Gospel Story Finder

Elder de la Cruz retired from his job early in order to serve. He and his wife had attended a meeting in Mexico City and heard Elder Lino Álvarez of the Seventy encourage couples to serve full-time missions. Facing the loss of some retirement benefits by retiring early, Elder and Sister de la Cruz nevertheless felt the Spirit telling them that now was the right time for them. “We did lose some benefits,” he says, “but our Heavenly Father has given us so much more. We decided to share with our brothers and sisters what we feel for Him.”
“For me it has been a great happiness and joy to come to know and teach these brothers and sisters in Palenque—and to even bring more members to the Church,” says Sister de la Cruz. “I feel greatly strengthened by being with them.”

When it was announced in 2002 that missionary work would become the responsibility of the bishops, I marveled. I’d been one. It seemed to me they were already carrying a load close to their limits in ministering to the members and directing the organizations in the ward.

One bishop I knew saw it not as an added duty but as an opportunity to draw the ward together in a great cause where every member became a missionary. He called a ward mission leader. He met with the missionaries himself every Saturday to learn about their work, to encourage them, and to learn about the progress of their investigators. The ward council found ways for organizations and quorums to use service experiences as missionary preparation. And as a judge in Israel, he helped young people feel the blessings of the Atonement to keep them pure.

Recently I asked how he explained the surge of convert baptisms in his ward and the increase in the number of young people ready and eager to take the gospel of Jesus Christ out to the world. He said it seemed to him that it was not so much the duty anyone performed but the way they all became one in their enthusiasm to bring people into the community of Saints that had brought them such happiness.

There are some things that form a common bond between Santosh and other teenagers all over the world. One of those things is the gospel. Santosh was introduced to the gospel via his uncle, Dr. Edwin Dharma Raju, who joined the Church in Samoa when he was on assignment from the government of India.

When Dr. Raju returned to India, he wanted his family to hear the gospel message, and he wrote to Church headquarters for missionaries to be sent to his family. Instead, Dr. Raju and his wife went on a short-term mission to teach the family themselves.

Santosh was eight years old when he and several family members accepted the gospel. The water tank on the roof of his Uncle Henry’s building was scrubbed and painted to serve as a baptismal font. The men and boys who attended the baptism were dressed in traditional white, loose-fitting Indian jackets and trousers. The women were dressed in white saris, the standard dress of Indian women, consisting of a long piece of cloth draped over the shoulder and wrapped around the body. The newly baptized family was to form the nucleus of the branch in Hyderabad.

Santosh is now a teacher in that branch. He and his brother Sanjay, 12, and sister Sunitha, 16, are the only youth there, but they take a very active part. Santosh arrives at the mission home, where church services are held, a half hour early each Sunday to prepare the sacrament. He is always ready to give a talk or teach a lesson to any age group. Sunitha is the branch chorister and teaches a Primary class, and Sanjay takes on various assignments and is often the first one to bear his testimony on fast Sunday.

Santosh is also preparing for a mission. “I have thought a lot about a mission,” he says. “I used to dream of going to a very remote island or a place where I could convert and baptize everyone. Now that they are calling Indian youth to serve in India, I would like to serve a mission here.”

His dreams also include medical school, which is extremely difficult to get into in his country. Of the 50,000 students who take examinations each year to apply, only 2,000 will be accepted. Only those with the highest grades can enter medical school.

Santosh, like many Indian children, has been going to school since he was three. He will graduate from “college,” the equivalent of American high school, at 17. In the meantime, he carries a stiff academic load.

His day starts before 6 A.M., when he hurries off for an hour session with a tutor. Since his classes at the private Christian school contain anywhere from 40–70 students, the time he spends with his tutor and four or five other students is essential.

He then comes home, prepares for school, reads the paper, and hops on the school bus. Once there, he attends eight classes, among them math, physics, biology, and three different language classes.

Santosh is in the 10th class, where it is crucial to be at the top. He has even had to give up most of the sports he likes so well, like cricket and badminton, in order to excel. He has to take major tests every month and exams every three months to determine his position in college.

After school, Santosh does homework and a little recreational reading until it’s time for the evening meal at 8:00 P.M. Then at 9:00 he’s off for another hour and a half with the tutor.

Although school takes up a major portion of his day, he still finds time for the Church and for scripture study. “I have a very strong testimony,” he says. “I thank my Heavenly Father for it. I know that the Book of Mormon, the Holy Bible, the Doctrine and Covenants, and Pearl of Great Price are companion scriptures and the word of God.”

That knowledge, plus the support of his family, are enough to sustain him in his minority status. “I hope I will have the strength to resist the temptations,” he says. “I love this church, and don’t ever want to go away from it.”

On the plains of Paraguay sits the tiny village of Mistolar. It is located on a large stretch of land in a desolate area near the Pilcomayo River. There in this small farming community is a branch of the Church. In June of 1987, with the melting snows of the Andes, the river which was their lifeline for crops was also the source of their destruction. It overflowed its banks not once but twice, forcing the Saints to relocate and then relocate again. They lost everything: their chapel, their homes, their gardens and fences. For a month they waded in knee-deep water simply trying to stay alive.
The Area Presidency, hearing of their plight, dispatched supplies, and Elder Ted E. Brewerton of the Quorum of Seventy led the rescue party in a grueling two-day journey.
When the group arrived they were warmly welcomed by the women and children because the men, for the most part, were away hunting and fishing.
The people had little food and clothing to sustain them in that freezing winter weather, and their surviving livestock included three sheep, a few chickens, a goat, and a scrawny dog. At night their makeshift reed-and-stick homes offered very little protection.
Clearly their situation was bleak, yet the villagers were smiling. Their peace was a stark contrast to their destitute circumstances.
How were they sustaining their spirits under such difficulties? The answer came when Elder Brewerton asked the young branch president, “Do you have any sick among your members?”
The young priesthood leader paused and said, “I don’t think so; let me ask the other brethren.” A few minutes later he answered, “There are thirty-nine of us who hold the Melchizedek Priesthood. We watch over and bless our people.”
That evening at the branch meeting a sister offered a prayer, one Elder Brewerton will always remember. She said, “Father, we have lost our beautiful chapel, we have lost our clothing, we no longer have homes, … we don’t have any materials to build anything, we have to walk ten kilometers to get a drink of dirty river water and don’t have a bucket. But we desire to express to thee our gratitude for our good health, for our happiness, and for our Church membership. Father, we want thee to know that under any conditions, we will be true, strong, and faithful to the covenants we made to thee when we were baptized” (in Heidi S. Swinton, Pioneer Spirit [1996], 10; see 8–11).
When all around them had washed away, the Saints in Mistolar held firmly to the power of the priesthood and its spiritual blessings (see D&C 107:18). I can picture that Relief Society sister standing up to thank the Lord in prayer for all they had. They had practically nothing—not even a bucket. But they had their covenants, they had their Church membership, their commitment to Christ. They were blessed to become “partakers of the glories.” In the Doctrine and Covenants we read, “Blessed are you for receiving mine everlasting covenant, even the fulness of my gospel, sent forth unto the children of men, that they might … be made partakers of the glories which are to be revealed in the last days” (D&C 66:2).

Then one day in the spring, we found Bimbo stretched out in the backyard as though he were dead. Does he have scarlet fever? I wondered. On the way to see the veterinarian, I remember praying as hard as I could that Bimbo wouldn’t die. The veterinarian told us our dog had been poisoned and would have to stay in the hospital for several days. Later when we took Bimbo home, we gave him love and attention and continued to pray for him. Our prayers were answered and he did recover.

—Kevin Leach, 20, from Sparks, Nevada, spent a summer as an emergency medical technician intern in Atlanta, Georgia. He was able to associate with a lot of other people in the medical field. He came to see that besides his EMT and paramedic training, a nursing degree would be important. Since returning, he’s taken the additional courses necessary, and will soon graduate with three degrees.
“I’m not only going to be able to be a paramedic out on the streets, but I’ll be able to be a nurse in the hospitals, to ride on Life Flights, to teach emergency medicine up to a certain point, and to move up into administration. What I discovered was that some extra work can open a lot of doors.”

Are you in the right place, or have you pegged yourself? One young girl was getting into her mid-twenties and without opportunity. I urged her to move from the home that she shared with several older girls, leave the office as stenographer, and go to college where she would meet people of the right age. Sometime later I happened one day to be on that campus, and here she came to me, bubbling like a fresh new breeze, with a bright ribbon tying her hair and an optimistic and happy personality. A few months later I was invited to a temple marriage. It may not always work that well, but it did in this case.

LaRae is Gene’s wife and the mother of two teenage children. She usually gets very tired before the day is over but on her perfect day she felt very invigorated. She was able to accomplish many of the things she wanted to do. “But,” she added, “by trying to keep a day perfect, I realized some of the habits I had gotten into. For instance, I would suddenly get mad at Gene for some silly, insignificant reason. It was just a habit with me. Now I’m working on correcting it.”

Once while I was visiting a class of young women, the teacher asked the class to write their top-10 goals in life. Then she asked them to share what they had written. Abby, who had recently turned 12, was sitting next to me. This was Abby’s list:
Go to college.
Become an interior designer.
Go on a mission to India.
Get married in the temple to a returned missionary.
Have five kids and a home.
Send my kids on missions and to college.
Become a “cookie-giving” grandma.
Spoil the grandchildren.
Learn more about the gospel and enjoy life.
Return to live with Heavenly Father.
Abby had a vision of the plan Heavenly Father has for all of us. When your path is focused on that most important goal of returning to Heavenly Father, you will get there!

Lindsey Walch and Carson Evers, two 17-year-olds from the Santa Cruz California Stake, had to decide what the Sabbath meant to them. When challenges came, they made their decision and found greater understanding and peace.
Lindsey has played competitive soccer since she was nine years old. She enjoyed playing at a high level of competition, but at one point she felt she needed a break, so she entered a lower-level league. Eventually, however, she began craving a challenge again, so she tried out for a team at a higher level that played on Sunday.
“While I was trying out, my dad told me, ‘You really have to think about this right now,’” she says. “So I was thinking about it.” She recognized how the decision to play on Sunday could affect her spirituality. “I knew that I wanted the Church to come first. So I decided that it was really the best thing for me to not play on Sundays.”
The decision was difficult because she loves her sport, and like most good athletes, she loves to play with the best in order to stretch herself. In addition, the higher the level you play at, the more likely you are to play in college.
“I was talking to the coach,” she says, “and he said that I would have to play on Sundays. I told him that I couldn’t play on the team, and it was really hard for me because I wanted to play at that higher level. And I just felt really bad.”
A few weeks later one of Lindsey’s friends told her about a high-level team she played on whose coach was more flexible. “I went and talked to him about it,” she says, “and he said that I could just play on Saturdays.”
Lindsey says that keeping the Sabbath day holy makes a huge difference in her life. “This is a day that Heavenly Father wants us to keep separate, to keep for Him,” she says. “I think it calms you down. If I have one day just to rest, it really helps me out.”
And there are other blessings. “It’s nice just to think,” she says, “because sometimes you don’t have time to really think about what’s going on in your life and what all the stress is and everything. You don’t really have time to think about Jesus Christ because you’re so worried about other things that are going on right now. I think Sunday really helps me with that.”
When she was 15, she used her time on Sunday to work on goals for her Personal Progress. “Every Sunday I would do two or three of the goals,” she says. “I was able to get done with it a lot faster, and it actually worked out really well.” In this way, she met her goal of receiving her Young Womanhood Recognition medallion.
Now that she has earned her award, she continues to use her Sabbath day to draw closer to Heavenly Father by attending church, reading scriptures, being with her family, and resting from school, soccer, and stress.

Last spring we announced our 1971 summer collegiate intern-scholarship competition. Soon the entries began to come in. We carefully read each one and tried to consider the kind of staff member each entrant would make, and then we did considerable interviewing among the finalists.
The three winners—Dale Van Atta, 19, Rochester, New York; Margaret Ellis, 20, Montreal, Quebec; and Anna Stone, 24, Blacksburg, Virginia—have more than fulfilled our expectations. They have brought youthful perspective and vigor. Dale had previously won awards in the United States and England for his editing and writing. Anna had successfully presented her own photography exhibits and had one year’s experience in designing books for Hallmark Cards. Margaret had worked as a secretary on the Montreal Star, for which she occasionally did a guest column.
Now the summer is past, and they’re back in school mastering their trades. But the New Era won’t forget them. Who else but Dale would write a seventeen-page article on Frisbees? Or will any of us ever mispronounce Muntreal again, after having worked alongside Margaret? Then there is the memory of Anna—her round glasses and photographic eyes that have exposed to us forever the fresh beauty in a drop of water or a ray of light.
You will be seeing and reading their work in future issues. We gratefully thank our co-sponsors in the project: the YWMIA and Sigma Gamma Chi and Lambda Delta Sigma, the Church collegiate fraternity and sorority organizations.

There was only one thing that could really make me feel Christmas cheer that year, and there it was, sitting in the mailbox. A note from the mailman, stating that there were packages from the United States waiting for me in the post office.
Now expensive presents don’t mean that much to me. But that year, even a paper clip from home made me want to dance around and sing Christmas carols at the top of my lungs. Because of a mail strike, I hadn’t heard a thing from my family in the two months since I’d arrived in the mission field, and I was dying to hear how they were doing.
As for me, I wasn’t doing so well. The mission field hadn’t quite turned out to be what I’d expected. I’d studied Spanish in college and had even taken classes in Mexico, so I pictured myself reeling off the most spiritual discussions with perfect grammar and accent. Instead, my first assignment was in an area where they speak a unique dialect called “Valenciano.” Even my native Spanish companion couldn’t understand it.
The cold didn’t help either. When I received my mission call to southern Spain, I pictured sundrenched beaches and orange blossoms, not the waist-high snow drifts that confronted us daily.
All that wouldn’t have made much difference if the work had been going well, but the fact was that there hadn’t been a baptism in that particular town for more than a year, and as hard as we tried, we weren’t getting in many doors.
What I needed more than anything was to know that someone back home still loved me, and I was ecstatic to find that there, in the post office just a few blocks away from my apartment, lay tangible proof that they did. Since the post office was already closed for the day, we decided we’d go out early the next morning, make the visits we’d planned, then return a bit earlier than usual to pick up the packages. We had to do it before noon, since the post office closed at noon on December 24th and would remain closed until the 26th.
It wasn’t even difficult the next morning to crawl from under my six blankets and emerge into the subfreezing temperatures of our basement apartment. I sang as I fixed breakfast, then proceeded to dress myself in everything I’d packed in my suitcase. It took a lot to battle the wind and the sleet. Although I’d lost about five pounds, I looked like I’d gained thirty thanks to my mega-layers of clothing. And instead of feeling frustrated when I looked in the mirror, I started giggling.
My companion and I set out, and the warmth that radiated from the thought of those packages sitting in the post office seemed to keep me toasty despite the chilly weather. As we knocked on the doors, I flashed a genuine smile that I saw reflected time and time again in the faces of those we visited. People were actually inviting us in! They were sharing their bars of turron, an incredible Spanish almond holiday treat, with us, and better still, they were listening to the message of the Savior that we wanted so much to give them that day.
We were down to the last house on our list—it belonged to a couple who seldom attended church but were very nice about referring us to their friends and often invited us in to warm up and dry off. Sister Boluda always had a smile and words of encouragement for us, and that was why we were stunned to see her answer the door on one of the happiest days of the year with red-swollen eyes and tears running down her cheeks.
“Oh sisters!” she cried. “How wonderful for you to come to visit me today. I’m always so lonely at Christmas. Won’t you come in and cheer me up?”
We entered her apartment and held her hands as she tearfully poured out the reason for her loneliness. She had a loving husband, but they’d never been able to have children of their own, and Christmastime seemed to emphasize the absence of little ones. Could we please stay and share a bite to eat with her? She would feel so much better if we could.
We agreed without hesitation, and a little while later, after we’d eaten, read the Christmas story in the Book of Mormon, and sang a number of Christmas carols, we left her house. Sister Boluda was smiling again, and she seemed to glow with the warmth of the season.
It wasn’t until we looked at our watches on the way home that we realized the post office was probably closed. It was past noon, but we ran back to the post office anyway, thinking that perhaps it would be so busy that they would have to stay open a few extra hours.
No such luck. Alcoy was a small town, and it would have been hard to muster up enough business to keep the place open for an extra 15 minutes, let alone a full two hours. Whatever my family had to say to me, whatever they had to send to me, would have to wait until the day after Christmas.
The sky seemed to grow even darker as we trudged through the snow. I bowed my head to shield my face from the wind and tried to brush back the hair that had fallen in my eyes. That was a mistake. My blond curls had frozen into spikey icicles, and they broke off in jagged hunks when I touched them.
Back in our dreary little apartment there would be no Christmas cheer to greet us. Everything that usually put me in the Christmas mood—lights, trees, brightly wrapped presents, stockings, small children—would be only vague memories within the cold, dark walls of our flat.
But you know what? I wasn’t upset. I wasn’t even a little annoyed. By not getting my family’s gifts on time, I received something far greater—it would change me for the rest of my mission and for the rest of my life.
I realized that happiness comes from the warmth within your heart and has nothing to do with the temperature outside. I also learned that when you carry that warmth within, it radiates outward to all those you meet and gives them something to glow on.
That Christmas Eve I realized that my first mission assignment was not to a mean, freezing little city, but a beautiful, expectant little town, just waiting for the warmth the light of the gospel can bring. It was my attitude, not the temperature, that needed to be raised.
Still, I was grateful for the packages with gloves, hat, and thermal underwear I opened the day after Christmas.

Revelation comes on the Lord’s timetable, which often means we must move forward in faith, even though we haven’t received all the answers we desire. As a General Authority, I was assigned to help reorganize a stake presidency under the direction of Elder Ezra Taft Benson. After praying, interviewing, studying, and praying again, Elder Benson asked if I knew who the new president would be. I said I had not received that inspiration yet. He looked at me for a long time and replied he hadn’t either. However, we were inspired to ask three worthy priesthood holders to speak in the Saturday evening session of conference. Moments after the third speaker began, the Spirit prompted me that he should be the new stake president. I looked over at President Benson and saw tears streaming down his face. Revelation had been given to both of us—but only by continuing to seek our Heavenly Father’s will as we moved forward in faith.

I’ve always been a curious person.
Growing up, I had big questions about how the earth was created, how human life was formed, and why we’re on this planet. When I learned about and accepted the gospel of Jesus Christ at age 14, I found so many answers and greater meaning for my life. I did my best to keep God’s commandments and felt real joy living the gospel.
I continued progressing in many exciting ways—I served a mission, attended university, and more. But as I approached age 30, I became discouraged that I hadn’t had the opportunity to get married. Although I saw many people around me choose to live contrary to the law of chastity, I was firm in my commitment to keep my covenants and prepare for a temple marriage.
I believed that happiness comes from obedience (see Mosiah 2:41). But as I looked around at my friends who chose not to keep the law of chastity, they seemed happier than me. They were having new experiences with dating and relationships, and I felt a sense of unfairness. As a curious and well-educated person, I was frustrated that my friends now seemed wiser and more mature than me.
The commandments began to feel less like a blessing and more like a roadblock keeping me from living my best life.
I was tempted to walk away from the idea of a temple marriage and a gospel-centered life after a while. The law of chastity just felt too hard to keep when I was surrounded by a world that didn’t view physical intimacy the same way I did.
When I was struggling the most, my institute teacher shared a story about having the missionaries over for dinner. He shared how his whole family prepared for and participated in the spiritual thought the missionaries shared.
In that moment, I realized that more than anything, I wanted to raise a family that could enjoy the blessings of the gospel all together.
It all clicked. The law of chastity wasn’t a roadblock keeping me from experiencing the gift of sexuality—it was a blessing keeping me pointed toward the temple and my eternal family.
Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “Is it wrong to have rules? Of course not. We all need them every day. But it is wrong to focus only on rules instead of focusing on the Savior. You need to know the whys and the hows and then consider the consequences of your choices.”
When I remembered the Savior and His sacrifice for me, I decided that the blessings of keeping my covenants, including the law of chastity and being married in the temple, would be worth the wait. True happiness isn’t about doing whatever you want. It’s about being worthy to have the companionship of the Holy Ghost.
There can be other instances when we feel tempted to break our covenants. Living the gospel isn’t always easy! But the covenants we make and the commandments we keep were put in place by a loving Heavenly Father who has our best interests at heart. We can trust that He knows so much more than we do and that following Him over the world will always lead us to joy.
I feel grateful that I recently fell in love and was married in the temple. I’m glad I was dedicated to the commandments so I can now enjoy the blessings of eternal marriage.

At a school party in Melbourne a few years ago, Emily Denning walked up to Lisa Bignell and said something shocking.

Why was Lisa shocked? Well, the two girls had never been more than just acquaintances, classmates. So you could have knocked Lisa over with a feather when Emily walked up to her and said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you about this for a while. I want to know more about your church. I want to become a Mormon.”

Lisa says, “I sort of jumped because it was really unexpected. I guess I never thought she’d be interested.”

It turns out that Emily had known for several years that Lisa was LDS. It also happened that Emily had been searching for the right church for about six years. “I was trying to find the truth, something that sounded right to me, not what other people thought I should believe. I wanted to find out for myself,” she says.

Emily visited a number of different churches, but none of them “clicked” as she puts it. In the meantime, Lisa’s family was participating in their ward’s “set-a-date” program (where members are encouraged to set a target date for having someone prepared to receive the missionaries). “We had been praying for a couple of weeks, when Emily came up to me. Because we never really hung around at school together, we didn’t know each other a whole lot. I was shocked, but then I thought immediately, This is an opportunity. I’d better take it.”

So Lisa invited Emily to a fireside where they were showing the film “How Rare a Possession.” Emily says, “I figured, well, there’s only one way to find out if this is right or not. I felt even before I came to church that I was going to join. It was just a feeling I had. When I walked into the chapel, everything just fell into place. I had this really good feeling.”

That good feeling was just reinforced as Emily continued to attend church and firesides and took the missionary lessons. Her only regrets since her baptism? Emily looks at little children in church and sometimes envies them, “growing up in church, with Primary and seminary, Young Women and all the rest of it.” She wishes she had been a member all her life. She knows how she’ll raise her own children someday.

Actually, the missionary work never ends. Emily wants to be married in the temple and raise her children in the Church. Ben plans to go on a mission. At last report Sally was working to introduce a friend to the gospel. But first it has to begin. And it begins with friendship. It begins with letting your membership and your values be known. And it begins with faith that if you do your part, the Lord will do his.

Lisa stood in the doorway of Grandpa’s bedroom. She wanted to talk to him, but he was sound asleep. There was so much to say and so little time. Grandpa couldn’t even get out of bed now.
“I’ll be thankful if I get to see another crocus,” he had said. Those words brought back vividly all the hurt and pain she had felt when Keekee, her pet hamster, died.
Lisa hurried out of the house and went directly to the far end of the garden where Keekee was buried. Since it was mid-January, the plants were bare. Not a leaf or bud anywhere. She and Grandpa had put Keekee to rest between the red rose bushes. She swallowed hard, remembering it all.
“I won’t ever see Keekee again,” she had cried.
“Death isn’t forever, Lisa,” Grandpa comforted.
After Grandpa talked to her, some of the pain seemed to ease.
“By loving Keekee,” he said, “he will always live in your heart. All else can fade away but love is forever.”
They stood beside the grave. “What would you like to say on the marker?” Grandpa had asked.
Lisa hesitated. “Name and dates, I guess.”
“Don’t be ashamed to say what’s in your heart,” encouraged Grandpa.
Lisa looked into Grandpa’s warm brown eyes, then down at the ground. “I love you, Keekee …” she whispered.
Grandpa smiled. “Each time you read those words, Lisa, your memory of Keekee will come alive. Dying is a fact of life. One day we all must go away for a while.”
“Will that happen to you, too, Grandpa?”
“Yes, Lisa, but you must remember that separation is not a final thing and that someday we’ll all be together again.”
Now it is Grandpa’s turn to go, Lisa thought sadly. All the pain of parting came back again. Once more she looked over the garden. Every year she and Grandpa had planted bulbs along both sides of the walkway but now Grandpa was too ill. She remembered how one by one she had handed Grandpa the crocus bulbs and watched him place them into freshly dug holes. Then he covered them gently, almost with a prayer.
Lisa went back to Grandpa’s room. He seemed to still be asleep but then he opened his eyes. “Is that you, Lisa?” he asked.
“Yes, Grandpa, is there anything I can do for you? Anything you want?”
“Just sit and talk to me,” he said, taking her hand.
“The garden misses you, Grandpa. We don’t want you to go.”
“It will only be for a little while. In Heavenly Father’s time it will only be like a winter away. Plants sleep during the winter and wake up in the spring. So it is with people. We are parted for a while and come together again in a world where there is no more separation.”
Grandpa’s hand became limp and he fell asleep.
Lisa went out into the garden again.
“Grandpa loves you,” she spoke to the lilac tree and the rosebushes as though they could understand. “If you could give him a flower, it would make him so happy.” But only the silence and the cold wind answered her. Every day after that, Lisa carefully examined each plant, but there wasn’t even a sign of a swollen node.
Mother had asked Lisa to help in preparing the house for company who would want to visit with Grandpa. “Friends and relatives will come to see Grandpa often,” she said, “and you must keep the porch and steps clean.”
Many people did come to see Grandpa, and each day he seemed to sleep a little longer. Sometimes he didn’t know Lisa was there beside him. One day as she was sweeping the porch, the pain of losing Grandpa seemed to grow so big within Lisa that she thought it would burst. She began to cry. The broom slipped from her hand and fell beside the steps. As she stooped to pick it up, something caught her eye. It was half-hidden under the porch and behind the steps. She got on her knees and could hardly believe what she saw. In a sheltered place, well-protected from the wind and cold, was a purple crocus poking up from the dark earth. Although it was still winter, a flower had been born.
Lisa rushed to Grandpa’s bedroom where he lay sleeping. “Please wake up, Grandpa, and see what I found!” she cried. But Grandpa didn’t stir. Lisa waited and waited. She was about to leave the room when Grandpa opened his eyes.
“Look, Grandpa. Look what I have for you!” Lisa said softly.
“A crocus,” he whispered. “How wonderful!” He took the flower and held it to his face. “Where did you find it, Lisa? We took up all the bulbs last fall.”
“I guess we missed this one. It was in the corner by the steps.”
Grandpa smiled. “Lisa, did I ever tell you the story about the tree that began to sprout leaves in the winter? At the time, people called it a miracle. It brought new hope to many who needed it. Later it was discovered that a steam pipe near the tree had a leak and the warmth made the tree think it was spring—time to wake up and time to show its leaves. People talked about it for months afterward. Many felt it was a message from God, telling them that they should never despair.”
Lisa sat quietly thinking about the miracle tree. She looked down at Grandpa, who had fallen asleep again, the crocus still in his hand. Lisa stood beside the bed for a long time. Slowly some of the pain she felt began to ease. Grandpa’s going away didn’t hurt quite as much now. She knew that one day they would be together again.
“I love you, Grandpa,” she whispered, recalling his words, All else can fade away but love is forever.

Some years ago I had the opportunity to address a business convention in Dallas, Texas, sometimes called “the city of churches.” After the convention, I took a sightseeing bus ride about the city’s suburbs. Our driver would comment, “On the left you see the Methodist church,” or “There on the right is the Catholic cathedral.”
As we passed a beautiful red brick building situated upon a hill, the driver exclaimed, “That building is where the Mormons meet.” A lady from the rear of the bus asked, “Driver, can you tell us something more about the Mormons?” The driver steered the bus to the side of the road, turned about in his seat, and replied, “Lady, all I know about the Mormons is that they meet in that red brick building. Is there anyone on this bus who knows anything about the Mormons?”
I gazed at the expression on each person’s face for some sign of recognition, some desire to comment. I found nothing—not a sign. Then I realized the truth of the statement, “When the time for decision arrives, the time for preparation is past.” For the next fifteen minutes I had the privilege of sharing with others my testimony concerning The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

It was Thursday night, Mom and Dad’s regular night to work at the Cardston temple. I was in my teens, like you young women. My grandmother, who was living with us, was away, so I would be home alone. As they left, Dad hugged me and said, “Now, Sharon, be in good company.”
I thought, “What is he thinking? Doesn’t he know I’ll be here by myself?” And then I realized—that is exactly what he was thinking.
Standing in holy places is all about being in good company, whether you are alone or with others. It’s being where the Holy Ghost is our companion—alone or in a crowd. When we determine within ourselves that we will control our thoughts and our actions and be the best we can possibly be, the best of life will come to us.

One day my missionary companion and I were given a referral to teach a man who lived in a village called Tema, near the beautiful city of Accra, Ghana. The numbering of the houses in that village was not quite accurate, so we were given a written description to help us locate the house.
When we arrived in the village, we followed the directions but could not find the man because there seemed to be many houses that fit that same description. Feeling confused, we decided to knock on doors in the neighborhood to ask, but no one seemed to know the man we were looking for. I had the prompting to ask Heavenly Father for help.
After we prayed, I had the feeling that we would find the man we were looking for, so we intensified our efforts. Still, we did not find him. We got tired and decided to return to our proselyting area because we had other appointments. When we got to the taxi park, the taxi driver who had brought us to the village saw the disappointed looks on our faces and asked if we had found who we were looking for. Our answer was, of course, no.
He suggested we go inside a school that stood on the corner and ask there. We told him that was not the description we had been given, but he insisted. We got out of the taxi and headed to the school—not because we thought we would find anyone, but just to please our concerned friend.
As we started walking toward the administration building at the school, a little boy came running in our direction. He smiled and told us that he and his brother were the only members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints living in this area and that he could help us.
My companion and I looked at each other in disbelief. It was a miracle. The boy helped us find the man we were looking for, and eventually he accepted the gospel and was baptized.
This experience taught me that Heavenly Father answers prayers in His own time and in His own way. When we do not get immediate answers to our prayers, we can exercise faith in Him and learn to be patient.

I was working the night shift at the hospital when I first heard about the gospel. Some of the workers began discussing religion one night, and of course each one thought his church was true, although each believed in different doctrines. I knew they couldn’t all be right, but I said I didn’t think it mattered which church you belonged to, as long as you believed in God and Christ.
I had been active in a protestant faith for fifteen years and tried to live all the teachings of the Bible as I understood them. One day our minister said that God did not reveal himself through prophets anymore, but only through scripture. When he said that, the Spirit spoke to me so loudly that it almost seemed as if others could hear it too and said, “That’s not true.” I didn’t know what that meant, so I didn’t mention it to anyone.
Then, in our hospital conversation, one brave nurse dared to say that the Mormon Church was true because it had a prophet at the head to guide it. “A prophet in this day and age?” I thought disdainfully, and I let her know I didn’t believe it.
“I can prove it,” she said. And she brought me a book to read—the Book of Mormon. I was amazed at what I read, and as I continued I felt a burning in my bosom just as I had when I read the Bible. When I read Moroni’s exhortation to ask God the Eternal Father if the book was true, I decided I would do just that. I never really thought that the Lord cared enough about me to let me know. I just asked because I believed in God and Jesus.
That night in a dream the Bible and the golden plates were brought before my face. The plates were shining so bright they were like the sun. I began to understand in my dream that both were true, but that the plates were more true and more pure. When I awoke it was with a testimony. Then the nurse gave me the Doctrine and Covenants to read, and when I had finished it, I knew I wanted to be a member of the church that had received so many truths in this dispensation.
I attended a Latter-day Saint service, not knowing how I would be received as a black woman in a church that was, for all I knew, all white. I went only because I knew it was true. But everyone was very friendly, warm, and loving.
I took the six missionary discussions from two lovely lady missionaries, but then my husband wouldn’t let me be baptized because he couldn’t understand the changes in my life. Now I was torn inside, knowing where Christ’s true church was, and not being able to join it. About eight months later I decided I would not attend my former church anymore. I would fast and pray and contribute to the Latter-day Saint church, even if I was never baptized.
After about a year, on a fast Sunday, my husband told me he would approve my baptism. That day and the day of my baptism were two of the happiest days of my life. I’ll always be grateful for the nurse who gave me a Book of Mormon. She started me on the path to eternal life, and I know that if I am faithful and endure to the end, I will have a place in His kingdom.