with the required standards. I began to ask questions about the Church, and my teammates were eager to share without pressuring me. They encouraged me to read the Book of Mormon. Bob Stephens, an LDS team member, and I hit it off and became close friends.
One day Bob and I decided to take dates on a ride up the canyon. As the four of us drove up a steep hill, the car engine died. We tried and tried to get it started, and nothing seemed to work. It was an embarrassing situation until a policeman came along and asked if he could help. We asked him if he could take the girls back. They volunteered to go for help while we stayed with the car.
While we waited I thought it was the perfect opportunity to ask Bob some serious questions about the Church. Generally speaking, football players are not the most articulate people, and Bob is no exception. However, when he began to answer my questions he sounded like a scholar. He answered every question with authority and conviction. I was deeply impressed.
Then I noticed an unusual thing was happening. Though it was cold and I didn’t have a coat on, I noticed I was feeling warm. I thought it must be because my arms were folded, so I stretched them out across the back of the seat. But the warmth stayed. It was a comfortable feeling, difficult to describe.
When I was through asking questions, I said, “I think the car will start now, Bob.” And it did, with the first turn of the key. It blew me away. I thought, This must be the work of the Lord so that I could have this chance to talk seriously with Bob. It seemed like a little miracle to me.
After that I asked to see the missionaries and with every discussion the gospel logically unfolded. I had resisted reading the Book of Mormon before because in the past I found the Bible difficult to follow and understand. But as soon as I began to read the Book of Mormon, I understood it and even enjoyed reading it. The more I learned through study and prayer, the more I knew the Church is true. It all made sense.
I called my dad and told him about my desire to join the Church. He asked me to wait. “Come home for the summer and then decide,” he said. I have a great deal of respect for my dad, so I followed his advice. All summer long he challenged my beliefs. I found myself continually defending my newfound faith. Not once did I feel like backing down, but instead I became even stronger in my convictions.
At the end of the summer he said, “I can see you really do believe this new religion. I was just testing you to make sure your decision was your own and not based on the influence of others. Go ahead and get baptized. You have my blessings.”
In the fall when I returned to BYU I decided I wanted my dad to be there when I was baptized, so my baptismal date was arranged at a time when he would be in town to see one of our games. I’ll never forget my baptism. It was the happiest day of my life. Bob baptized me, and Coach LaVell Edwards confirmed me. And then, with tears running down his cheeks, my dad put his arm around me and said, “I’m really proud of you, son. I love you.”
My dream to play major college football for a winning team has come true. But even more important, I have found real happiness as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

By age nineteen, she had saved enough money to go to Chicago, Illinois, where she studied at the Chicago Art Institute under the great John Vanderpoel. Several times during her three-year course she had to go home to earn more money by working in the fields or in the classroom. But Minerva always returned to her studies. With characteristic confidence, Minerva once confronted Mr. Vanderpoel, asking why he criticized her work so harshly when so many classmates were doing much poorer work. She later recalled, “I shall never forget the disappointment on the man’s face when he answered in a choked voice, ‘Can it be possible you do not understand; those other students are not worth it, they will eventually leave school, but you—ah, there is no end’” (“Miss Kohlhepp’s Own Story,” Pocatello, Idaho, 1917).
By 1912, she had finished her course at the Art Institute and returned west to earn more money. During this period she was courted by two young men—calling off a wedding with one wealthy suitor when she learned that he didn’t want to be married in a Mormon church. The other young man, not a Church member either (she knew no Latter-day Saint young men), was Herman Teichert. Herman was a gentle cowboy whose favorite activity was chasing wild horses on the desert by moonlight. In April 1915, however, she left Herman behind, telling him to marry someone else, and went to the Art Students’ League in New York City.

In October of 1998, Hurricane Mitch devastated many parts of Central America. President Gordon B. Hinckley was very concerned for the victims of this disaster, many of whom lost everything—food, clothing, and household goods. He visited the Saints in the cities of San Pedro Sula and Tegucigalpa, Honduras; and Managua, Nicaragua. And like the words of the loving prophet Elijah to a starving widow, this modern prophet’s message in each city was similar—to sacrifice and be obedient to the law of tithing.
But how can you ask someone so destitute to sacrifice? President Hinckley knew that the food and clothing shipments they received would help them survive the crisis, but his concern and love for them went far beyond that. As important as humanitarian aid is, he knew that the most important assistance comes from God, not from man. The prophet wanted to help them unlock the windows of heaven as promised by the Lord in the book of Malachi (see Malachi 3:10; Mosiah 2:24).
President Hinckley taught them that if they would pay their tithing, they would always have food on their tables, they would always have clothing on their backs, and they would always have a roof over their heads.
When serving a meal, it is much easier to set one more plate at the beginning of the meal than it is to find food for a latecomer once the meal is over and the food has been served. Likewise, isn’t it actually easier to give the Lord the firstlings or the firstfruits than it is to hope that there are sufficient “leftovers” for Him? As the founder of our feast, shouldn’t He be the guest of honor, the first to be served?
My loving mother, Evelyn Robbins, taught me the law of tithing when I was four years old. She gave me an empty Band-Aid box, the tin kind with a snapping lid. She taught me to keep my tithing pennies in it and then take it to the bishop. I am eternally grateful for her, for that Band-Aid box, and for the blessings that have come from paying tithing.
In A Christmas Carol, Mr. Scrooge changed his ways—he was not the man he had been. Likewise, this is the gospel of repentance. If the Spirit is prompting us to more fully obey the law of sacrifice in our lives, may we begin making that change today.
I am so grateful for the Savior, who was the perfect example of obedience through sacrifice—who offered “himself a sacrifice for sin” and became, in Lehi’s words, “the firstfruits unto God” (2 Nephi 2:7, 9; emphasis added). I bear witness of Him and of these, His doctrines, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

After dinner, Casey plopped down next to me on the sofa. “I looked over your geometry chapter,” she said. “I think I remember it well enough to help you study.” It was amazing what a little one-on-one help did for me that night. I don’t know if it was because my brain was clear and quiet, like an erased slate, after the day of emotion, or just the knack Casey had for making things clear. But whatever it was, I finally understood.

Newell B. Stevenson, a lifelong friend of Elder Faust, recalls that Butler Hill was also the local ski resort. “We used to go skiing there,” he relates. “That was back in the days when we didn’t know what ski boots and ski bindings and all those sorts of things were. We built ourselves a jump, and if you had a little good luck, you made it all the way down to the bottom. Of course, once you got to the bottom of the hill, you had to walk back up. Once Jim (Elder Faust) lost a ski and fell and broke his collarbone.
“We used to swim together a lot during the summer at a cold-water, spring-fed lake near our home. If we could have spent our lives there, we would have. A couple of times we went there in the early spring and dared each other to get into the water. We were so cold we got out in a hurry!”
Other sports also attracted Elder Faust’s interest, especially football and track. His father was his most ardent supporter. In recalling those days, Brother Stevenson said, “I don’t think I ever went to an athletic event that one of those Faust kids was in when their father wasn’t there to support them.
“Even as a boy—but particularly when we got into our teens—Jim was the spiritual leader of our group. We did everything together, and I have to give him a lot of credit for keeping us out of trouble. He wasn’t overbearing, domineering, or falsely pious—he just always did what was right.”

This past spring two different bird families built nests in my yard. A small sparrow chose a rose tree on my patio for her nest. Time after time she flew back and forth, carrying blades of grass and small twigs in her beak. Carefully she manipulated her way through the rose thorns, depositing her building materials in the chosen spot. She worked without resting until the tiny nest was finished. I was amazed at how carefully the grasses were woven to make a strong and stable structure. I was almost moved to tears when I saw in the bottom of the nest four small pieces of cotton, placed in just the right spot to make a soft bed for her little ones.
The second bird, a robin, chose to build her nest in front of my house near the rain gutter, up high where ground predators could not reach it. Since she was larger, so was her nest, and in addition to being bigger, the outside of her nest was glued with mud, which kept the grasses and twigs together and held it in the crook of the rain gutter. Inside, single blades of grass were woven into a soft, cuplike shape that perfectly cradled the bird.
When the nests were completed, both birds laid their eggs and began the daily vigil of protecting and nurturing. Hour after hour, day after day these birds sat on their eggs. After the eggs hatched, the mothers worked full time to feed their hungry babies.
One particularly hot day I noticed the robin sitting on her nest, panting with her beak open. Obviously she was uncomfortable in the glare of the sun. I wondered why she stayed. Then I realized she was not sitting deep in the nest as she had when she was keeping her babies warm. Instead she was carefully stretched over the top of the nest, forming a protective shelter to keep her featherless babies from being sunburned.
I began to read about birds and the great pains they take to build homes for their families. Did you know that barn swallows make more than 1,200 mud-carrying trips in order to construct their nests? One single nest of a hooded oriole was found to contain 3,387 separate pieces of material. It seems to me that birds invest everything—their time, their energy, their means, their own comfort—to make a home and rear their young. It is not a priority that is given second place or avoided. It takes first place.
Since watching the birds in my yard, I have wondered who taught these birds what to do. How did they know how to build a nest and to shade their fledglings from the sun? Birds follow instincts to provide, protect, and nurture. These are God-given instincts, and pondering on them caused me, along with the Psalmist, to exclaim, “O Lord, how great are thy works!” (Ps. 92:5).

I had some friends who turned on me between seventh and ninth grade. At first I didn’t realize they were making fun of me, but when I did, I was shocked and couldn’t understand where I’d gone wrong.
I thought that if I did what Christ would do, everything would get better. So I continued being nice, helping my classmates with their homework, and relying on God, trusting that someday I would make a good friend. At first, not much seemed to change. But after I started high school, my classmates were nicer people.
More importantly, during those years when I was looking for friends, I found that my best friend is Jesus Christ. So not only did I make new friends at school, but I also made the best Friend that I could ever have.

When twins James and Jeremy Ruesch were eight months old, their mother, Lisa, hurt her arm and was not able to care for the two energetic babies during the day while her husband was at work. When babysitters volunteered to help out until she healed, James and Jeremy were split up between two tenders. They screamed the entire time they were apart. Once back together, the babies were quiet and content. After that, Lisa never tried to separate her boys. For 19 years they have rarely been apart, and even then for no more than a day.

Soccer may be Raphael’s sport of choice, but volleyball is most definitely his game. And he is really good at it. He is so good, in fact, that he played in the final game of the high school volleyball nationals. “That,” Raphael says, “was one of the three happiest days of my life.”
It was a friend who introduced Raphael to volleyball. In 2001 a teammate on his soccer team in Recife pointed out that some private high schools offer volleyball scholarships. At the time, Raphael was trying for a soccer scholarship but found his physical skills kept him from playing at the level the coaches wanted. But he seemed to have an unexplored talent for volleyball. “So I played volleyball until I got good at it,” he says. He became so good that he was able to secure a full scholarship to a private high school.
At school, he played in the Recife city championships, then in the regionals in northeast Brazil, one of the most important tournaments in the country. But his success didn’t end there. Not long afterward, he was asked to join the Pernambuco State team to prepare for the national high school tournament. His team won almost all of its games, losing only in the final match. He has the medals to show for it.
“As a volleyball player,” he says, “I’ve learned to play as a member of a team. One person can’t win alone. You have to look out for one another and help one another.”
In the same way, the Church has taught him to play as a member of the Lord’s team. “The Church has taught me to teach and care for others, to always watch for when people need help. There’s no better place to learn to live the gospel than in the Church. The Lord wants all of us to practice the gospel. That’s why I’m going on a mission.”
Raphael will be giving up a college athletic scholarship to do so. Recruited by several schools, he was tempted to accept a scholarship from one of them. But at this point in his life, he would rather serve on a mission than serve on a volleyball court. He knows he is making the right choice.
“As much success as I have had in sports,” he says, “I want to do better as a missionary. I feel that no matter where I go, I can do well—if I let the Lord coach me.”

Walnetta Broederlow McCall was only nine years old when a missionary asked if anyone could play piano for their fledgling congregation. “I gingerly put up my hand!” she recalls. The missionary, Elder Charles W. Ashman, was not deterred by her age or inexperience. He gave Walnetta hymns to practice, and the following week, she became the pianist for their meetings.
Over the years, Walnetta has served in many other callings and enjoyed those experiences too. Today, she feels just as privileged to provide prelude music in her current Taupo Ward, to invite the Holy Spirit and set a reverent tone for their sacrament meetings. Reflecting on her love for her calling, she is so grateful for the gift that Elder Ashman gave her all those years ago when he asked for a volunteer pianist. “His invitation to play for our meetings and [his] confidence in me has blessed my life,” she says.