Gospel Story Finder

When Kahn turned 4, we holidayed in our homeland of Samoa, where we reconnected with Kahn’s birth family. They welcomed us with open arms, and Kahn’s birth grandmother wept when she recognised him. “Your son is gorgeous,” she said. “He’s so active, and he looks like he enjoys his food, too.”

It was an emotional reunion. They thanked us for loving and nurturing Kahn—and then they asked if we had room in our lives for another child.

My husband and I were astonished.

We discovered that Kahn’s birth mother had another baby. Naree Alalafaga was 5 months old at the time and, again, her family wanted more for this child than they were able to offer.

My mother’s words echoed softly in my mind: you reap what you sow.

It wasn’t by chance we met our miracle daughter this way. The Lord knows our deepest desires, and what is best for us. So, when our reunion with Kahn’s birth family brought a precious addition—his baby sister—to our home, it just felt right.

I hold in sacred memory two priesthood bearers who had qualified for the Spirit of God to go with them on the errand to which the Lord called them. They had found the restored gospel themselves in America. They were the Lord’s servants who first spoke of that gospel to two of my European ancestors.

One of those ancestors was a young girl living on a small farm in Switzerland. Another was a young man, an orphan and an immigrant to the United States from Germany, living in St. Louis, Missouri.

Both of them heard a priesthood holder testify of the restored gospel—for the girl by the fireplace of her little home in Switzerland, and for the boy it was sitting in the balcony of a rented hall in America. Both of them knew by the Spirit that the message those elders brought to them was true.

The boy and the girl chose to be baptized. The two of them met for the first time on the dusty trail years later, walking hundreds of miles to the mountains of western America. They talked as they walked. What they talked about was the miraculous blessing that in all the world, the servants of God had found them and even more miraculous, that they knew their message was true.

They fell in love and were married. And because of a testimony of the Spirit, which began as they heard the words of priesthood holders under the influence of the Holy Ghost, they were sealed for eternity by priesthood power. I am among the tens of thousands of descendants of that boy and that girl who bless the names of two priesthood holders who brought the ministrations of the Spirit of God with them as they climbed the hill in Switzerland and rose to speak in that meeting in St. Louis.

Because Shellee is always trying, people are drawn to her. For example, in ninth grade Shellee wanted to be a cheerleader. When it came time for tryout practices, she went but struggled trying to understand all the instructions. Luckily, her bubbly personality and eagerness to learn won her the admiration of the other girls and one varsity cheerleader in particular.
Michelle Shoell, then a junior, took Shellee home with her every night that week to practice with her. Shellee could do the moves; she just needed help combining the moves with the words. “She is one of the most sparkling people I’ve ever met,” Michelle says, “and I wanted to see her make it.”
Before the final tryouts, Michelle even told the coach, “I don’t really care if I make it as long as Shellee does.” Both girls made the squad.

My husband and I recently completed a project which to us serves as a kind of analogy for celestial family building—we built a house.
From the time when both of us were young and we didn’t even know each other, we had dream houses in mind. Mine was full of loved ones, sunshine, warmth, creativity, smells of good things cooking, and was surrounded by trees and flowers. His was a peaceful haven from the world, warm and cozy—with a fire in the fireplace, a bookcase full of books, his favorite music playing, and the smell of good things cooking. When we met and married, the building of that house came high on our list of priorities. We felt that creating our physical environment here on earth would be a wise use of our stewardship. (It was also the only way we could afford a house like we wanted.) We believed in Winston Churchill’s statement: “First we shape our buildings; thereafter they shape us.” We spent years studying homes by the master designers and architects and looking at homes. Finally we found the ideal location for the house—and then our planning began in earnest. As we paid for the property, we drew house plans and collected ideas from books, magazines, and other homes. We kept our ideas in a folder, then a box, then several boxes.
We tried to draw our own house plans, but our drawings never quite matched the ideal in our minds, so we searched for a designer to help us. We found one who shared our ideas of what a home should be and was willing to help us plan the kind of home we wanted. In fact, because of his own special abilities, he added dimensions we could not have conceived of. Throughout the planning and building, we prayed for help and guidance, and our prayers were answered often in surprising ways.
Some builders told us we could not build the home we had in mind for the money we could afford to spend. Some told us to throw away our dreams. “A standard plan is easier and cheaper to build,” they said. But we were not interested in the easiest thing to do; we had a dream. So we decided to build it ourselves.
The time of building was exciting—and discouraging. It seemed to take forever, but finally there was a footing, a foundation, a wall. One small step at a time, the house took shape. Sometimes we made mistakes and had to do things over. Other times we had to compromise and settle for less than the ideal. Often we went back to the designer and the blueprints for clarification and help. We worked very hard day after day—sometimes doing big, impressive things like putting up a wall or nailing down a floor, but more often doing chores that didn’t show but were still important. We did much of the work ourselves, but occasionally it was necessary to hire experts who possessed skills or tools we did not have.
At last the big day arrived. We packed up our belongings and moved into our dream home. It is not quite perfect, but it is warm, full of people we love, sunshine, creativity, books, music, and the smell of good things cooking. And sometimes it is even peaceful and quiet—after midnight and before 6:00 A.M.

The door bell rang. It was late at night. We did not expect anyone that evening, and I was wondering who it could be. I opened the door, and to my amazement, there stood the two missionaries who were teaching in the neighborhood.
The elders asked quickly if my boys were available so they could ask them a question. They were not. This was the time for them to be in bed for they were only 14 and 15 years old. The missionaries looked at each other, and the senior companion, obviously gathering his courage, asked me if I would talk to my boys and tell them to behave well at school because they were teaching one of the boys’ schoolmates. It was important that they, the missionaries, be able to tell their young investigator that my boys were members of the Church and then ask her if she had noticed any difference! What a terrible thing it might have been if my boys had not been behaving well! I promised the missionaries that I would forward the message and discuss the challenge with my boys.
The elders left, reassured, and as I closed the door, a scripture came flashing through my mind. I had used it often in the past years in meeting with the missionaries. “Go forth … that ye may show forth good examples unto them in me, and I will make an instrument of thee in my hands unto the salvation of many souls.” (Alma 17:11.)

One Sunday, on the way out of church, my four-year-old brother, Westley, gave me a piece of gum he had been given. In return, I gave him a chocolate candy I had. When my six-year-old brother, Courtland, found out, he was very sad. He said no one ever gave him treats at church.
Westley asked if I would sit by him in the car. On the way home, I asked about his lesson. He said that it was about being a peacemaker. “What’s a peacemaker?” I asked, trying to get him to tell me about his lesson. He told me a story example of a peacemaker. He was quiet for a minute. Then he said, “Kiera, I don’t really want your candy.”
Surprised, I asked, “Why not?”
“I mean, I do want it, but is it OK if I give it to Courtland?”
“Sure. Do you want your piece of gum back?”
“No. You can have it.”
“OK.” I tapped Courtland on the back. “Westley said you could have the candy.” I handed it to him.
He said, “Thanks,” and ate it. We were all smiling.
I’m grateful to have such good examples for brothers. I know that if a four-year-old child can be a peacemaker, I can, too. From now on, I’m going to be a peacemaker in my home.

When the Australian Mission formally opened in 1851, another teenager, 16-year-old Rosa Clara Friedlander, and her friend Mary Ann Cline, walked eight miles every Sunday to attend meetings in Sydney. They seldom missed a meeting and enjoyed choir practices. Later, Rosa Clara is remembered for her kindness in nursing a desperately ill missionary. Still later, she was commended for her courage during a shipwreck on her way to Utah.

For several months I didn’t attend seminary. It was hard for me to get up early, and I thought it was all right not to go because it didn’t help me much in school.
One day my friend told me that the teacher had taken my name off the attendance roll. I thought about the valuable things I had missed in seminary. So the next day at 5:45 a.m., I made myself get up to go to seminary.
For the next couple of mornings it was hard for me to get up, but I put the effort into making it there. After that, I noticed I felt rested and alert, had a better attention span, and was able to absorb more information at school and actually remember it when it counted.
Seminary has been a good experience for me because it has made my days at school go more smoothly. Seminary has also given me a better understanding of the gospel and the Church, which will help me when I serve a mission.

The militia took many Latter-day Saint prisoners to Independence, then to a jail in Richmond. Later, Joseph and a few other men were moved to a jail in Liberty.
The guards treated the prisoners badly. One night the guards at the Richmond jail told each other about the terrible deeds they had done to the Latter-day Saints. Joseph stood up and rebuked them.
Silence! In the name of Jesus Christ I rebuke you and command you to be still.
I will not live another minute and hear such language.
The guards apologized. They were quiet for the rest of the night.

9:28 A.M.
Elder Darren Majeran and Elder Josh Graham say a prayer, grab their bike helmets, and head out the door. No car for them. They need to get to Bonnie Brae Street for an appointment with an investigator, but they have a little time before that so they go on two callbacks to people they’d met last week. They pedal down the driveway and onto the street.

9:55 A.M.
There is no answer at either home, so back on the bikes they go. Their investigator on Bonnie Brae likes what he has heard about the Church, but he is having a problem understanding the concept of the priesthood and authority. They’re prepared to try to answer his questions.

10:07 A.M.
The investigator seems happy to see the missionaries. He has read two of the pamphlets the elders left with him on their last visit, and he’s prepared to discuss them. He seems very earnest in his desire to learn. He’s just not sure he can accept what they are teaching.

11:20 A.M.
“I thought it went okay,” Elder Majeran says after the meeting. “It’s just going to take some time.”
Next stop: the corner of Harvard Street and Ramona Avenue. The missionaries lock their bikes to a stop sign and begin going door to door. Elder Majeran and Elder Graham go to 19 houses, but very few people are home, and nobody invites them in.

12:15 P.M.
The missionaries break for lunch and talk about what just happened and what’s ahead. Elder Graham has been a missionary for about seven months, and he’s settled into a daily routine. “I guess the work has been the way I expected it to be. I haven’t done quite as much teaching as I thought we would,” he says. “But when you do, and you see people make changes in their lives and know you’ve been a part of that, it’s great.”
He continues: “If we tracted for a whole day and did nothing else, we’d probably get in maybe two or three doors.”
“We do a lot of talking through screens,” Elder Majeran adds. “But we usually have pretty good success once we get in.”
Today won’t be one of those days, however.

1:22 P.M.
It’s more of the same in the afternoon, although there is something to look forward to tonight. A family committed to receive baptism is scheduled for a sixth discussion, and another family in the ward has invited the missionaries to dinner.

7:03 P.M.
With dinner concluded (“The chicken was really good. Sister Wilson is a great cook,” Elder Graham says), the missionaries end up teaching a discussion to a person referred to them by a member. That is followed by the discussion to the family scheduled to be baptized.

9:35 P.M.
Another day is complete. Elder Majeran is tired but happy. “Not bad. We got a lot done today,” he says. As they change from their proselyting clothes and get ready for bed, they make phone calls to the zone leaders and the ward mission leader.

Tracy Y. Browning was about 15 years old when her mother saw a Book of Mormon advertisement on a late-night television infomercial and requested a free copy.
Within a short time, Latter-day Saint missionaries knocked on her door, presented the Book of Mormon, and began teaching her the gospel of Jesus Christ.
At the time, Tracy lived in New Jersey, USA, with her father, but she often visited her mother in New York, USA. While visiting, Tracy observed with curiosity as her mother progressed toward baptism.
With her grandmother, Tracy had attended a Christian church, where she learned foundational Christian beliefs. Soon Tracy began attending Latter-day Saint Sunday worship services with her mother.
The culminating experience came when mother and daughter attended the Hill Cumorah Pageant. Standing in the Sacred Grove, attending church, and listening to messages of the gospel in new ways moved her. Tracy told her mother she was ready to learn more about the Church.
“She put me in front of the missionaries very quickly after that,” Sister Browning said.
Tracy Yeulande Browning was born in New Rochelle, New York, on October 9, 1976, to Clive Adams and Sharon Cox. She grew up in Jamaica, New Jersey, and New York. She married Brady Browning in the Salt Lake Temple on May 2, 1997. They have two children.
Sister Browning studied at St. John’s University. She has worked in financial services for 15 years and is now a director in the Church’s Publishing Services Department. Sister Browning has also volunteered with the National Multiple Sclerosis Society, Habitat for Humanity, and the United Way’s Day of Caring.
Sister Browning has served as a ward and stake Relief Society presidency counselor, as a Relief Society and Sunday School teacher, and in the Young Women organization. She was serving on the Relief Society general advisory council when she was called to the Primary General Presidency.

Sydell sniffed the air as she skipped down the cobblestone street of Kingstown, a port town on the little West Indian island of St. Vincent. Although it was a beautiful Saturday morning, she held her nose. “Whew! It smells like rotten eggs! La Soufriere, the volcano, must be stirring up sulfur gases,” she muttered.
Sydell hurried around the corner and looked down at the blue water of the fishing bay, where sailboats rocked back and forth on the tide. It must be past lunchtime, she thought, and she wondered if her father and two brothers had returned with a catch of tuna or shark on their own small fishing boat. As she quickly turned her steps toward home, she clutched the new hair ribbon she had bought to wear to church the next day.
Mother, Father, and her two brothers, Japeth and Seraft, all went to church together in rooms above a mortuary. Father was a counselor to the branch president. Mother was the Relief Society president. Their whole family was responsible for seeing that the rooms were clean and for opening the louvered windows to let the fresh sea breeze flow into the room before meetings started. Although he was only twelve, Seraft led the singing. Japeth prepared and blessed the sacrament with the missionaries.
Sydell left the town below and climbed up the trail to her small wooden home perched on the side of the mountain. Halfway up she paused to greet the big black cow tied to a banana tree. “Good evening, Blessing,” she said, patting the cow’s silky neck. Blessing only blinked her big brown eyes and went back to munching grasses. Mother called her Blessing because there was no dairy on the island, so the family was blessed to have fresh milk and butter and cream.
Sydell sniffed the air. The aroma of roasting breadfruit filled her nose. “I know what we’re having for lunch,” she called to her mother as she ran up the steep path to the porch.
Mother was sitting on the steps, enjoying the sun while she busily chopped onions and fresh thyme to season the food she was cooking. She smiled at Sydell, who leaned over and kissed her cheek.
“Oh, Mother, I am so hungry! Is the breadfruit ready?”
“Get a stick and see,” answered Mother.
Sydell put her new hair ribbon away, then found a sturdy stick and poked it into the blackened ball baking in the coals. Carefully she carried it to her mother and set it on the ground beside the step. “It’s ready!” she exclaimed, very cautiously picking out a bit of the hot meat of the fruit that tasted like bread, then stuffing it into her mouth.
Mother stood and wiped her hands on her apron. “Here comes Papa and the boys with a fine catch of fish for supper!”
Papa always stood tall and walked fast. Sydell thought that he was the handsomest and strongest man she had ever seen. But today his shoulders drooped, and he had a worried look in his eyes. Japeth and Seraft looked very serious too. “What is it, Papa? Is something wrong?”
“No, my little one, something is very right. But we have an important matter to consider that concerns all of us, and we must ask our Heavenly Father to help us.”
Father put his bag of fish down and washed his hands at the basin on the porch. Then the family all knelt together in the little home on the cliff, and Papa talked to Heavenly Father.
“Our Father in Heaven, we are thankful for the missionaries who taught us the true gospel of Jesus Christ. My son, Japeth, now is nineteen and desires to go on a mission, but we have very little money with which to help him. We ask Thee to help us find a way for him to serve. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
It was very quiet after the prayer as each family member thought about where such a great amount of money could come from. Fishing brought only enough to keep the family fed and clothed, and there was no other way to earn it.
Sydell and Mother put their arms around Japeth and told him that they were very happy that he wanted to be a missionary. “You will be a great example to the rest of the people here on St. Vincent,” his mother said.
“I will miss you very much,” whispered Sydell as she hugged her brother.
“And I will have to milk the cow every night,” Seraft remembered. “I hear her calling now.”
“The cow! That’s the answer!” shouted Papa. “We will sell the cow. Fresh milk is such a luxury on this island that she will bring a large price.”
“Oh, must we, Papa?” cried Sydell. She thought of Blessing’s big, soft brown eyes.
“Sometimes we must give up something we love to get something better. I know that Heavenly Father will give us many blessings if we are willing to sacrifice for Him,” said Mother.
“Come,” said Father, as he gathered his family in prayer once again. “Sydell, will you say the prayer this time and ask if we should sell the cow?”
Sydell could hardly keep from crying as she told Heavenly Father that they were willing to sell Blessing, if that was what was necessary, to send Japeth on a mission. As she looked around the circle after finishing the prayer and saw the smiles of her family through her tears, a warm and wonderful feeling came into her heart, and she knew that selling Blessing would be the beginning of an even greater blessing in their lives.

Within days of arriving in Europe, Sister Taylor and I, still living out of suitcases in a small hotel room in Germany, were scheduled to attend a mission presidents’ seminar in Amsterdam, Holland. As we drove to and from the seminar, as arranged by the Regional Representative, we set out to meet our leaders in western Europe. We drove an hour each way into a small village to bless a leader and his family. We went to their homes. In each home we met a lovely wife and handsome children. We ate at their tables, slept as invited, and in each case knelt in prayer and blessed their homes, their families, their callings, and the area for successful missionary service. I now know our leaders there. I felt a genuine love for them, and I felt the same response from them.
You have those feelings of approaching in some small degree the indescribable joy of the celestial glory. He that loses his life shall save it. (See Luke 17:33.) My well of spirituality has indeed been deepened.

A highlight for me was Interlochen, located on a lake in Michigan, one of the best music camps in the world for kids. I sent in my application for the eight weeks of intensive music training and couldn’t believe I got accepted.
The only problem was money. It cost thousands of dollars, and there was no way I’d have time to make that much before the deadline. So I prayed and prayed, and about a week before I had to send in the money, I was called into the office of a man who had a grant for someone with a handicap who was pursuing the arts. That, to me, was a miracle, and I’m really grateful for it. Someday, I’m going to help a musician like that.

This question tasted especially bitter during the tougher seasons of life. Like when I experienced medical problems and hospital visits instead of the good health I prayed for. Or when I struggled with feelings of loneliness while watching friends and siblings find companionship. Even though I had plenty to be grateful for, questions about absent blessings remained heavy in my heart. Where was the simple “ask and receive” relationship the scriptures promised? During one period of time in particular, I felt especially betrayed by God. I found myself questioning if the scriptures were true, and if it was worth it to keep going to church and remain temple worthy.

I realized that I had a decision to make.

I would be lying if I said that I just decided to be faithful and that “gospel grit” alone got me through. The truth is that I was fortunate to have supportive friends and family members who encouraged my faith, even when they weren’t aware that I was struggling. I was lucky that my employment was a faith-tolerant atmosphere instead of a toxic one. And I was blessed with callings that helped me remain involved in my ward without being overwhelming. My heart aches for people who don’t have a similar combination of positive circumstances to help them get through periods of doubt. With all this help and a desire in my heart to understand the truth about God, I decided to remain active in the Church, even though it was painful at times.

Over time, I learned an important lesson: God had created me with two hands, each capable of holding something at the same time. Spiritually speaking, just because I had “picked up” a doubt or question in one hand didn’t mean that I had to let go of all the gospel truths I held in my other hand. It often felt like I was metaphorically holding on to the iron rod and pressing forward while dragging these questions behind me. But I didn’t really see an alternative. I didn’t want to ignore the questions I had, and I also couldn’t deny the spiritual truths I already knew. So, although it was exhausting, I found ways to honor both parts of my feelings.

For example, when Sunday Church meetings seemed incredibly draining, I decided to stay only long enough to take the sacrament, committing that I would always show up at least for that ordinance. When scripture study became a source of frustration, I decided to just read Psalms or other verses that were comforting to my soul. And please don’t get me wrong—I’m not suggesting that we adopt these as longtime habits or look for reasons to excuse ourselves from what prophets and apostles have recommended. But this allowed me, during that particular season, to remain close to God while exploring my questions with an open heart. The whole time, I pleaded in prayer for increased understanding.

Time passed. I got better at gripping the iron rod more tightly while holding my doubts more loosely. Church, scripture study, and prayer became easier to participate in once more. And eventually, a couple of specific life events helped lead me to the answer I was searching for.

The first event was an intense health challenge, including long periods where I struggled to digest meals, and food seemed like an enemy I was forced to live with each day. It was an extremely frustrating situation. Little did I know that this trial would help me recognize a precious truth. The second event that helped me discover my long-awaited answer was hearing a Church leader invite us to study the scriptures topically. As I thought about which topic to study, I felt impressed to study food in the scriptures.

As I used the Topical Guide to read every verse about food that I could find, I was led to Matthew 7—one of the chapters with the “ask and receive” promise that had always seemed so confusing. But this time, I was reading these verses with food and nutrition in mind. Verses 9–11 say:
“Or what man is there of you, whom if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone?
“Or if he ask a fish, will he give him a serpent?
“If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask him?”

I thought about how those verses describe God as a giver of nourishment. And then it dawned on me. All my life, I had read the “ask and receive” promise with a modern mindset. As I read about the child asking for a fish, I pictured my friend’s daughter begging for a pet puppy. But these verses aren’t talking about childish wants. They’re talking about essential nourishment—bread and fish, sources of food. These verses aren’t telling us that God will give us whatever we want and ask Him for. They are teaching us that God will give us whatever we need and ask Him for. He will always nourish His children, strengthening them enough to face the challenges that come their way.

Now I see that Matthew 7 describes God as a giver of nourishment. He will give us not what we want and ask for but what we need and ask for.

After I made that connection, Matthew 7 finally fit in perfectly with my understanding of God and His plan of happiness. I have come to see that when the scriptures invite us to knock and promise that a door will be opened, the doorway they are talking about is not a magical portal to an easier life. Instead, it’s more like a doorway to a roadside soup kitchen, which will appear wherever we are along our mortal journey. If we enter that doorway, we will find the Bread of Life and Living Water, He who provided fish for His disciples and promises us an eventual land of milk and honey.

Years ago, Matthew 7 was a source of pain and confusion. But today, those same verses are a source of joy. Not only do they remind me of what I’ve learned about the nourishment that God and Jesus offer, but they also remind me of what I’ve learned about grappling with gospel questions.

I still have unanswered gospel questions. And you know what? I bet I will throughout the rest of my life. But as I carry those questions, I will never give up holding on to what I know is true. I trust now more than ever that God will reveal His answers when we are prepared to receive them—either collectively as a Church or individually as His children. And most of all, I hope we can be compassionate to those around us who are struggling.

If you are struggling, don’t give up hope. Answers will come. One day, we will see all promises fulfilled. I look forward to the time described in Revelation 21:4, which says, “God shall wipe away all tears from [our] eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.”

I think of another. I knew him well. He joined the Church when long ago I was a missionary in the British Isles. He had a smoking habit. He prayed for strength in that springtime of his Church membership and the Lord answered his prayer and gave him power to overcome his habit. He looked to God and lived with a joy he never had previously known. But something happened. Family and social pressures were brought against him. He lowered his vision and gave way to his appetite. The smell of burning tobacco seduced him. I saw him some years later. We talked together of the old and better days he had known. And he, like Peter, wept bitterly. He blamed this and he blamed that, and, as he did so, I was inclined to repeat the words of Cassius—
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.
(Julius Caesar, act 1, sc. 2, lines 140–41.)

Right after I was married, I was called as home teacher to four families. The father of one was active but not spiritually converted. The young husband in another wasn’t a member of the Church and wouldn’t attend with his new bride, who was a member. The third couple was inactive—even though the husband was formerly in a stake presidency and the wife had been a stake Primary president. The fourth family, the Smiths, was happily very active in the Church: the father was on the stake high council, and the mother was the ward Relief Society president.
The third couple, we learned, had become inactive because they had not felt a part of the ward. We convinced them that we were their friends and were interested in them. Then we helped the wife see that the Church needed her special talents of teaching children. She began attending Sunday School and later accepted a calling as a Sunday School teacher. When my wife was asked to bake cookies for the ward Christmas party, we asked this couple if they would make the cookies, and then we invited them to come to the party as our guests. When they moved to a new ward later, they didn’t become inactive again but remained active.

While I was serving years ago as president of the Southern States Mission, in one of our public meetings one of our missionaries, a young man who stood 6? 3? and had played on a championship basketball team, said that when his team won the championship game, their companions literally carried them around on their shoulders. Then he said: “That was the greatest experience of my life until I came into the mission field. I wouldn’t exchange a night like this, bearing testimony of the restoration of the gospel, for all the basketball games I have ever played.”

On a cold winter day several years ago, I visited one of the branches in Dnipropetrovsk, Ukraine. It was fast Sunday, and we warmed ourselves in the glow of the testimonies borne in the poorly heated, rented space where we were meeting.
I especially recall the testimony of one sister whose inspired face I can still see in my mind. She was a single mother. She and her one-year-old child lived in the dormitory of the factory where she worked. Economic conditions were not good. Her wages were low and paid irregularly. Despair and then eventual hope in God brought her to the gospel.
Not long after her baptism, she was preparing food for herself and her child when a young woman who lived in the same building said: “I know things are difficult for you. Like me, you are a single mother, earning low wages, with no place of your own to live. There is little hope of a good future for yourself and your child. Like me, you have a gray, dull life. Like me, you fear for your child and the uncertainty of tomorrow. But why are you always smiling and your eyes always shining? Why does joy light up your face?”
The questions made this sister stop and think about the changes that had occurred since her baptism. As she gained faith in Jesus Christ, the fear that had corroded her life had disappeared. The path back to the Father that opened before her had permitted her to have hope, which had led her to baptism and developed within her a certainty of a tranquil and happy future for her small family. By receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost, she had received a firm testimony. The false values of the world gradually gave way to the higher values of the gospel, and these higher values became a firm foundation for both thought and deed. She realized that it was precisely these changes that had given her a new outlook on the world. Long-awaited joy and peace had come into her life.

A man with whom I am associated as a director in a large company said to me the other day (he is representing the government now, and he has been a very successful businessman in the lumbering industry): “We asked for applicants who were prepared to accept a certain job in the government. We had many applicants, and we got them down to ten, and as we were considering those ten, we noticed that one of them was a member of your church, and we took him just like that.”

I said, “Why did you take him?”

He said, “Because we knew that he wouldn’t be carousing at night; we knew that we could depend upon him, and we knew that he would do the work assigned to him.” And I thought, what a tremendous thing if our young men would all just realize that that is true.