Gospel Story Finder

First, the music. Jake Anderson of the Fenton Ward remembered a bad experience with music at his school prom. He said, “They had one line in one song with cuss words in a row. They quieted the music so everyone could scream out the line. The songs were degrading.” But he knew he didn’t have to worry about that happening here. The disk jockey was a member of the Church and was sensitive to what would be appropriate. Plus, he had help in picking out the songs.
School proms can be very expensive. As a member of the Clarkston Ward said, “You buy the tickets. Some people want limos. You have to pitch in for that. There’s the corsage and tux rental and dinner. It ends up in the hundreds.”
The stake prom used plenty of volunteers including adult leaders and the youth committees from all the stakes to decorate, fix food, and even act as photographers and coat-check attendants. Volunteers also manned the doors as security, patrolled parked cars in the parking lot, and created and distributed party favors. And, of course, because it was held at the stake center, there was no location rental fee.
For prom, girls want to look pretty. They want a great dress and the fun of dressing up. And the guys actually appreciate the dresses more when they are modest. When Briton Moffitt of the Rochester Ward was asked if the girls looked good, he answered firmly, “Most definitely.”
Tiffany Morris of the Bloomfield Hills Troy Ward commented, “Here the guys say, ‘You look beautiful,’ instead of ‘You look hot.’ It seems like a real compliment.”
But modest dresses are hard to find. So where did all these hundreds of girls find modest prom dresses for this dance?
They were inventive and persistent.
“I went online and found a store that sold modest dresses.”
“My mom made it for me, and it turned out really well.”
“I got mine at the Salvation Army. It’s vintage … and inexpensive.”
“Mine is actually a costume from a musical I was in.”
“I bought one and then made a cute jacket to go over it.”
“I borrowed from my friend and bought a short sweater to go with it.”
“I found a cute top, and I already had a long skirt.”
One ward even paired up each girl with a Relief Society sister who could sew, and they made dresses that were nice for a dance and could be worn as a Sunday dress as well.
Groups of girls had great fun gathering to get ready. Lacey Paulson of the Bloomfield Hills Troy Ward said, “We came about two hours early. We were all curling each other’s hair and eating pizza and listening to music.”
Doug Jackson from the same ward was listening to Lacey and shrugged, “I got ready in 15 minutes.”
Brian Henson of the Midland Second Ward was even faster. He jokingly said, “The girls get ready together. Guys, we just shower, play some video games, and five minutes before you have to leave, you brush your teeth and get dressed.”
And how did the guys dress? Some came in tuxedos, but many of them confessed that they had tuxedos because they played in orchestra or sang in school choirs. Brad Jones of the Midland Second Ward said one lady in his ward had some tuxedos she had bought at garage sales. He borrowed one of those.
Many looked great wearing their Sunday suits or nice dress slacks and a shirt and tie.
The dancing at this prom was going to be something everyone could enjoy. Jake Anderson of the Fenton Ward had just attended his school prom and was acutely aware of the difference between the Mormon prom and his school prom. “It’s nice not to worry about the dancing. You don’t have to be in the uncomfortable situation where someone wants to dance with you, and you really don’t want to because you know how they want to dance and you have to say no.”
Many wards had prepared the teens by giving dance instruction during midweek activities before the prom. Most felt prepared to have fun and dance ballroom style. Amanda Rosenhan of the Grand Blanc Ward said, “We dance kind of old-fashioned, and I like that.”
At the end of the night, the teens in Michigan went home with some nice dance photos, a few treats to eat in the car, and memories of a fun evening. This prom was a night to remember, not a night to regret.
Faran Clark of the Lansing Holt Ward said, “A lot more people came than in past multi-stake dances. I guess it’s about dressing up and having a nice night out. You get to primp and look nice.”
And, as her friend Andrea Brown of the Lansing Owosso Ward added, “It’s a good chance for us to realize that we can have fun together and still keep our standards.”

This summer we had several wildland fires in our area, and a lot of helicopters came to help. The pilots flew big buckets filled with water over the fires and then dropped the water to help put the fires out. Others flew around to look for new fires.
I asked my grandma to help me make some cards to send to the pilots to thank them and to ask them to please be safe. On the back of each card, I put a picture of my new CTR ring and a note that said “Made by Kimber.”
One of the pilots called to thank me and to tell me that she teaches the CTR class in her ward in Arizona. She said that it meant so much to her to get the card because she missed her class and her family so much. It really made me feel good.
Kimber Payne, age 5Lamoille, Nevada

As a young man I worked with my father and brothers raising cattle and horses on our ranch in southern Utah and northern Arizona. My father taught us that when we wanted to catch one of our horses to ride, all we had to do was to put a handful of grain into a bucket and shake it for several seconds. It didn’t matter if the horses were in a corral or a large field; they would come on the run to eat the grain. We could then gently slip a bridle over their heads while they were eating. I was always amazed that such a simple process worked so well.
On some occasions, when we didn’t want to take the time to get the grain from the barn, we would put dirt in the bucket and shake it, attempting to trick the horses into thinking that we had grain for them to eat. When they discovered our deception, some of the horses stayed, but others would run away and be nearly impossible to catch. It often took several days to regain their trust. We learned that taking the time to consistently feed our horses grain made them much easier to work with and provided them with increased nourishment and greater strength.
Even though many years have passed since my days on the ranch, the experience I have just described has helped me as I have considered the following question: What can we as teachers and leaders in the Church do to provide increased doctrinal and spiritual nourishment for those we serve?
Just as I learned as a young man that grain was more appealing to our horses than a dirt-filled bucket, I also learned that grain was more nourishing than hay, that hay was more nourishing than straw, and that it was possible to feed a horse without nourishing him. As teachers and leaders, it is vital that we nourish those we teach and lead by focusing on the fundamental doctrines, principles, and applications emphasized in the scriptures and the words of our latter-day prophets instead of spending precious time on subjects and sources of lesser importance.

When I was 14 years old, on a beautiful August morning, Elder Prina and Elder Perkins knocked at our door. They began teaching our family about the true nature of God. In the visits that followed, they taught us how to pray. They also taught us about the Restoration and the plan of salvation. After the third or fourth visit, most of my family stopped listening to the missionaries, except for my 17-year-old sister, Dina, and me. We both felt the witness of the Holy Ghost in our hearts and received the spiritual confirmation that the message was true.
We bought a copy of the Book of Mormon and began reading it. Every day after school, we would race home to get to the book first. While the first one home was reading, the other one impatiently waited until mealtime, ate in a hurry, and then took her turn reading until bedtime. Such was the excitement we felt. We started attending church, and soon we asked to be baptized. Our father readily gave his permission, but our mother was hesitant, and it took one more month to persuade her to sign the permission slip. On the day of our baptism, she and the rest of our siblings went to church for the first time. She felt the Spirit. After hearing our testimonies, she went to the missionaries and asked them to start teaching her again. A few weeks later, Mother and our younger sister and brothers were baptized. My life changed forever, and the gospel of Jesus Christ became the compelling force in my life.

Laurie hung the little drum ornament on the Christmas tree. How many times had she heard her mother say that the drum was at least seventy-five years old and had hung on her great-grandparents’ tree!
She stepped back and studied the tree. It looked awful! The branches were loaded with mismatched ornaments, most of them older than she was. Aluminum foil stars that she had made in school and lace angels that her younger sister, Angie, had made were bent and tattered. As usual, Dad had strung homemade popcorn and looped it over the branches. Mom had even added some pinecones from last summer’s vacation.
Laurie felt ashamed of the tree. It wasn’t nearly as pretty as her friends’ trees. Tracy’s had matching red ornaments and twinkling white lights. Debbie’s looked very modern with candy-striped ribbons and bows and shiny gold balls.
Laurie dropped onto the sofa. “Mom, why don’t we throw out these junky old ornaments and buy new ones?”
“Honey, these old ornaments are very dear to us. Each of them is full of memories. Remember when you and I made this Santa out of dough the year of the bad snowstorm?”
Laurie did remember. The storm had raged outside as she and Mom sat at the kitchen table, carefully forming the little Santa. They had also baked gingerbread men with raisin buttons, and the warm kitchen had smelled deliciously of Christmas spice.
“But our tree looks so old-fashioned and cluttered.”
“I guess we’re just an old-fashioned family,” Dad said.
“Why don’t you like our tree, Laurie?” Angie asked. “I think it’s beautiful!”
“Oh, you just don’t understand!” Laurie shouted, pushing herself up from the sofa and stamping out of the room. Angie’s too young, she thought. I used to think our junky tree was beautiful too. Now I can see how ugly it is!
She went to her room and sat on the edge of her bed. “I can’t let my friends see our tree,” she murmured. “They’d laugh at it.”
“Laurie,” Angie said the next day when Laurie came home from the store with Mom, “Tracy’s waiting for you in the living room.”
“Tracy’s in by our tree? Oh, no!”
With a sinking feeling, Laurie entered the living room. Tracy was kneeling on the floor, looking at the tree, but she wasn’t laughing. “Where’s the little bluebird ornament?” she asked.
“Ah, over here.” Laurie pointed to a faded little bird among the branches.
“I just love that!” Tracy sighed. “And look, here’s the bell ornament you made in Miss Miller’s class. Wasn’t that fun! Mine got thrown out.”
Tracy eagerly searched the branches of the tree, delighting in the ornaments that hung thickly there. Soon Laurie was lying on the floor beside her, gazing up into the branches. When she told her friend about the drum, Tracy reacted enthusiastically. “Really? This little drum was on your great-grandmother’s tree? Wow! What a great Christmas tree!”
“But it isn’t as beautiful as your tree, Tracy.”
“Yes, our tree is pretty, but there’s more to your tree than can be seen with just the eyes. I don’t know. …” She seemed to be searching for the right words. “I guess your tree brings back lots of neat memories.”
After Tracy left, Laurie remained on the floor, chin propped on her hands, and stared at the Christmas tree. Funny, she thought, a few hours ago I thought this tree was ugly. I envied Tracy’s red and white Christmas tree. I was looking at it—and ours—with only my eyes.
“What are you doing, Laurie?” asked Angie, coming into the room.
Laurie smiled at her little sister. “I’m must lying here admiring our beautiful Christmas tree.”

Elder Steven Hanks and Sister Jean Hanks are serving in Liberia and are living in Kakata, a village outside of Monrovia. They recently had the joyous opportunity and privilege of helping two young men in their mid-20’s, John Gbakoya and Baby Ya, receive new wheelchairs.
Elder and Sister Hanks left their apartment one morning at seven and drove to Bong Mine, an old mining town 30 miles northwest of Kakata, out into the bush, to pick up the two men with medical conditions requiring wheelchairs. Their current chairs were running on the rims and falling apart.
The Teerlink family, in collaboration with LDS Charities, had recently shipped 350 new wheelchairs to JFK hospital in Monrovia. It was a 3-hour drive through country roads and snarled African city traffic jams to the hospital where John and Baby were measured and fitted with brand new chairs.
The Hanks disassembled the chairs, loaded them and the men back in their truck, drove back to Bong Mine and then reassembled the chairs. John’s wheelchair took a little work, but they got it done, thanks to some bicycle-repair experience.
John and Baby Ya were overjoyed and so thankful. Their community gathered to rejoice with them. Everyone in town knows them and everyone was thrilled they were given these beautiful new wheelchairs.
It was a beautiful, sweet day. Special thanks to LDS Charities, the Teerlink family for their generosity, and to the Hanks for serving in Liberia and being just the right people to bless these young men and assemble their chairs.

April was here at last. The all-night study sessions and final exams were over and most of our belongings packed into a closet in the old house we had lived in for the past year. Tearful see-you-in-Septembers echoed through the empty rooms as we locked the front door. My roommate, Lanell, and I lugged our bursting suitcases through the slushy snow and into the yellow Renault.
“What a dumb time for a snowstorm,” Lanell grumbled, slamming the car door shut.
“Oh well, we’ll soon be winging our way to Europe,” I consoled, reminding her of our exciting summer plans. We had schemed all year for this two-month vacation, and because we were trying to save money by driving to Chicago and flying from there, it looked as though this sudden spring snowstorm might threaten our plans.
I switched on the radio. Another weather bulletin, this time with bad news. “All interstates in Utah are closed,” the deejay stated blandly. “Students are advised to remain in Provo until further notice.”
“No way,” I declared. “A little snow won’t stop this Canadian!”
I pulled out the road map, and Lanell and I discussed all the alternative routes. We finally chose one that went south of Provo and then east into Colorado. Since it wasn’t an interstate and didn’t seem to be too mountainous, we reasoned that it would be open and fairly safe.
We headed out as the last rays of sunlight filtered through the gray storm clouds and disappeared over the top of the western range of mountains. It was a bad time to leave, I knew, but we were anxious to be on our way.
I drove cautiously on the snow-packed highway and wasn’t too alarmed when snow began falling. We soon noticed, however, that the highway was ascending into the mountains. Lanell checked the map and to our dismay found, in tiny print, the mountain pass we thought we wouldn’t have to cross. To make matters worse, the storm had increased in fury, the snowflakes splattering so thickly on the windshield that the wipers could barely keep up. As the wind howled through the canyon, I realized that conditions were perfect for a blizzard. We considered returning to Provo for the night but were encouraged by the steady stream of cars creeping toward us on the highway.
“They made it over the pass so we will too,” we told each other.
“And the other side probably won’t be so icy,” I said, trying to sound confident. Inside, I was beginning to wonder what we’d gotten ourselves into.
The road was now glare ice and we were steadily climbing. I grasped the wheel lightly as I’d learned to do on icy roads, but as the minutes passed, I felt a knot growing in my stomach and perspiration dampened my ski jacket. I wanted to turn back now but could find nowhere to do so safely. And what would Lanell think if “this Canadian” turned back? On the other hand, what would the downhill side be like, and would I have the nerve to drive it? I mentally tightened my grip on the wheel, silently begging the Lord to help us. If ever I needed a guardian angel, it was now.
Somehow, we reached the summit and I nearly shouted for joy at what I saw in the bright yellow beam of the headlights. Parked across the road, blocking the traffic, was a pickup truck, and standing beside it, a stocky man in a cowboy hat, coveralls, and a heavy parka. He was waving a flashlight, signaling for the cars to turn around and go back.
“The road’s closed. You kids would never make it down the other side,” he said, prying my hands off the steering wheel and kindly suggesting that he turn the car around for me.
As we headed back in the direction we had come, we alternately laughed and cried and prayed. We now knew the truth about all the cars that supposedly had made it over the mountain. All those cars had simply turned around and were coming back as we were now doing. How foolish we had been to ignore the weather warnings and how foolish were those in the approaching cars. Now that the storm had abated somewhat, we could see the ribbon of their lights for miles as we drove carefully down the mountain.
“Bet they’re thinking the same thing we did,” Lanell said with a grin. I grinned back, but silently I wondered, How many times do we make decisions without knowing the whole picture? How many times do we ignore the warnings? And how many times do we continue to tread dangerous paths just because it appears as if everyone is doing it?
We reached Provo late that night, and though I was shaken by the experience, I was grateful for the many insights it had given me. That Utah mountain pass and the angel in the cowboy hat who said it’s never too late to turn around, and who offered to help, will remain forever in my memory.

Again, looking for a job is not that fun – be patient and stay close to your Heavenly Father. Follow the Spirit.

Meanwhile one of the production lines we had built two years earlier had not started up because of a product design problem. The design issue was finally fixed and the line had started up. One of my old bosses was finishing the effort and was having trouble completing the project. I was called and asked to clean up the remaining issues, collect our payment and get us out of the plant. I went to the plant and we quickly demonstrated the capability of the new line and agreed on payment. During that process the plant manager and I got along very well. After I returned home we had several conversations and he finally called on a Wednesday afternoon and asked me to head up his engineering department and to be at his staff meeting on Friday morning. It was a great opportunity to get fully entrenched in the automotive industry. I was delighted. I packed up and went to work. I have a great respect for responsiveness, whether it be in returning phone calls or accepting a new assignment especially when directed by the spirit. We spent the next three years expanding the plant twice, putting in 24 production lines and increased our sales by a factor of 14.

But this isn’t the end. During a casual phone conversation with a senior staff member I found that the company was planning to put a new plant in Europe. I expressed my interest and in a year found myself in England as a plant manager in charge of starting up a new plant. Again, my earlier desires to be associated with a European plant were met by something better. In the next three years we bought land, designed a plant, hired and trained the team, built the plant and production equipment and started up production for a new technology air bag inflator. It was a successful and rewarding experience.

Faith in the Lord helps us endure well our personal challenges. It also helps us serve more effectively in our callings. In 1837 Heber C. Kimball was called as a missionary to England. President Gordon B. Hinckley said the following about Heber’s call:
It is difficult for us to comprehend the enormity of that call. . . . It meant leaving a family destitute. It meant traveling to New York and crossing the sea when he had no money. It meant that a man with very little schooling, who had grown up and lived in frontier communities, would go to the great cities of the British Isles among a people known for their education and enlightenment.
Heber wrote: “The idea of such a mission was almost more than I could bear up under. I was almost ready to sink under the burden which was placed upon me.” Heber’s response to this call illustrates his faith and belief that he would be strengthened by the hand of the Lord to fulfill this mission. He also wrote:
However, all these considerations did not deter me from the path of duty; the moment I understood the will of my Heavenly Father, I felt a determination to go at all hazards, believing that He would support me by His almighty power, and endow me with every qualification that I needed; and although my family was dear to me, and I should have to leave them almost destitute, I felt that the cause of truth, the Gospel of Christ, outweighed every other consideration.
The Lord did strengthen Heber and made him a successful missionary; in eight months 2,000 Saints had been baptized and 26 congregations had been formed. The Lord will strengthen us and deliver us as we wait for Him.

If anyone had ever told me that I’d gulp down three tablespoons of mustard, I’d have said they were crazy. But being raised in a big family can do strange things to a person.
It had been one of those days that only somebody who has been raised in a big family could possibly appreciate. I had been working all month at school to complete a social studies unit, and our grades had been announced. I had received an A plus, and I couldn’t wait to get home so I could tell my mother.
When I bounded through the door, eager to bring the good news to my mother, I heard a screech.
“Come here! Quick!” my mother shouted.
I ran into the kitchen and saw my mother trying to put my two-year-old sister on the kitchen table.
“Hurry,” Mom continued, motioning me over to the table. “I need you to hold her down while I try to get this rubber plug out of her nose!”
I grabbed my young sister’s thrashing hands while Mom tried to dislodge the plug with a pair of tweezers.
“How’d she get a …” I started to ask above my sister’s screams.
“Don’t ask questions,” Mom interrupted. “Just hold her still, please!”
Later, with the rubber plug operation finally completed, I started to tell Mom about my school project.
Suddenly, my kindergarten-age sister came crashing through the front door screaming at the top of her lungs.
“I’m bleeding to death! I’m bleeding to death!” she shouted all the way into the kitchen. She walked into the kitchen bleeding from two big holes in her long stockings.
Then the baby started crying from downstairs.
“Will you go take care of the baby while I clean your sister up?” Mom asked as she carried my sister upstairs to the bathroom.
I slowly walked downstairs and into my baby sister’s room. She stopped crying as soon as she saw me and started to jump up and down in her crib, coaxing me to pick her up.
She wrapped her pudgy arms around my neck as I carried her to the family room and sat her down on the couch. I changed her pants and tickled her, and she started to laugh. As I reached down to pick up a toy for her to play with, she rolled off the couch and onto the hard floor.
She was screaming when I picked her up and started to run upstairs with her. A lump was already starting to swell on the back of her head.
“What did you do?” Mom asked taking the baby from me. “Can’t you be more responsible?”
I ran out of the room sobbing and went downstairs to the furnace room.
When I heard the baby stop crying, I crept out of the furnace room and started to go upstairs.
Just then I heard Dad come through the front door and greet Mom with, “Well, how’s your day been, dear?”
Mom collapsed into Dad’s arms and said, “Well, Grant shaved off all his hair. He said he was afraid that he was starting to look too much like the establishment. Diane said she’s never going to school again because her boyfriend told her she was too fat. Mary’s got the flu or something. Linda thinks I’m the most terrible Mom in the world because I won’t let her wear her dresses as short as all the other girls. Joy fell down and skinned both her knees on the way home from school. Dawnene ran outside without any clothes on and danced around in the front yard until the neighbor boys called and told me what our three-year-old was doing. Lori got a rubber plug stuck in her nose, and Janene let Lisa fall off the couch and bump her head.”
“Sorry I asked,” Dad said as he ran upstairs. “I’ve got to get packed and ready to go. My plane leaves in an hour.”
I went back downstairs to the furnace room. It was the only place in the whole house where I could be alone. I had fixed myself a little desk and chair and called the room my “laboratory.”
Suddenly I heard Dad’s voice booming through the heat duct, “Who’s been using my razor?”
I suddenly remembered leaving Dad’s razor in the girls’ bathroom again.
“You’d have to get the black plague to even get noticed around here,” I mumbled to myself as I slid my thumb over the cover of my social studies unit that I was so proud of.
Then I remembered a conversation I had had with a girl friend earlier that day. She told me that if you ate three tablespoons of mustard, it would make you throw up for sure.
Suddenly, throwing up seemed like a good way to get a little attention and forgiveness at the same time. Mom would forgive me for letting the baby fall off the couch, and Dad would forgive me for sneaking his razor again.
Just then I heard Mom call, “Time for dinner. Come and get it or I’ll throw it out.”
All the kids ran like a stampede for the kitchen. I quietly slipped into my place at the table while Dad gulped a glass of milk.
“Got to go. See you Saturday,” he said as he pecked Mom on the cheek and left.
Two of my sisters were giggling about Grant’s bald head until he gave them both an elbow. Diane wouldn’t touch her food because she was suddenly on a diet. Mom asked me to run a tray of food up to Mary. Linda was still sulking about her old-fashioned wardrobe. Lori started to stuff a bean up her nose just as the baby kicked over my glass of milk, and Dawnene started crying because she wanted to have two bandages on her knees like Joy.
Later, after I’d finished doing the mountain of dishes, I opened the refrigerator door and stared at the mustard. I looked around to see if anybody was watching, then quickly pulled a tablespoon out of the kitchen drawer and plunged it into the jar of yellow goo.
I brought the spoon up to my nose and turned away at the smell. Then I held my nose with one hand and shoved the spoon in with the other. That was quickly followed by two more heaping spoonfuls.
I quickly put the jar back in the refrigerator and rinsed the spoon off in the sink as a chill ran up my spine. Then I waited by the sink for something to happen. I waited and waited but still nothing.
Two of my sisters ran into the kitchen and asked me what I was doing.
“I don’t feel well,” I said, trying to act a little greenish.
“Oh, there’s nothing wrong with you,” they taunted as they skipped back out the door.
I walked back down to my furnace room and waited again. But nothing happened.
I ate three tablespoons of mustard for nothing, I thought. I felt so embarrassed at myself that I went upstairs and went to bed early so I could avoid everybody.
As I lay in bed, I felt like I did the night I jumped off the top bunk bed because my Sunday School teacher told me you could do anything if you had enough faith. Well, I wanted to fly really bad. I refused to tell anybody in the family where my goose egg came from.
Later, Mom tiptoed into the bedroom I shared with three sisters and found me rolled up in a ball underneath a pile of quilts in my bed.
“Are you feeling all right?” she asked as she tucked the blankets around me. “Joy said you were feeling sick.”
“I’m feeling fine,” I said avoiding her eyes.
“You sure did a nice job on the dishes,” Mom continued. “I saw your schoolwork too. You got an A plus. That’s wonderful, honey. I know you’ve been working hard on that project.”
I sat up in bed feeling a lot better.
“I didn’t mean to shout at you about the baby,” Mom continued. “You’re always so responsible with your younger sisters. I’m sure it was just an accident. It’s happened to me before too.”
“Really?” I said. “I’m the one that took Dad’s razor too, Mom. I know I’m not supposed to use it, but Mary and Diane always lose mine.”
“I’ve borrowed Dad’s razor without asking a few times myself,” Mom answered.
“Really?” I asked putting my arms around her neck.
I never ate three tablespoons of mustard again.
At that moment I realized that my mother was not only aware of me and my problems, but that she also cared a great deal in a very specific way. She had already experienced many of the things I was going through.
Earlier that evening it had seemed impossible to feel important since I was just one in a crowd, but suddenly I received a sweet assurance that I was not unnoticed and that I was loved.
And there have been other times since that night, times when my solitary struggles have seemed too heavy to bear. There have been times when I have felt lost and alone and not understood, times when I wondered if anyone knew my heart or cared.
Then thoughts of that evening and those three tablespoons of mustard come back. And as I felt assured of my earthly parents’ love that night, though I was only one of many, I also feel assured of my heavenly parents’ love. Even in the vastness of the eternal plan, they know me and they love me and they care. “And not one of them is forgotten before God” (Luke 12:6).

Just a few months before I turned 14, I broke my leg. I was in a full-leg cast for two weeks and a shorter cast that came to my knee for four more. Because of my injury, I went to the last two weeks of school on crutches, and I couldn’t go on the girls’ camp backpacking trip or our family boating trip. I needed help getting in and out of the car, and my siblings weren’t very happy that I always needed the front seat so I would have room for my cast. Overall, I was miserable. I couldn’t walk, run, or play with my friends, and I was tired and in pain much of the time.
One day I was in the car with my mom and my brother. We were on the way home from running several errands. We stopped at one more store so my mom could quickly pick something up. She and my brother went into the store, and I opted to stay in the car. It wasn’t worth it to get out my crutches for such a quick trip. I had felt dejected all that day. I felt like I couldn’t do anything for myself except sit around. I couldn’t have any fun, and I felt like a burden to everybody around me.
At the peak of feeling sorry for myself, I noticed a copy of the Book of Mormon in a pocket of the car door. The missionaries had asked us to keep this copy in the car so we would have it handy to give away if the opportunity came. I pulled the book out and opened it to a random page. As I looked down, my eyes focused on the first few verses of 2 Nephi 2. As I read, I felt like these words in the second verse were written for me, for this very moment: “Thou knowest the greatness of God; and he shall consecrate thine afflictions for thy gain” (2 Nephi 2:2). In a moment when I felt afflicted and miserable, Heavenly Father spoke to me through the Book of Mormon and told me that He cared about me and that everything was going to be OK.
When my mom and brother returned to the car, I was smiling. They probably noticed the change, but I felt too quiet and peaceful inside to explain everything to them. I put the Book of Mormon back in its place, but I kept looking at it and remembering the words of Lehi that had brought me so much comfort. I also kept smiling. I couldn’t help but think that the missionaries’ request for our family to keep a copy of the Book of Mormon in our car wasn’t just for investigators.
At home, I pulled out my personal scriptures. I turned to 2 Nephi 2:2 and marked in red the words that had comforted me. A couple of months later I could walk and run just fine because my leg was healed. Of course, other trials came into my life later on. Many times when I feel alone and miserable, I remember how I felt that day waiting in the car. I still often turn to the passage marked in red in my scriptures, and I always find comfort there.

The man who became one of the Urdu translators was converted to the Church in Pakistan while working as a teacher. As a result of his conversion, he lost his job; he lost his house, which was provided by the school where he taught; and he lost the schooling for his children. A Church translation supervisor approached him about serving as a translator and offered him a modest recompense. After working as a translator for a few months, the man visited with the supervisor and timidly asked if the supervisor would buy him a new ballpoint pen. The one he had been using had run out of ink. Only then did the supervisor discover and fix a clerical error that had resulted in the translator receiving much less than what he should have been paid.

Many years ago in the country of Norway, a young widow with two small sons sent a pair of shoes to a shoemaker for repairs. When the mended shoes were returned, the mother was surprised to find a religious tract tucked into each shoe. Shortly thereafter, curious about the tracts, and with a parcel containing another pair of old shoes, she set forth for the half-hour walk to the shoemaker’s shop.
After concluding her business with the shoemaker, she hesitated briefly with her hand on the door latch, wanting, yet reluctant, to ask about the tracts. As she paused, the shoemaker said, “‘You may be surprised to hear me say that I can give you something of more value than soles for your child’s shoes.’
“‘What can you, a shoemaker, give me better than soles for my son’s shoes? You speak in riddles,’ she answered.”
The man “did not hesitate. ‘If you will but listen, I can teach you the Lord’s true plan of salvation for His children. I can teach you how to find happiness in this life, and to prepare for eternal joy in the life to come. I can tell you whence you came, why you are upon earth, and where you will go after death. I can teach you as you have never known it before, the love of God for His children on earth.’”
The words pierced the heart of Anna Widtsoe, whose husband, John Andersen Widtsoe, had died unexpectedly just a year before. Her oldest son, John Andreas, was six years old, and her second son, Osborne, was just two months of age. At the burial service the young widow “and her oldest son stood by the open grave while the cold words of the church funeral service were spoken, ‘Dust thou art, to dust returnest,’ with no promise of a future meeting in a happier place than man’s earth.”
Her life had since been lonely, and she was filled with many unanswered spiritual questions which her own religion had failed to satisfy. She asked the shoemaker a simple question: “‘Who are you?’” He answered: “‘I am a member of the Church of Christ—we are called Mormons. We have the truth of God.’”
As repaired shoes were returned there was always a new tract, and her curiosity finally caused her to attend a Mormon meeting. Anna Widtsoe was an intelligent woman. She “knew her Bible. Time upon time she [attempted] to vanquish the elders, only to meet defeat herself.” She insisted on debating and discussing the points of doctrine she questioned; and finally, unwillingly, yet prayerfully, she became convinced that she was in the presence of eternal truth.
“At length, on 1 April 1881, a little more than two years after she first heard of the Gospel, she was baptized into the Church. … Thin ice still lay over the edges of the fjord, which had to be broken to permit the [baptism]. The water was icy cold yet she declared to her dying day that never before in all her life had she felt warmer or more comfortable than when she came out of the baptismal waters of old Trondheim’s fjord. The fire within was kindled, never to be extinguished.”
This account is taken from a book titled In the Gospel Net (Salt Lake City: Improvement Era, 1942, pp. 47, 53–57), written by Elder John A. Widtsoe, Anna’s eldest son, who later became an Apostle and member of the Council of the Twelve in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Consider this lesson taught to me many years ago by a patriarch, whom I will call John. He was as saintly a man as I have ever known. His was a life of service, both to the Church and to his community. Although I thought I had known him, he told me things about his life I would not have supposed.
John grew up in a little community. He had a desire to make something of himself. He struggled to get an education.
He was well employed, he had married his sweetheart, and she was expecting their first baby—everything was just right.
The night the baby was to be born, there were complications. The only doctor was somewhere in the countryside, tending to the sick. After many hours of labor, his wife’s condition became desperate.
Finally the doctor was located. He acted quickly, the baby was born, and everything seemed to be all right. However, some days later, the young mother died from the very infection that the doctor had been treating at another home that night.
Now everything was all wrong. John had lost his wife, and he had no way to tend the baby and do his work too. He grew angry and bitter. “That doctor should not be allowed to practice,” he said. “He brought that infection to my wife. If he had been careful, she would be alive today.”
One night a knock came at his door. A little girl said simply, “Daddy wants to talk to you.”
“Daddy” was the stake president. This spiritual shepherd had been watching his flock. His wise counsel was simple: “John, leave it alone. Nothing you do about it will bring your wife back. Anything you do will make it worse. John, leave it alone.”
My friend wondered how he could leave it alone. Right was right! A terrible wrong had been done, and somebody must pay for it! But he decided at last to follow the counsel of the stake president. He would leave it alone.
Then he told me, “I was an old man before I understood, before I could finally ‘see’ that a poor country doctor—overworked, underpaid, run ragged from patient to patient, with little medicine, no hospital, and few instruments—was struggling to save lives, and succeeding for the most part.
“He had come in a moment of crisis, when two lives hung in the balance, and had acted without delay. I was an old man,” he repeated, “before I finally understood. I would have ruined my life—and the lives of others—if I’d done something.”

I recently traveled to the beautiful island of Moloka’i to attend sacrament meeting and visit with members of the church and others. These sweet people were among the first to send supplies by boat after the fires, including much-needed fuel for generators, to the shores of Lahaina—fuel, that I might add, that is far more expensive on Molokai than on Maui. They understand the meaning of “[loving] thy neighbor as thyself.” [13]

This was a special Sunday for me. I watched a group of friends and family gather together to literally lift Brother Arlan Angco, an amazing husband and faithful father to two teenage daughters, into a specially prepared recliner-chair they brought into the chapel. Though he was terminally suffering from the terrible effects of cancer, he insisted on worshipping in person and partaking of the sacrament with his loving ward ‘ohana. He understood that he would soon meet the same Savior Whose emblems he sought on this particular day.

I will forever treasure watching loved ones ensure he was comfortable as they helped him carefully partake of the bread and water.

I also visited with him and his family in their home that afternoon. It was holy ground. My counselors and I blessed him. Then, with one of my counselors carefully supporting Brother Angco’s hand on his wife’s head, we blessed her as well. He passed away just a little over one week later. I am eternally grateful for this experience. His faith changed me.

I’ve been a loyal reader of the New Era for some time and have always intended to write and say thanks and to send subscriptions to friends who are starved for such delicious spiritual food. However, the procrastination bug seemed to prevent me. Now I have even more to be thankful for. I finally sent a subscription to my dearest friend. I was really apprehensive about sending it to her because I didn’t know what she would think. Being almost 10,000 miles away from someone makes it a bit hard. But after waiting anxiously, I received a letter that said this: “I received the May issue of the New Era, and I read the whole thing in about two hours. I love it! It’s so down to earth, personal, and real. You’ve really shed some light on my life through that magazine. I’m eagerly looking forward to the next issues.”
Can you imagine my excitement to read that from a daughter of God who probably doesn’t even realize who she is? This magazine has helped shed light and love on my life in many ways.
Kathleen PaynterSpeers Point, New South Wales Australia

“The head of the presidential guard has announced that we are going to have a big party because our performance was so great!” shouted one of the guards.
I should have been happy, but as soon as I heard the news, I started to pray. I knew that our celebration would become a drinking party. I was spiritually strong enough not to drink, but I did not want my fellow guards to have a hard time because of me.
Military duty is mandatory for all South Korean young men, so I joined the army right after I finished my full-time mission. I was assigned to the presidential guard. My fellow guardsmen knew that I would never drink any alcoholic beverage because I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. When the party was announced, they started to become nervous because they would be in trouble if I did not drink when our commanding officer gave the order to do so at the party.
There was a tradition that at celebrations the commander would stand before each guard, one at a time, and fill the guard’s glass with liquor. Then the guard would hold up the glass and say, “Thank you, sir!” and drink the liquor at once.
In military life, disobeying any order from a senior officer is insubordination and can cause big trouble not only for the person disobeying but also for the members of his corps. In the worst case, insubordination could even result in being sent to jail, and this made my fellow guards nervous.
The day of the party arrived, and we 10 guards sat around the table. Each had an empty glass in front him. I was sitting in the third chair. Our commander entered and filled the first glass. The guard held up his glass and said, “Thank you, sir!” Then he drank.
Our commander moved to the second guard and did the same. Then it was my turn. I was ready to keep the Word of Wisdom, and I kept praying in my heart for the sake of my fellow guards. When our commanding officer filled my glass, with a loud voice I said, “Thank you, sir!” Then I was going to say I was sorry and could not drink.
At that moment, his secretary entered and said, “Sir, you have a phone call.” Our commander turned to him and said, “I’m busy.”
I was still holding the glass when the secretary added, “Sir, it’s the president.” Our commander replied, “Oh, OK,” and then he immediately left.
Suddenly the second guard switched his empty glass with mine and quickly drank the liquor. Soon afterward our commander returned, saw my empty glass, and said, “Oh, you finished already!” Then he moved to the fourth guard. Everyone took a deep breath and relaxed.

You can also be an influence for good, so that the gospel message will shine through your countenance. I recently heard of a young woman who invited a group of her friends to bring their dates to her home after a dance. One couple stopped on the way to pick up a videotape to watch.

As they played it, the group realized it was an R-rated movie. This young woman became disturbed and excused herself to talk to her parents. They reminded her that R-rated movies are not shown in their home and suggested that someone should turn it off. The young woman said she would do it, and she did. Everyone seemed relieved.

This is a simple incident, but it illustrates a point. A young woman who wanted to be good acted on her desires, and a whole group of young people were spared a little bit of evil. Repeated many times over, until it becomes a pattern, such actions can be an influence that will spread through the Church and through society.

Several readers suggested that a good way to make friends is to become involved in activities, such as seminary or institute, where you can be with other young people who share your goals and standards. By attending seminary or institute classes and activities, you put yourself in a situation where you can meet new people. But don’t just attend. Get involved. Volunteer to help with activities—especially those that focus on service. Friendships will usually develop quite naturally.

Finally, don’t give up. If someone doesn’t want to be your friend, forgive any unkindness, keep smiling, and try again. There are plenty of others—at school, at church, at seminary or institute, in your neighborhood—who would be delighted to have a friend like you.

Readers’ Answers
Pray to Heavenly Father and ask Him to help you. Participate in your ward or branch activities. As you interact with others, soon you will see that you have left shyness behind.
Irene Marinho Mendes,Arsenal Branch, Rio de Janeiro Brazil Niterói Stake
Being timid is not a defect. You need only to be yourself and to be honest. Only in this way are others able to become aware of you and of your good example.
Francesco Pezzoli,Bergamo First Ward, Milan Italy Stake
Pray that you’ll be a better friend to others and ask Heavenly Father to help your weakness turn into a strength (see Ether 12:27). Involve yourself in Church activities. Be true to your friends; respect them for who they are, not what they have. Treat people with kindness and learn about them and their interests.
Cristina G. Dungan,Agoo Third Ward, Agoo Philippines Stake
When I joined the Church, I didn’t know anyone, and everything was new. In seminary, I was able to make true, sincere friends who helped me prepare for my mission.
Elder Eduardo Moreira,Brazil Goiânia Mission
Before going anywhere where there are lots of people, we need to offer a prayer. The Spirit can help us overcome our shyness and make it easier for other people to approach us. We’re never alone when we have the Spirit with us.
Sofía Beatriz Rioja Pantoja,Sarco Ward, Cochabamba Bolivia Cobija Stake
When we try to live the principles of the gospel, it becomes easier to talk to others. After accepting the gospel, I overcame my shyness and made good friendships through reading the scriptures and attending institute. Reading good books, magazines, and especially the scriptures and the words of the living prophets makes us feel good. Attending institute gives us the opportunity to meet other wonderful people.
Darmeli Soares Rech,Fátima Ward, Joinville Brazil Stake
At first I was a bit uncomfortable and felt out of place at Church activities. But as I met other people, I started feeling more a part of things. I realized I wasn’t as shy as I thought. When I showed I was sincerely interested in others, they were interested in me, and we had lots of fun together.
Mauro Germán Soldán,Lanús Second Ward, Buenos Aires Argentina Avellaneda Stake
Shyness may spring from the fear of not being accepted or from a low sense of self-worth. We need to remember that we are children of God and that He loves us—even with all our flaws. We need to pray and seek guidance in overcoming our weaknesses.
Take the first step and show a genuine interest in someone by starting a conversation. And don’t forget to learn people’s names. Help them feel important.
Rosibel Valle de Ochoa,Tegucigalpa Ward, Tegucigalpa Honduras Stake
If you are shy and need good friendships, the first thing you should do is pray and fast and let God know your needs so you can be comforted. Pray that bashfulness and shyness be removed from you. Remember, Luke 1:37 says, “With God nothing shall be impossible.”
Periah Sefulu Sauvao,Lemoli First Ward, Upolu Samoa Faleasiu Stake
It was always difficult for me to interact with others. But when I returned from my mission, I was inspired by the knowledge that I am a child of God and thus can become like Him. I set the following goals: (1) I will always look people in the eye and greet them with a firm handshake, and (2) anytime I feel insecure about interacting with someone, I will stop, pray, approach that person, and strike up a conversation. I know I can overcome my shyness, because the Lord has promised He will “go before [my] face. [He] will be on [my] right hand and on [my] left” and will bear me up (D&C 84:88).
Aguinaldo Alves,Alvorada Ward, Maringá Brazil Stake
The Savior is our best example. Thinking about what He would do has really helped me make friends and has given me unforgettable memories. He was sensitive to the feelings of others and showed His love abundantly.
Carla Sofía Leal Saravia,Arturo Prat Ward, Santiago Chile Lo Prado Stake
I used to be shy, so I know how it feels when nobody talks to you. Since I’ve been a member of the Church, I’ve developed a desire to make everybody at church—member or not—feel welcome. I try to talk to anyone I see at church for the first time and help him or her feel at ease. Because of this habit, I have overcome my shyness and made a lot of friends, both young and old.
Haydee B. Sebastian,Santiago Second Ward, Santiago Philippines Stake

When I finished primary school, my father taught me to make decisions for myself. I had to travel more than 150 km to reach the city center of Mweka in the Kasai province of DR Congo, where I started secondary school in humanitarian studies with priests of the Catholic diocese of Mweka.
Once I finished secondary school, I had to follow the Catholic faith to continue my humanitarian studies; hence from the fifth and sixth humanitarian year we were prepared to embrace the Catholic faith. After completing the humanitarian cycle, we had the privilege of preparing ourselves as aspirants with the Josephite fathers.
When starting my first year in philosophy, my older brother who was my tutor informed the priest that I should not continue as an aspirant among the Josephite fathers. Not accepting the opposition, the Josephite fathers, through my godfather, asked me to abandon the path of consecration in the Catholic Church for something else.
It was then that I moved to Kinshasa to commence my studies in law. Once I arrived in 2007, I enrolled at the University of Kinshasa. In my first year in 2008, we experienced a total strike at the University of Kinshasa. During the strike, I left the neighborhood where I lived to go to the commune of Masina to stay with my older brother.
And once in Masina, during the strike, I discovered The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the neighborhood where I lived with my older brother.
I made the decision to go to a meetinghouse of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on a Sunday. When I arrived at the building, a brother greeted me at the door and invited me to come inside. I then participated in the Sunday service and afterwards I was placed in contact with the full-time missionaries.
I took the missionary lessons for two weeks. After being taught, I had a strong desire to be baptized.
However, this was the beginning of strong opposition from within my family and my older brother who was like a guardian to me. He told the village to inform everyone that I wanted to become a member, that it is a bad church, and that no one should support me or contribute money to support my academic studies.
Consequently, I dropped out of law school and began preparing for a full-time mission. Thanks to Bishop Mutambay’s advice and direction, I remained a member of the Church despite opposition and began preparing for my full-time mission. I served in the Lubumbashi DR Congo from June 2013 to June 2015.
After serving as a full-time missionary, I came home and was fortunate to find the Church’s inspired Perpetual Education Fund program which allowed me to achieve my goals in completing my law studies through this program instituted by President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008).
Today, I am a lawyer. My wife, Mireille, and I are parents of four children: Ross Power Kongo Kongo, Ron Cross Kongo Munemeka, Blacke Prestones Kongo Ibula, and Brian Lesser Congo. I accepted adversity by relying on my faith without knowing what was going to happen to me when I was abandoned for having chosen the restored Church.
I know that God is our Heavenly Father and despite difficulties and opposition He is there to help us. I will never be disappointed with the path I took and my decision to join His church.
I know this was the best decision I ever made. I will be forever grateful. Joseph Smith is the prophet of the Restoration, and I am grateful to be in the Church of Jesus Christ.