Gospel Story Finder

When full-time missionaries first called at the home of Roberto and Elisabeth Vidal in 1957, Sister Vidal felt a sincerity in their message that prompted her to ask them to return when her husband was home. Roberto was reluctant to meet with the missionaries, but he honored Elisabeth’s commitment.

Following the first missionary discussion, Roberto, then an active member of another church in the coastal city of Lima, Peru, was determined to read the literature the missionaries had left in order to find and expose doctrinal contradictions and scriptural misrepresentations. But after reading and studying all night, he was convinced that the missionaries had taught him the truth. From then until his death in 1989, Roberto Vidal never doubted the truthfulness of the restored gospel, and he always let the light of testimony and truth shine in his words and deeds.

When the missionaries brought him their message, Roberto Vidal was working as a junior bank executive. He was young, bright, hardworking, and articulate, ultimately rising to become a senior vice president of Peru’s largest privately owned bank. Nearly everyone with whom Roberto dealt professionally knew him as a Mormón and respected him for his values and standards.

Another season in Minnesota began a few months before Christmas, when the youth and leaders in the Bloomington Ward became aware of a group of people in need.

“They were facing severe financial problems,” says Megan Ogilvie. “Our Bishopric Youth Committee decided to see if there was something we could do to help. We contacted several different agencies, and they suggested what might be purchased or donated.”

Then the youth of the Bloomington Ward got busy.

“We had a bake sale, and we also got people to donate things—clothing, books, sports gear, toys, food. We filled five big boxes,” says Scott Ranning, 18. Some cash was also given, which was used to purchase additional clothing, books, and for some of the people, scriptures.

After everything was delivered, the ward held a fireside to talk about how wonderful it felt to give. From the people they had helped, the youth of the ward received a handmade cloth banner as a token of thanks and friendship, a banner that hangs in the bishop’s office to this day.

It may have happened several months ago, but being part of the Masskara opening number for the cultural show we staged during the welcome dinner for the Tabernacle Choir in February and during the area broadcast with Elder and Sister Stevenson in May still inspires me.
Looking back, I had to sacrifice my weekends to attend the practices. There were times when I felt so tired, especially since I had to juggle family, a ton of school work, and practices while also waking up early, traveling, dealing with sore muscles, and more.
Despite this, I knew that I was doing it for the Lord and that all of my efforts would be worth it. I felt the Lord’s hand every step of the way. On top of that, I got to know so many people, built unexpected friendships, and had so much fun!
We were only given less than two months to practice compared to previous cultural presentations which had several months of preparation, so I was amazed that we were able to learn the steps quickly. I was also inspired by the hard work of those around me, especially the trainers and those who arranged the show.
They were sacrificing so much of their time and effort (to the point that some even sacrificed their sleep), and they were so patient with us. They cared for each one of us. I felt this the most when our trainers gave each of us awards that were well thought out and personalized, which deeply touched my heart. Our trainers also pushed for us to bond with one another, and I think this bond we have with our fellow dancers would not exist without them.
On the day of the performance, we all gave our best. When I saw how the Tabernacle Choir members enjoyed our performances so much, and how they were moved to tears, it made me feel that all of the efforts and sacrifices we made were worth it. I was also surprised and moved to tears when they sang a song for us. It was such a memorable experience for me. That moment felt like we were Zion—of one heart and of one mind, all worshipping the Lord, all united by music. Nothing can replace the sacredness and joy that I felt that night.
Three months later, we performed our Masskara dance again, this time with Elder and Sister Stevenson, the Area Presidency and their wives, and the entire country as the show and the devotional were broadcast live! We experienced the same high, this time brought about by the inspiring words of Elder and Sister Stevenson. They counseled us to P.R.O. every day: Pray over and over, Read time after time, and Obey again and again.
My Masskara co-dancers and I have been trying to apply the things we learned during our rehearsal period and our recent performances, and today I am happy to note that among the Masskara dancers, three are already serving their missions, and two have received their call.

I guess I should start out by saying that I’m just a regular, ordinary, ten year old who lives on a very ordinary street—North Maple. I’ve been going to Primary since I was little, and, of course, I’ve been planning on going on a mission as long as I can remember. But practicing being a missionary is something I haven’t done much—that is, until about a month ago. And that’s where my being a regular, ordinary boy is so amazing. I mean, if I can do it, anybody can!
You probably should know that I’m the only member of the Church in my whole school, except for my little sister. A lot of people know we’re Latter-day Saints. It isn’t hard to figure out, since my family doesn’t go to the local sport club’s Sunday soccer games, we have family home evening every Monday night, and we read the Book of Mormon every day. Sometimes my friends tease me about all the things Latter-day Saints can’t do. One time Nick even wanted to know if Church members could drink milk—and he was serious!
Anyway, when my best friend’s family moved, I resigned myself to living out my days never having any members my own age in my school class. There were two other people in my Primary class, but they didn’t go to my school.
About a month ago, the Millers moved into our neighborhood. Right away Mom took over some of her homemade enchiladas, and Dad helped Mr. Miller carry in their furniture. I was pretty excited to find out that they had an eleven-year-old son who likes baseball cards.
Jeff invited me up to his room a few days later. There were still boxes and stuff all over the place. I was busy admiring his coin collection, when I noticed that he had a picture of Jesus Christ on his nightstand. Whoa! My thoughts started spinning. The whole rest of the room was pretty much a mess, but this picture looked like something he had unpacked right away. I knew he wasn’t a Mormon—I’d already found that out—so I asked him about the picture.
Jeff wasn’t embarrassed or anything. He said that his whole family had prayed a lot before they moved to decide whether his dad should take a job in Chicago or come here. They had felt very good about their decision. He said they didn’t know why they were supposed to move here, but they knew that Jesus Christ loved them and they were sure that He would bless them to know why someday.
Well, I started getting pretty tingly all over, and then I did a very scary thing for a regular, ordinary, ten year old. I told him that my whole family loved Jesus Christ, too, and that we prayed every day. I said I knew that someday his family would know why they had moved to this neighborhood.
Well, since then, Jeff and I have become good friends. He came with me to Primary Activity Day two weeks ago and asked a lot of questions about the Church. Some of the answers were easy, and others I had to find out from Mom and Dad. Even Mr. and Mrs. Miller are starting to ask about the Church. We’re having them over to our house next Friday to hear a missionary discussion with the elders. Who knows? Maybe I will live to see another member family live on North Maple Street.

Life in the Latter-day Saint community of Safford, Arizona, in the early part of the twentieth century was hard. Water was scarce, money scarcer.
I was eleven years old. It was 1919, and my pa had died the year before of influenza. Taking care of us six children and keeping the farm going took most of Mama’s time. There was no money for extras. What money her milk and egg business brought in was put by to pay the property taxes.
When school let out for the summer, my thirteen-year-old sister, Florence, begged Mama to let her work for a family in town. Mama said no because she needed her at home to help care for the little ones.
Being the oldest boy, it was up to me to bring in the much-needed money for the family. I heard from our ward (home) teachers that Brother Miller needed help.
According to my Aunt Minnie, Brother Miller had not set foot inside church in more than thirty-five years. Aunt Minnie was my great-aunt and knew the history of every family in town. What she didn’t know, she was fond of saying, wasn’t worth knowing.
I found Brother Miller working in his garden. He looked up from his work to scowl at me. “What brings you this way, boy?” “I’m looking for a job. Sir,” I added, remembering my manners.
He wiped his forehead with the bandanna tucked in his pocket. “You’d be Donald McBride’s boy, is that right?”
I nodded. “Hyrum Andrew McBride.”
“Well, Hyrum Andrew, your pa had a reputation for being a hard worker.” He squinted against the glare of the sun as he took my measure. “Do you take after him?”
“I try, sir.”
“You have yourself a job.” He led the way to the back of the barn. “You chop this pile of wood and stack it neatly. You do a good job, and I’ll pay you $2.25.”
It seemed a huge sum of money. I gulped, thinking of what we could buy with it—a bit of sugar, maybe some material for Mama to make herself a new dress.
“Mind you, I don’t pay for a poor job or a job not done.”
I nodded once more.
“I need the wood cut by Sunday evening. If you don’t finish, there’ll be no money.”
Today was Wednesday. I figured I could complete the work by Saturday night.
Mama didn’t believe in working on the Sabbath. Animals had to be fed and the cows milked, but we didn’t work in the garden or the fields. We ate bread left over from Saturday’s baking, dipped in milk and butter and spread with some of Mama’s jam. Sundays belonged to the Lord and were treated with reverence.
The work was backbreaking, and I stumbled home at night too tired to do more than fall into bed. The thought of how much our family needed the money kept me going, even when the temperature climbed above a hundred degrees.
By Friday afternoon, I knew I had underestimated how long it would take to do the job. Even if I worked twelve hours the next day, I wouldn’t finish the work by nightfall.
Of course, Brother Miller had given me until Sunday evening. I could work on Sunday, complete the job, and collect my money, but the idea left a sour taste in my mouth.
On the way home, I reasoned with myself that working just this once on Sunday would be all right. No matter how hard I tried, though, I could not quiet the small voice that reminded me of the baptismal covenant I had made three years before.
When I explained to Mama about the money, how Brother Miller wouldn’t pay me for the job if I didn’t complete it on time, she continued kneading her bread dough. “Do you remember the promises you made at your baptism?”
I nodded and hung my head, shamed that, even for a moment, I had considered breaking the Sabbath.
I recalled the blessing my father had given me when he had confirmed me a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. “Keep the commandments, Son. Use them as a compass to guide you.”
The following morning I told Brother Miller of my decision.
He fell silent. At last, he asked, “You in the habit of breaking a promise, boy?”
“No sir. That’s why I can’t work for you on Sunday.”
“How’s that?”
“I made a promise back when I was baptized that I would obey the commandments. That means I don’t work on Sunday. I can’t go back on that. Even for this.” I gestured to the pile of wood. The money I would have earned didn’t seem as important anymore.
“I told you I don’t pay for an unfinished job.” He paused and gave me a long look. “You still planning on working today, even if I don’t pay you?”
“Yes sir. I aim to keep my promise to you the best I can. But I won’t be working tomorrow.”
Brother Miller scratched his chin. “You do what you have to.” With that, he turned and left.
I was sure that I wouldn’t receive any pay, but I was determined to finish what work I could that day. By late afternoon, Brother Miller returned. After counting out two dollar bills and a pile of coins, he pressed them into my hand.
My fingers started to close around the money. Then, reluctantly, I opened my hand to give the money back to him. “I can’t finish until Monday, sir.”
“That’s fine.”
“But—”
“You made me think of some promises I made a long time ago,” he said, his voice gruffer than normal. “I expect you here first thing Monday morning.”
“Yes sir.”
Sweat and wood dust coated my arms and face when I returned home. My muscles screamed with fatigue, but I scarcely noticed. I handed the money to Mama and explained what had happened.
“The Lord takes care of His own,” she said. Her faith never wavered. I hoped my own faith would be as strong someday.
The next day, we saw Brother Miller in church, sitting right up front. Shyly I smiled at him. He didn’t smile back but nodded shortly. He continued attending church until he died twelve years later.
I never forgot that job. Or the promise I had made and kept.

The group also delivered 10 desktop computers and a new laptop and monitor to the Seventh-day Adventist Church-run Kauma High School. The computer lab at Kauma High School had earlier been destroyed by fire.
Elder Tune and President Kendall expected to drop the computers off at the door of the school but were delighted to find that the entire student body was gathered to express their sincere thanks. The students further gladdened the visitors’ hearts by singing in their beautiful harmonic voices “Joy, Joy, My Heart is Full of Joy”.
“The feeling there was so powerful, it was almost overwhelming,” Elder Tune said. “We felt so much love and yes, we felt hearts full of joy.
“The Kauma High School principal, Tekemau Ribabaiti, is a wonderful, energetic man who is 78 years of age and still contributing so much. He was thankful for the computers, but even more so, he was touched that we would come so far to visit.”
Principal Ribabaiti told his students, “These people come with their hearts. We can feel their love. We are grateful for the computers, but we are more grateful for their hearts.”

“I met a couple in Rennes, France, who had been members for several years. The story of how both of them gained testimonies by reading the Book of Mormon showed me the importance of the scriptures in the conversion process.

“Missionaries stopped by the Segaud home one day while tracting and left a Book of Mormon with Sister Segaud, the only one home. She put the book away with some other books and forgot about it.

“Brother Segaud had a growing interest in the Bible at that time, and spent many hours discussing it with one of his neighbors, who belonged to a Protestant church. Brother Segaud didn’t belong to any church because he believed all the churches differed greatly from the Bible.

“Several years passed, and once again missionaries knocked on the door of the Segaud home. This time Brother Segaud was there, and they talked with him and his wife about the holy scriptures and a book called the Book of Mormon. Sister Segaud said she thought she had that book somewhere around the house and disappeared in search of it. She returned a few minutes later with the book.

“The missionaries asked how they got the book. Brother Segaud said he had never seen it before. Sister Segaud explained that two young men had given it to her a few years ago, but she hadn’t even looked at it.

“The missionaries explained the book and its origins and asked the couple to read it. Brother Segaud said he’d like to read a book like that, but Sister Segaud wasn’t interested.

“Brother Segaud read the Book of Mormon and received the missionary discussions. He accepted the challenge to be baptized, but he wanted to wait for his wife. She was not so willing to accept the message the missionaries brought. She avoided the meetings with them and often hid the book from her husband. Still he never stopped hoping.

“He left the Book of Mormon in places where she could easily see it. He left it open to passages she might be interested in. But she never touched it. He continued to study the Book of Mormon, and he shared with her his thoughts and feelings about what he learned.

“Slowly, as the months passed by, her curiosity grew. She began to read a few sentences. Then she’d shut the book and put it away—away out of her thoughts. But her desire to know what the book said continued to grow.

“She began to read it secretly, and soon she was discussing it with her husband. Finally she wanted the missionaries to come and teach her the gospel.

“One year after Brother Segaud had accepted the challenge to be baptized, he and his wife entered the waters of baptism and became members of the Church. Now years later, they still bear powerful testimony of how the Book of Mormon changed their lives.”

During the time on the plains, young Joseph learned many lessons of faith from his mother. Upon awakening one morning, the Smiths found that their best team of oxen was missing. The young boy and his uncle, Joseph Fielding, set out and searched an entire morning in vain. Fatigued and discouraged, they returned to camp. There they found Mary Fielding Smith on her knees, pleading for God to help them in this search, since the loss of the oxen would mean further delay in reaching their destination.
Arising from prayer, this youthful pioneer mother told her brother and her son to have breakfast, and she would bring back the cattle. She started toward the river, despite her brother’s protests that further search was futile. Ignoring first her brother and then a herdsman from a Missouri wagon train who tried to tell her that he had seen the oxen headed in the opposite direction that morning, Mary Fielding Smith continued walking to the river. Then, turning at the bank, she motioned to her brother and son to join her. As they did, they found the oxen tied to a clump of willows, hidden from sight. Someone had apparently put them there, planning to return after the pioneer group had moved on.
President Smith later said that this experience was “one of the first practical and positive demonstrations of the efficacy of prayer I have ever witnessed.” The impression it made on his mind was to aid him all through his life.

Connor was hot and thirsty. He had been playing outside all morning, and his mouth was dry as he pulled open the back door. A rush of cool air greeted him, and it felt wonderful. He hurried into the kitchen to get a glass of water.
As he drank his water, he thought about the red toy helicopter he had seen in the store two weeks before. Connor couldn’t wait to finally have enough money to buy it. He had been saving his allowance money and doing extra chores ever since he had seen the helicopter.
He finished his glass of water and went into the living room to ask his mom if she had any more chores she could pay him to do.
“Mom,” he said. “Do you …”
“Shh, Connor. Wait just a minute,” Mom said. “I want to listen to this.”
Connor turned to look at the television.
On the news there were pictures of things that had been wrecked—buildings had fallen down, streets were full of stuff, and there were people who looked like they were hurt. He saw the word earthquake at the bottom of the screen, but it was in a place he’d never heard of.
“There was a terrible earthquake,” Mom explained. “Almost everything was destroyed. They have no electricity and no running water, and a lot of people are hurt and need help.”
Connor had a funny feeling in his chest. He wondered what it would be like to be thirsty and not have any water to drink, or to be hurt and not have someone to help you.
“Mom, can’t anyone help them?” he asked.
“A lot of people want to help, but right now it’s almost impossible for people to get into the country,” she said. “Most of the runways and roads are blocked or destroyed.”
“I wish there was something we could do,” Connor said. He felt sad for the people in the earthquake. Then suddenly he had an idea. “Mom, can we pray for them?” he asked.
His mom smiled. “That’s a great idea,” she said. They turned off the television and knelt on the floor. As Connor said the prayer, the sick feeling he had was replaced with a good, calm feeling.
After they said “Amen,” Connor had another idea. He knew how he could help. He ran into his room and found the jar of money he had been saving to buy the red helicopter. He took it to his mom.
“Mom, is there a way to get this money to the people in the earthquake?” he asked. “Maybe it could help get a real helicopter to bring them food and water and maybe even a doctor.”
Connor’s mom gave him a hug. “That is a very kind and thoughtful thing to do, Connor,” she said. “Let’s take it to the bishop on Sunday. He’ll know what to do with it.”
Connor was glad that even though he lived far away from where the earthquake happened, he could still help in a small way. He knew he wouldn’t be getting the toy helicopter any time soon, but he loved the good feeling he had inside. He was glad he followed the promptings of the Holy Ghost to help someone in need.

I have seen that faith and courage many times when believing Latter-day Saints have faced fearsome trials. For one example, I was in Idaho when the Teton Dam broke on June 5, 1976. A wall of water came down. Thousands fled from their homes. Thousands of homes and businesses were destroyed. Miraculously, fewer than 15 people were killed.
What I saw there, I have seen whenever Latter-day Saints stand firmly on the rock of a testimony of Jesus Christ. Because they have no doubt He watches over them, they become fearless. They ignore their own trials to go to the relief of others. And they do so out of love for the Lord, asking no recompense.
For example, when the Teton Dam broke, a Latter-day Saint couple was traveling, miles away from their home. As soon as they heard the news on the radio, they hurried back to Rexburg. Rather than going to their own home to see if it was destroyed, they went looking for their bishop. He was in a building that was being used as the recovery center. He was helping to direct the thousands of volunteers who were arriving in yellow school buses.
The couple walked up to the bishop and said, “We just got back. Bishop, where can we go to help?” He gave them the names of a family. That couple stayed mucking out mud and water in one home after another. They worked from dawn to dark for days. They finally took a break to go see about their own home. It was gone in the flood, leaving nothing to clean up. So they turned around quickly to go back to their bishop. They asked, “Bishop, do you have someone for us to help?”
That miracle of quiet courage and charity—the pure love of Christ—has been repeated over the years and across the world. It happened in the terrible days of the persecutions and trials at the time of the Prophet Joseph Smith in Missouri. It happened as Brigham Young led the exodus from Nauvoo and then called Saints to desert places all over the western United States, to help each other create Zion for the Lord.
If you read the journal entries of those pioneers, you see the miracle of faith driving out doubt and fear. And you read of Saints leaving their own interests to help someone else for the Lord, before getting back to their own sheep or to their own unplowed fields.
I saw that same miracle a few short days ago in the aftermath of Hurricane Irma in Puerto Rico, Saint Thomas, and Florida, where Latter-day Saints partnered with other churches, local community groups, and national organizations to begin cleanup efforts.
Like my friends in Rexburg, one nonmember couple in Florida focused on helping the community rather than laboring on their own property. When some Latter-day Saint neighbors offered help with the two large trees blocking their driveway, the couple explained that they had been overwhelmed and so had turned to helping others, having faith that the Lord would provide the aid they needed at their own home. The husband then shared that before our Church members arrived with offers of assistance, the couple had been praying. They had received an answer that help would come. It came within hours of that assurance.
I have heard a report that some have started calling the Latter-day Saints who are wearing yellow Helping Hands T-shirts “The Yellow Angels.” One Latter-day Saint took her car in for service, and the man helping her described the “spiritual experience” he had when people in yellow shirts removed trees from his yard and then, he said, they “sang some song to me about being a child of God.”
Another Florida resident—also not of our faith—related that Latter-day Saints came to her home when she was working in her devastated yard and feeling overwhelmed, overheated, and close to tears. The volunteers created, in her words, “a pure miracle.” They served not only with diligence but also with laughter and smiles, accepting nothing in return.
I saw that diligence and heard that laughter when, late on a Saturday, I visited with a group of Latter-day Saints in Florida. The volunteers stopped their cleanup labor long enough to let me shake some hands. They said that 90 members of their stake in Georgia had created a plan to join in the rescue in Florida just the night before.
They left Georgia at 4:00 in the morning, drove for hours, worked through the day and into the night, and planned to labor again the next day.
They described it to me all with smiles and good humor. The only stress I sensed was that they wanted to stop being thanked so they could get back to work. The stake president had restarted his chain saw and was working on a downed tree and a bishop was moving tree limbs as we got into our vehicle to go to the next rescue team.
Earlier that day, as we pulled away from another site, a man had walked up to the car, taken off his hat, and thanked us for the volunteers. He said, “I’m not a member of your church. I can’t believe what you have done for us. God bless you.” The LDS volunteer standing next to him in his yellow shirt smiled and shrugged his shoulders as if he deserved no praise.
While the volunteers from Georgia had come to help this man who couldn’t believe it, hundreds of Latter-day Saints from that very devastated part of Florida had gone hundreds of miles south to another place in Florida where they had heard the people were harder hit.
That day I remembered and understood better the prophetic words of the Prophet Joseph Smith: “A man filled with the love of God, is not content with blessing his family alone, but ranges through the whole world, anxious to bless the whole human race” (Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Joseph Smith [2007], 426).
We see such love in the lives of Latter-day Saints everywhere. Each time there is a tragic event anywhere in the world, Latter-day Saints donate and volunteer to the Church’s humanitarian efforts. An appeal is seldom needed. In fact, on some occasions, we have had to ask would-be volunteers to wait to travel to the recovery site until those directing the work are prepared to receive them.
That desire to bless is the fruit of people gaining a testimony of Jesus Christ, His gospel, His restored Church, and His prophet. That is why the Lord’s people doubt not and fear not. That is why missionaries volunteer for service in every corner of the world. That is why parents pray with their children for others. That is why leaders challenge their youth to take President Monson’s request to immerse themselves in the Book of Mormon to heart. The fruit comes not by being urged by leaders but by the youth and members acting on faith. That faith, put into action, which requires selfless sacrifice, brings the change of heart that allows them to feel the love of God.
Our hearts, however, remain changed only as long as we continue to follow the prophet’s counsel. If we stop trying after one burst of effort, the change will fade.
Faithful Latter-day Saints have increased their faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, in the Book of Mormon as the word of God, and in the restoration of priesthood keys in His true Church. That increased testimony has given us greater courage and concern for others of God’s children. But the challenges and the opportunities ahead will require even more.
We cannot foresee the details, but we know the larger picture. We know that in the last days, the world will be in commotion. We know that in the midst of whatever trouble comes, the Lord will lead faithful Latter-day Saints to take the gospel of Jesus Christ to every nation, kindred, tongue, and people. And we know that the Lord’s true disciples will be worthy and prepared to receive Him when He comes again. We need not fear.
So, as much as we have already built faith and courage in our hearts, the Lord expects more from us—and from the generations after us. They will need to be stronger and braver because they will do even greater and harder things than we have done. And they will face increasing opposition from the enemy of our souls.
The way to optimism as we go forward was given by the Lord: “Look unto me in every thought; doubt not, fear not” (D&C 6:36). President Monson told us how to do that. We are to ponder and apply the Book of Mormon and the words of prophets. Pray always. Be believing. Serve the Lord with all our heart, might, mind, and strength. We are to pray with all the energy of our hearts for the gift of charity, the pure love of Christ (see Moroni 7:47–48). And above all, we are to be consistent and persistent in following prophetic counsel.
When the way is difficult, we can rely on the Lord’s promise—the promise President Monson has reminded us of when he has often quoted these words of the Savior: “Whoso receiveth you, there I will be also, for I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up” (D&C 84:88).
I testify that the Lord goes before your face whenever you are on His errand. Sometimes you will be the angel the Lord sends to bear others up. Sometimes you will be the one surrounded by angels who bear you up. But always you will have His Spirit to be in your heart, as you have been promised in every sacrament service. You have only to keep His commandments.
The best days are ahead for the kingdom of God on the earth. Opposition will strengthen our faith in Jesus Christ, as it has since the days of the Prophet Joseph Smith. Faith always defeats fear. Standing together produces unity. And your prayers for those in need are heard and answered by a loving God. He neither slumbers nor does He sleep.
I bear my witness that God the Father lives and wants you to come home to Him. This is the true Church of the Lord Jesus Christ. He knows you; He loves you; He watches over you. He atoned for your sins and mine and the sins of all of Heavenly Father’s children. Following Him in your life and in your service to others is the only way to eternal life.
I so testify and leave you my blessing and my love. In the sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.

About this same time, we had a neighbor who dominated and sometimes abused his wife. He roared like a lion, and she cowered like a lamb. When they walked to church, she always walked a few steps behind him. That made my mother mad. She was a strong woman who would not accept such domination, and she was angry to see another woman abused in that way. I think of her reaction whenever I see men misusing their authority to gratify their pride or exercise control or compulsion upon their wives in any degree of unrighteousness (see D&C 121:37).

But the experience I think about most frequently is my adoption.
When I was a baby, I lived in an orphanage in Cambodia. I got very sick with pneumonia, and the orphanage couldn’t afford my medical care.
At the same time, my future mother was visiting Cambodia from Finland for a work trip. She had a spiritual experience that guided her to visit my specific orphanage.
When we met, she felt an instant spiritual connection to me.
She took me to the hospital and paid for my medical expenses. She felt that she had been guided to Cambodia to help me get better—nothing more. But over the phone one night, her dad said to her, “Maybe this little girl is supposed to stay in your life.”
She prayed and felt her own spiritual confirmation that I was meant to be her child. So she started the adoption process. It took a long time, but eventually she returned home to Finland with me.
Whenever I’m feeling unsure if Heavenly Father is aware of me, pondering my unique origin story and the miracles involved always reminds me of this truth: He is intimately aware of and involved in my life.
My experience as a child reassures me that even among His billions of children, Heavenly Father knew me—a tiny child in an orphanage—and provided the inspiration that connected me to the gospel and to my family.

He was not very refined or well educated. His big, round tummy and bald head were pretty intimidating to a skinny wisp of a girl like me, but I knew two things about Grandpa that made it easy to trust him and love him: I knew that he had a testimony of the gospel, and I knew that he thought that I was special.
I remember recognizing these two truths at the same time. Grandpa and Grandma had come to visit. Since we lived in different states, it was a special occasion and our daily routine changed. Sometimes we went on little day trips. Sometimes we looked up relatives I had never met before. But we always went to church.
One Sunday, I was sitting beside my grandpa when it was time to sing the opening hymn. I had just recently learned how to read well enough to follow the words in the hymnbook. I opened to the right page and offered to share the book with Grandpa. He held his half with his blunt fingers, which still showed the permanent stains of his years of working on truck engines. His hands were strong yet gentle.
When we started to sing, I forgot all about his hands. “‘Come, thou Fount of every blessing … ,”* he rumbled, with a surprisingly proper pronunciation. He was in perfect tune and sang with enthusiasm. I trebled along, and Grandpa smiled at me. After the song, he patted me on the knee.
We sang the sacrament song and the closing song, too, just as if we were the only two people in the room singing. I still remember the way it felt to sing with him. It was a warm, cozy peace that filled me up inside. I knew that Grandpa believed every word he sang.
Later, after we were home again and the dinner dishes were done, Grandpa called Grandma to the piano. “Will you please play ‘Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing,’ Margaret,” he asked her. “Linda and I are going to sing.”
He explained to me how much he loved that song. He said that it was one he had learned just after he and his family joined the Church in England, and he had loved it ever since.
Then he said, “And now I can sing it with my granddaughter, who sings as pretty as the song.” I could have burst with joy!
Many times over the years, Grandpa and I sang that hymn together, sometimes on our own, sometimes with other family members joining in. As I grew up, I came to appreciate my special heritage of testimony and music. They have always been connected.
Grandpa may not have been rich or famous or handsome, but he loved me. He loved the gospel, and when we sang the hymns of Zion, I learned to love it, too.

My initial feeling of peace stayed with me for another week and a half. I was sitting in a wheelchair watching fireworks through the hospital window on the Fourth of July when it hit me—my mom was gone. She wouldn’t be at my high school graduation. She wouldn’t be there when I received my endowment in the temple. She wouldn’t be at my wedding. She was gone.
That’s when things started getting really hard. The pain in my leg was terrible, and I had no appetite. I watched TV without seeing it, and I mostly just slept. My family worried about me because I wasn’t crying very much.
The tears came a lot more when we finally went home to Oregon to an empty house. I suddenly had to take over some of my mom’s responsibilities, and my siblings often looked to me for comfort. I tried to be strong for them. But it wasn’t easy.
Going back to school was tough. Everyone had heard about the accident, and if they hadn’t, they heard about it when my teachers introduced me as the girl who was in the accident. I felt isolated.
It was especially hard when my dad remarried nine months after my mom died. I knew that my stepmom would be good for our family and that we needed her, but it was hard to adjust.
Not everything was dark during this time though. I felt a lot of love from my Father in Heaven, my family, and my Church leaders. What helped me heal and move forward after the accident was doing simple things that strengthened my faith. Every day I spent an hour before going to bed reading the scriptures, praying, and writing in my journal in my closet. In the privacy of my closet, I didn’t have to be strong for my siblings. I could cry as much as I needed and pour out my heart to God. I told Him exactly what I was feeling and how much I missed my mom. I know He heard me because of the many tender mercies I felt. That closet space became sacred to me.
Doing those simple things helped me stay connected to God instead of pushing Him away and becoming bitter. I didn’t see the accident as God hurting my family. I felt more power to be patient and submit to His will and keep moving forward through my hard days. And there were some really hard days.

An American Indian, George Crum, is believed to have invented the potato chip. One day when he was working as a chef in a hotel restaurant in Saratoga Springs, New York, a guest at the hotel sent his plate back to the kitchen, complaining that the fried potatoes were too thick. George felt insulted. “I’ll show him what thin is,” he fumed.
With that the chef cut a potato into paper-thin slices. Then he dropped them into a vat of boiling oil to cook. After removing the slices from the oil, he sprinkled them with salt and sent the dish of crisp chips out to the guest.
To the chef’s surprise, the man loved the chips, and so “Saratoga Chips” were born. Soon many people in the area were selling them.

Seemingly little lessons of love are observed by children as they silently absorb the examples of their parents. My own father, a printer, worked long and hard practically every day of his life. I’m certain that on the Sabbath he would have enjoyed just being at home. Rather, he visited elderly family members and brought cheer into their lives.

One was his uncle, who was crippled by arthritis so severe that he could not walk or care for himself. On a Sunday afternoon Dad would say to me, “Come along, Tommy; let’s take Uncle Elias for a short drive.” Boarding the old 1928 Oldsmobile, we would proceed to Eighth West, where, at the home of Uncle Elias, I would wait in the car while Dad went inside. Soon he would emerge from the house, carrying in his arms like a china doll his crippled uncle. I then would open the door and watch how tenderly and with such affection my father would place Uncle Elias in the front seat so he would have a fine view while I occupied the rear seat.

The drive was brief and the conversation limited, but oh, what a legacy of love! Father never read to me from the Bible about the good Samaritan. Rather, he took me with him and Uncle Elias in that old 1928 Oldsmobile along the road to Jericho.

When the alarm went off at 5:00 a.m., 17-year-old Yee Mun Lim got out of bed and got ready for the day. She left the house at 5:20 for seminary. At 6:30 a.m. she hurried to school, where she stayed until 7:00 p.m. for classes and co-curricular activities. Then she rushed to the stake center by public transport to practice for the stake musical production.
This was the standard routine of most youth in the Singapore Stake every Friday for five months. Sometimes exhaustion and fatigue set in, but throughout the entire preparation for the musical production, When a Prophet Speaks, there were no complaints or regrets, because the youth felt that the sacrifices they made were worthwhile. “This is the most amazing, awesome, spiritually uplifting, fun-filled, and heart-warming event I ever took part in,” said Yee Mun, of the Singapore Second Ward.

My wife, Maria Isabel, and I served in Central America, being stationed in Guatemala City. There I had the opportunity to meet Julia, a faithful member of the Church. I had the impression to ask her about her family. Her mother died of cancer in 2011. Her father had been a faithful leader in his stake, serving as a bishop and as a counselor to his stake president for several years. He was a true undershepherd of the Lord. Julia told me of his tireless efforts to visit, to minister, and to serve. He indeed rejoiced in feeding and tending the precious sheep of the Lord. He remarried and stayed active in the Church.

A few years later, he went through a divorce, and now he had to attend church alone once again. He felt out of place and also felt that some people were critical of him because of his divorce. He stopped attending church as a negative spirit filled his heart.

Julia spoke highly of this wonderful undershepherd, who was a hardworking, loving, and compassionate man. I vividly remember that a feeling of urgency came to me as she was describing him. I just wanted to do something for that man, a man who had done so much for so many throughout those years.

She gave me his cell phone number, and I began calling him, hoping to have the chance to meet with him personally. After several weeks and many, many phone calls without success, one day he finally answered the phone.

I told him that I had met Julia, his daughter, and that I was captivated by the way he had served, ministered, and loved the precious sheep of the Lord for so many years. He was not expecting a comment like that. I told him that I really wanted to visit with him eye to eye, face to face. He asked me my purpose in proposing such a meeting. I replied, “I really want to meet the father of such a wonderful lady.” Then for a few seconds there was silence over the phone—a few seconds that seemed to me like an eternity. He simply said, “When and where?”

The day I met him, I invited him to share with me some of his experiences visiting, ministering, and serving the precious sheep of the Lord. As he was recounting some touching stories, I noticed that the tone of his voice changed and the same spirit he had felt so many times as an undershepherd came back. Now his eyes were filled with tears. I knew this was the right moment for me, but I found that I did not know what to say. I prayed in my mind, “Father, help me.”

Suddenly, I heard myself saying, “Brother Florian, as a servant of the Lord, I apologize for our not being there for you. Please, forgive us. Give us another chance to show you that we do love you. That we need you. That you are important to us.”

The following Sunday he was back. He had a long conversation with his bishop and remained active. A few months later he passed away—but he had come back. He had come back. I testify that with our Savior’s help, we can love His precious sheep and minister to them as He would. And so, there in Guatemala City the Lord Jesus Christ brought back one more precious sheep into His fold. And He taught me a lesson on ministering that I cannot forget. In the name of the Good Shepherd, the Beautiful Shepherd, the Magnificent Shepherd, even the Lord Jesus Christ, amen.

Mabuhay! I bring to you love and warm smiles from the wonderful Saints of the Philippines. This year marks 60 years since the first missionaries arrived in the islands of the Philippines. Today there are 23 missions and more than 800,000 members of the Church in 123 stakes. There are now seven temples in operation, under construction, or announced. This is truly a miracle. We are witnessing the fulfillment of the prophecy in 2 Nephi 10:21: “Great are the promises of the Lord unto them who are upon the isles of the sea.”
This miracle is also a fulfillment of the prophecy given in a prayer by then-Elder Gordon B. Hinckley in Manila in 1961. In that prayer, Elder Hinckley stated: “We invoke Thy blessings upon the people of this land, that they shall be friendly and hospitable and kind and gracious to those who shall come here, and that many, yea, Lord, we pray that there shall be [many,] many thousands who shall receive this message and be blessed thereby. Wilt Thou bless them with receptive minds and understanding hearts, and with faith to receive, and with courage to live the principles of the gospel” (dedicatory prayer at American War Memorial Cemetery, Philippines, Apr. 28, 1961).
Beyond the many, many thousands of faithful Latter-day Saints, the miracle of the gospel has brought positive changes to the country and its people. I am a living witness of this. I was six years old when my parents joined the Church in the southern island of Mindanao. At that time, there was only one mission in the entire country and no stakes. I am eternally grateful for my parents’ courage and commitment to follow the Savior. I honor them and all the pioneers of the Church in the Philippines. They paved the way for the succeeding generations to be blessed.
King Benjamin in the Book of Mormon said: “And moreover, I would desire that ye should consider on the blessed and happy state of those that keep the commandments of God. For behold, they are blessed in all things, both temporal and spiritual” (Mosiah 2:41).
As we live and obey the principles and ordinances of the gospel, we are blessed, changed, and converted to becoming more like Jesus Christ. That was how the gospel changed and blessed the Filipino Saints, including my family. The gospel is truly the way to a happy, abundant life.
The first principle of the gospel is faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. Many Filipinos have a natural belief in God. It is easy for us to trust Jesus Christ and know that we can receive answers to our prayers.
The Obedoza family is a great example of this. Brother Obedoza was my branch president when I was a young man. Brother and Sister Obedoza’s greatest desire was to be sealed to their family in the Manila Temple. They lived in General Santos City, 1,000 miles (1,600 km) away from Manila. For the family of nine, making the journey to the temple seemed impossible. But like the merchant man who went and sold all he had to buy one pearl of great price (see Matthew 13:45–46), this couple decided to sell their house to pay for the trip. Sister Obedoza was worried because they would have no home to return to. But Brother Obedoza assured her that the Lord would provide.
They were sealed as a family for time and all eternity in the temple in 1985. In the temple they found joy incomparable—their priceless pearl. And true to Brother Obedoza’s words, the Lord did provide. On their return from Manila, kind acquaintances gave them places to stay, and they eventually acquired their own home. The Lord takes care of those who demonstrate their faith in Him.
The second principle of the gospel is repentance. Repentance is turning away from sin and turning to God for forgiveness. It is a change of mind and heart. As President Russell M. Nelson teaches, it is “doing and being a little better each day” (“We Can Do Better and Be Better,” Ensign or Liahona, May 2019, 67).
Repentance is a lot like soap. As a young chemical engineer, I worked in a soap factory in the Philippines. I learned how to make soap and the process of how it works. When you mix oils with an alkali base and add antibacterial agents, it creates a powerful substance that can eliminate bacteria and viruses. Like soap, repentance is a cleaning agent. It allows us the opportunity to get rid of our impurities and our old debris so we are worthy to be with God, as “no unclean thing can inherit the kingdom of [God]” (Alma 11:37).
Through repentance we draw upon the cleansing, sanctifying power of Jesus Christ. It is a key part of the process of conversion. This is what happened to the Anti-Nephi-Lehies in the Book of Mormon. They were Lamanites who were so completely converted that they “never did fall away” (see Alma 23:6–8). They buried their weapons of war and never took them up again. They would rather die than break that covenant. And they proved it. We know that their sacrifice brought miracles; thousands who fought against them threw down their weapons and were converted. Years later their sons, who we know as the mighty stripling warriors, were protected in battle against incredible odds!
My family and many Filipino Saints went through a similar conversion process. When we accepted the gospel of Jesus Christ and joined the Church, we changed our ways and our culture to align to the gospel. We had to let go of wrong traditions. I saw this in my father when he learned of the gospel and repented. He was a heavy smoker, but he threw his cigarettes away and never touched one again. Because of his decision to change, four generations from him have been blessed.
Repentance leads us to make and keep covenants through sacred ordinances. The first ordinance of salvation and exaltation is baptism by immersion for the remission of sins. Baptism allows us to receive the gift of the Holy Ghost and enter into a covenant with the Lord. We can renew this baptismal covenant every week as we take the sacrament. This too is a miracle!
Brothers and sisters, I invite you to bring this miracle into your life. Come unto Jesus Christ and choose to exercise your faith in Him; repent and make and keep the covenants found in the ordinances of salvation and exaltation. This will allow you to be yoked with Christ and receive the power and blessings of godliness (see Doctrine and Covenants 84:20).
I testify of the reality of Jesus Christ and that He lives and loves each one of us. I know that His gospel can bring us hope, peace, and joy, not only now, but it will also bless countless others in future generations. That is the reason for the beautiful and warm smiles of the Filipino Saints. It is the miracle of the gospel and the doctrine of Christ. I testify of this in the sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Brad Wilson, a Sunday School president in Minnesota, USA, makes sure teachers in the teacher council meeting don’t leave until they’ve discussed how they’re going to change because of what they’ve learned.
“We follow the outline provided in Teaching in the Savior’s Way,” says Brother Wilson. “We discuss teachers’ experiences, then we discuss one of the suggested topics. As a facilitator, I ask questions and summarize thoughts. Then we practice implementation. We break into small groups and discuss, ‘What am I going to do differently because of our meeting today?’”
Ron Goodson, a deacons quorum instructor in the same ward, says he’s impressed to see how Brother Wilson “coaches” the council. “We talk about how the Savior would teach,” he says. “Then as you feel the Spirit, you think, ‘This is something I should try with my class.’ Thinking about the Savior changes your approach. It becomes less of ‘I’ve got to prepare a lesson,’ and more about, ‘What do these deacons need and how can I help give them that?’”
He remembers writing in his journal, “I attended teacher council meeting today, and here’s what I need to do.” In fact, his journal is full of such notes. He now prepares in advance: “Start early and you get promptings all week long.” He asks the deacons what’s going on in their lives: “I’m more effective in helping them when I know them better.” And he’s inviting deacons to help teach: “As they do, they learn better too.”3