Gospel Story Finder

In 1887 Hungarian Mischa Markow was converted near Constantinople (Istanbul), Turkey. In 1899 he served as a missionary in his native land, but he was arrested and banished from Hungary because of his preaching. He tried to share the gospel in neighboring countries, but after having difficulties there, Elder Markow and his companion preached in Temesvár, Hungary, until the government forced them to leave. The day before they left, they baptized and confirmed 12 people and appointed leaders for a congregation of 31 members.

Why do we need the Book of Mormon when we already have the Holy Bible? I’ve thought about this question a lot. As a teenager I was curious about the Book of Mormon, but I didn’t have the motivation to read it. For one thing, nobody encouraged me to read it at home because I was the only member of the Church in my family, except for my grandfather who had passed away.
One Sunday at a testimony meeting, many members testified about the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon, which I had recently begun to doubt. They challenged those who hadn’t read it to gain their own testimony that the Book of Mormon is true, that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, and that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the kingdom of God on the earth.
I pondered if my testimony of the Church and of Joseph Smith was strong enough to withstand the temptations and enticements of Satan. I realized that it wasn’t. My testimony was weak because I had depended only on the testimonies of Church leaders and members. I promised myself that starting that day, I would seek my own testimony.
I decided to read the Book of Mormon. In the introduction I read, “We invite all men everywhere to read the Book of Mormon, to ponder in their hearts the message it contains, and then to ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ if the book is true. Those who pursue this course and ask in faith will gain a testimony of its truth and divinity by the power of the Holy Ghost. (See Moroni 10:3–5.)” I knew I was personally being invited to read the Book of Mormon. As I continued reading, I felt the warmth of the Holy Ghost testifying of the book’s divinity and truthfulness.
I found that the Book of Mormon does testify of Christ, and I was ashamed for doubting its truthfulness. At school I had learned how judges of the law carefully study a case’s evidence before passing judgment. I had done the opposite with the Book of Mormon: I had judged it before I read it.
I finished reading with a humble heart and courage to defend what I believe. Also, I’m happy because I have a companion as I read the Book of Mormon again. My grandmother was baptized shortly before I finished reading the Book of Mormon the first time.
I have a firm testimony that Jesus Christ is my Savior, that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, and that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the true and living Church of God here on the earth.

Recently the Philadelphia Pennsylvania Stake held a fathers and sons’ outing to commemorate the 148th anniversary of the restoration of the Aaronic Priesthood. The outing was held in a wooded campground only a few hours drive from the spot where the priesthood was actually restored. Over 200 attended the event that started Friday afternoon at 4:00 P.M. and lasted through the next day until 3:00 P.M.
The games, food, and fellowship were all good activities, but the main event was the lesson learned from the service project. The boys and their fathers all pitched in to help Wally, the camp ranger, clean out the debris accumulated through the winter in the creek bed so the stream could run clean. They also helped get the campground ready for the summer season. Stake President R. D. Jess said, “The boys learned that they could have fun and do a good turn all at the same time—a good lesson for anyone.”
The stake presidency was especially pleased to see so many men and their sons with nonmember neighbors and friends. Brother M. Soto, first counselor in the Spanish-speaking North Philadelphia Branch, had a group of boys with him from families who are investigating the gospel. And the men of the stake took their responsibility a little further and brought boys who did not have fathers who could come with them. More than one father took the boys they home teach.
The camp had lean-to shelters for 50 bedrolls, with a campfire set in front of each shelter. Tent trailers and tents accommodated the rest in the same area, and that evening you could count as many as 20 fires at once.
Each ward put on a skit for entertainment that evening. Everyone sat out on the lawn by the campfire in front of a makeshift stage of canvas strung on a rope between two trees. The young men decided that President Jess needed to be involved. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be measured for a coffin or simply play the part of the radiator on the people car. He soon found out that he would get wet either way.
After the skits, a full-length feature movie was shown in spite of the fact that the wind blew the screen down several times. A midnight snack was then served before the bugler John Dorny, Broomall First Ward deacons quorum president, blew taps. Hot chocolate and doughnuts warmed everyone so that even the fathers were ready to face the night in sleeping bags on boards in the shelters or on the ground in tents.
The next day began with reveille at 7:00 A.M. Breakfast was served by members of the Order of the Arrow. A local farmer had sold them whole, fresh, unprocessed milk. It had stayed cold through the night, and it was the favorite item on the menu.
The morning’s activities included hiking, racing, catch ball, basketball, softball, kickball, and touch football.
The Order of the Arrow also served lunch, and after eating, everyone was ready to get into the service project. That afternoon as the campers left the area, the ranger said he would like to have this group back next year.

Having been called to serve a mission to England, Brigham and Brother Kimball were faced with a problem. They had promised the Lord they would leave for their mission from the cornerstone of Far West Temple. Despite the threats of apostates against their lives, Brigham, Orson Pratt, John E. Page, John Taylor, Wilford Woodruff, and George A. Smith, made their way back to Far West temple site, and with a small group of loyal Saints, held a brief service. The apostles then went to Commerce (now Nauvoo), Illinois, to settle their families and prepare for their mission. Brigham got a room for his family in an army barracks across the Mississippi River in Montrose.

When the Heritage Arts Committee began selecting displays from Heritage Arts festivals to be exhibited at June Conference, they soon realized that the work was just too good to be housed in little square booths. They called a special “atmosphere committee” that decided to create a turn-of-the-century village to house the displays in the Salt Palace convention center. They drew up plans and assigned a ward, stake, or group of stakes to put up each of the buildings.
Local stake presidents were asked to provide 40 journeymen carpenters and 40 helpers. The 80 built a whole frame city out of two-by-fours one Saturday morning, using enough lumber to have built four four-bedroom houses.
But before even one two-by-four had felt a hard-hit nail, thousands of Church members had spent months planning, researching and collecting relics of the past, not to mention learning, developing, or brushing up on age-old skills.
The red-brick grammar school seemed to slumber in the shadows. Next to the co-op, the balconied Deseret Hotel was shadowy and silent. The social hall looked awkward and lonely without its crowds of happy people.
Members of the Aaronic Priesthood and the Young Women of the Holladay 22nd Ward, Salt Lake City, began when the bishop’s youth committee discussed activities stressing the past that might interest young ward members. They chose as their theme “Born of Goodly Parents” in appreciation for the legacy of other generations. Class presidents met together with class members and selected projects. Together the young people worked under the supervision of their presidencies, calling on the ward service and activities committee to suggest specialists and to help coordinate. The kids sponsored a potluck banquet and invited all ward members to see their projects. They set up the displays in the ward meetinghouse and were later invited to do the same for the stake festival. The Salt Palace display was their third. This time they were to display their skills in an old-time mercantile store.
The Church steeple was gray against the blackness. The barber pole was merely a shimmer of pale white stripes.
When the frames were up, the wards and stakes assigned moved in and started fleshing out the skeletons. Although each group was given a suggested plan for the facade of its building, everyone was encouraged to make improvements, and some groups even called on architects in their stake to help create authentic and beautiful designs.
The spirit of cooperation and achievement was infectious. One man and his teenage helper started driving their pickup down the street toward their building, glancing at the work on both sides as they went. Before long they stopped the pickup and started backing out. When someone asked them what was wrong, the man replied, “Ours isn’t good enough. We’ll be back.” He went home and got a crew and more materials and came back and built a whole new storefront.
The newspaper presses were silent. There were no car sounds, no people sounds, not even dog sounds. The town was suspended in a stillness unknown to modern cities. The clocks all said 4:00P.M.
In the Sweet Shop a retired carpenter worked alongside an Aaronic Priesthood youth. They did not work swiftly, but every small detail was finished perfectly.
At the post office a deacon, a teacher, and their nine-year-old sister painted real-looking rocks on the whole building, putting in more than 14 hours each.
An 81-year-old lady working on the grammar school climbed up and down a ladder, pasting each red cardboard brick on individually.
Soon, a gleam came from the east, and the city lights flickered on. Men and women came. Doors began to open. There was talk and laughter. Dresses and dolls and rugs and plows and saddles were set out. The barber stood ready by his chair. The potter’s wheel began to turn.
In the meetinghouse of a Salt Lake student branch a poster titled “Jobs to Be Done” hung on the wall. There were instructions under each job listed. For two days, at all hours of the day, young people would come streaming in from work or school, pull on a pair of coveralls, do the job, scratch it off the list, and be on their way.
Students from the Utah Technical College donated the labor necessary to install 10,000 feet of electrical wiring, plus light poles and lights. The poles were supported by sandbags donated by inmates at the Utah State Prison. For five days hundreds of people worked hard and loved it. Laughter was as prevalent as the banging of hammers and the rasp of saws. Finally, when the sawdust had cleared, there were 50 buildings, a bandstand, a medicine show wagon, and a tepee—an authentic little turn-of-the-century town with a few last workers walking down its streets dressed in the clothing of an age to come.
When the clocks said 5:00 P.M., the row of doors to the east swung open and hordes of people came pouring in out of the future to look and point and wonder at the way it was. A band struck up a lively tune, and Heritage Square was open for another evening of business.
In their store, the youth of the Holladay 22nd Ward talked to visitors and embroidered, hammered, and quilted. Robed Buie, first counselor in the bishopric commented, “We took it seriously when the prophet said the youth were our first and foremost responsibility.” He was there to offer help, but he made it clear that the kids were running the show and had from the start.
The first-year Beehives made patriotic pillows for their rooms. Large and small, tufted, machine-stitched, embroidered, appliquéd, and creweled, the pillows displayed original as well as traditional designs, many taken from past American flags and Naval symbols.
The second-year Beehives discovered Pennsylvania Dutch designs. Seeing the distinctive heart, tulip, angel, and fruit patterns on bedspreads, furniture, birth certificates, and needlework, they duplicated the authentic designs on wall plaques, dish towels, pillow cases, table runners, and cutting boards.
The Mia Maids took advantage of the experience of a ward member and a blue-ribbon recipe for honey wheat bread to learn and demonstrate the art of bread making.
Thinking of their hope chests, the Laurels took up quilting, embroidery, and cross stitching. “People are really interested in taking up the older handicrafts,” said Mary Robinson. “The older women all say they’re glad the old skills aren’t dying out. We’re making a stitch quilt in activity night, and it’s really made me appreciate the time people used to take in doing a beautiful job.” The group donated three of their quilts to the Primary Children’s Medical Center.
The Holladay 22nd Ward Aaronic Priesthood wasn’t about to be outdone. The deacons earned the pioneer merit badge and worked on their Heritage Arts project at the same time. With dowels and balsa wood they built spans, trusses, monkey, suspension, and pier bridges.
Teachers quorum members chose pioneer photography. They studied early cameras and inventors and also photographed other classes at work on their projects.
The priests learned leather tooling from quorum members Richard Larson and Craig Hanson and then made sheepskin vests, belts, hats, wallets, moccasins, and even purses.
Visitors to the mercantile store were delighted as the young people stitched and pounded and demonstrated. The onlookers repeatedly asked, “How long does it take?”, “Where did you learn this?”, and “Is it hard?”
Throughout the square people learned from each other. A Laurel worked alongside an 85-year-old woman, explaining a new needlepoint stitch to her, and the sister taught the Laurel the practically lost art of tatting. Becky Cutler, 18, worked on a circular shag rug across from Ada Jensen, 79, who used 40 years of experience in making hidden-crocheted rugs.
The festival committee told participants that some 20,000 people might visit Heritage Square. No one was surprised, however, when the word got out and more than 100,000 showed up. The display was extended an extra day. Salt Palace executives tried unsuccessfully to extend it even further, but the volunteers who manned the displays were unable to give more time.
Everything on the 1900 Main Street teased memories. There were Dutch almond pastry, apple butter on wheat bread, and sour dough pancakes to taste. There were Indian dancers, flappers, brass bands, barber shop quartets, and marimba players to see and hear. There was even a lady who played the spoons and comb. The grammar school was complete with girls in pigtails, ink wells, dunce cap, pot-belly stove, and a portrait of George Washington. The Centerville Utah Co-op bragged that it was “the store that sells striped paint.” Modeled after the town’s old general store, the co-op featured lace-up ladies boots, black-boa wide-brimmed hats, the legendary cracker barrel and pickle jar, sasperilla, ginger snaps, shelves of mason jars, and yellow “bridal pajamas” trimmed with black lace. The Dressmaker, with its elegant collection of ecru vintage clothing, brought back the parasol, hats with plumes, long christening dresses, and the top hat. Everyone overlooked the frayed hems, worn velvet, and clumped feathers and marveled at the Japanese silk, delicate lace edgings, and tiny shoes. At the Missionary Church, a black-coated preacher exhorted, “There are places still on the front row,” and a young girl answered knowingly, “Aren’t there always?”
There were young people churning butter, dipping candles, throwing pots, pulling taffy, and spinning wool. Across from them their friends were weaving cloth, caning ladder-back chairs, stringing snowshoes, splitting stones, tying trout flies, and making rope.
This was a time-spanning occasion for all as evidenced by the equal numbers of “What’s that, Dad?” and “Hey, look over there. That’s what we used to chop ice.” Or “… warm the bed … reap wheat … pump water … and … harness the team.”
The grandmothers left feeling their quilting skills were not lost, and fathers left knowing that the five-foot saw with one-and-a-half-inch teeth was as big as they’d remembered. Mothers decided that making wheat bread must not be as hard as they remembered, while their daughters learned there’s more to embroider than jeans. For those who had spent months preparing, it was a time to excite and explain. But for most it was a motive to go home and search the attic, library, and family tree for old skills and heirlooms in an attempt to “remember the past, to better the future.”

The rules are simple but, for most, require a dramatic change in lifestyle: No violence. No drugs or alcohol during any performance or rehearsal. And they must be on time. “The choir is a school,” Pierre explains. “If we stay in school, we can learn. Many homeless people drink a lot and sleep during the day. At night they often don’t have a place to sleep, so they walk during the night. In the morning they find a place to sleep, and afterwards there’s nothing to do, so they drink. My work is to give them a schedule. I start them at seven o’clock in the morning, so they have to get up early, and they have to get to bed early.” Because of this schedule, many of the men, some of whom are alcoholics, have given up alcohol completely. Music has taken its place, and, as Pierre suggests, “Music is therapy.”
“It is a very positive feeling, a natural high,” says Roby, a former welfare recipient. “I don’t use drugs since I started with the choir. It’s got me so busy I need my sobriety or I can’t make it through the day.”

In my last conference message, I related my devastating experience many years ago when, as a heart surgeon, I was not able to save the lives of two little sisters. With permission of their father, I would like to say more about that family.
Congenital heart disease afflicted three children born to Ruth and Jimmy Hatfield. Their first son, Jimmy Jr., died without a definitive diagnosis. I entered the picture when the parents sought help for their two daughters, Laural Ann and her younger sister, Gay Lynn. I was heartbroken when both girls died following their operations.1 Understandably, Ruth and Jimmy were spiritually shattered.
Over time, I learned that they harbored lingering resentment toward me and the Church. For almost six decades, I have been haunted by this situation and have grieved for the Hatfields. I tried several times to establish contact with them, without success.
Then one night last May, I was awakened by those two little girls from the other side of the veil. Though I did not see or hear them with my physical senses, I felt their presence. Spiritually, I heard their pleadings. Their message was brief and clear: “Brother Nelson, we are not sealed to anyone! Can you help us?” Soon thereafter, I learned that their mother had passed away, but their father and younger brother were still alive.
Emboldened by the pleadings of Laural Ann and Gay Lynn, I tried again to contact their father, who I learned was living with his son Shawn. This time they were willing to meet with me.
In June, I literally knelt in front of Jimmy, now 88 years old, and had a heart-to-heart talk with him. I spoke of his daughters’ pleadings and told him I would be honored to perform sealing ordinances for his family. I also explained that it would take time and much effort on his and Shawn’s part to be ready and worthy to enter the temple, as neither of them had ever been endowed.
The Spirit of the Lord was palpable throughout that meeting. And when Jimmy and Shawn each accepted my offer, I was overjoyed! They worked diligently with their stake president, bishop, home teachers, and ward mission leader, as well as with young missionaries and a senior missionary couple. And then, not long ago, in the Payson Utah Temple, I had the profound privilege of sealing Ruth to Jimmy and their four children to them. Wendy and I wept as we participated in that sublime experience. Many hearts were healed that day!
On reflection, I have marveled at Jimmy and Shawn and what they were willing to do. They have become heroes to me.
If I could have the wish of my heart, it would be that each man and young man in this Church would demonstrate the courage, strength, and humility of this father and son. They were willing to forgive and let go of old hurts and habits. They were willing to submit to guidance from their priesthood leaders so that the Atonement of Jesus Christ could purify and magnify them. Each was willing to become a man who worthily bears the priesthood “after the holiest order of God.”2

This summer I went to Denmark, and I actually began to miss my family (except for the 6:00 A.M. Saturday morning “Smurf’s are on” call). When I returned and stepped off the airplane, there they were—13 people screaming, “Shannon’s back!”

As I wandered through the house in the middle of the night suffering from jet lag, I saw the ten-pound bucket of butter in the refrigerator, stumbled over the assorted pairs of mismatched shoes in the front entry, and opened my lipstick tubes to find that they had all been bitten off or smashed down, and I smiled and said to myself, “I’m home.”

When he was assigned to home teach a sister (whom we shall call Ruth Elliott), she was relatively new in the ward and Jay Lyman did not know her. By talking with her daughter who lived in another ward, and with others who could give him information about her, Brother Lyman was able to learn a little about Sister Elliott before he first called at her home.
Sister Elliott lived in a small apartment in a nice neighborhood. The apartment had been fashioned from the bedroom of a home and had its own outside door. The closet was used as the kitchen and was fitted with a small stove and a sink. The room was furnished with a broken-down upholstered chair in which Sister Elliott spent most of her time when she was not in bed. She seldom left the apartment and had no outside interests. Her days were spent alone at home.
This sister smoked and depended heavily on medications. Through the years her doctors had prescribed a number of medicines, and she continued to take many of them. Moreover, her appearance, manner, and conversation reflected a bitter attitude toward her life and circumstances. She harbored deep resentment toward her father and others, and an unfortunate incident with a Church member had wounded her deeply. Altogether, her life did not appear to be a pleasant one. Brother Lyman prayed fervently to know how best to serve this troubled sister.
Shortly after his call as her home teacher, an opportunity came. Her landlady was having the apartment painted, but Sister Elliott was responsible to move her furniture out to the patio before the work could be done. Brother Lyman and the ward’s high priests group leader moved the furniture out and then back in after the paint had dried. In this way they were able to be of service, although it was sad to see how little Sister Elliott owned and how meager her circumstances were.
On one occasion, while Sister Elliott had gone for a few days to visit with family members, Brother Lyman and his wife, Virginia, went to her apartment and “confiscated” the broken-down chair. It had a good frame, but needed new padding and fabric. Virginia did an excellent upholstering job on the chair, and they had it back in the apartment before Sister Elliott returned from her trip.
Brother Lyman and his junior companion visited this woman regularly, and Brother and Sister Lyman also went of ten to visit, to talk about the gospel, and to offer a simple prayer. Gradually, Sister Elliott began to accept and return their friendship, and they became closely involved in each other’s lives.
One spring, just prior to a surgery which their new friend needed, the Lymans spent many hours with her, on the phone or in person, taking her to church, to the doctor’s office, or shopping. They kept in touch daily. For a time she would call each night before going to bed; she was lonely and needed a listening ear, and they were somehow able to fill part of the void and provide a needed close association.
The Lymans were vacationing when Sister Elliott had the surgery, but they called her at the hospital to offer words of encouragement and cheer. She had received a priesthood blessing and felt that the Lord would watch over her. Moreover, following the operation she determined to stop smoking, which she did successfully.
Prior to his entering the mission field, a grandson had asked her to give up smoking—and she was able to accomplish the task through the help of the Lord and her own strong desire to please her missionary grandson.
As the months passed, Sister Elliott made new friends and found outside interests. Her church attendance improved, and she began to pay tithing. Brother Lyman recalls accompanying her to tithing settlement: at first she protested that she was ill and did not want to go, but he asked her to be ready and he picked her up. Returning home afterward she radiated happiness. She paid a full tithing for the first time in her life.
By now, her attitude toward life had changed dramatically. The bitterness was gone, replaced by a humble and contrite spirit. Those who had offended her were forgiven. Relations with her children improved, and there were changes in their attitude and behavior toward their mother, prompted by her increased tolerance and love for them.
This good sister was eventually able to move to a new apartment, furnish it attractively, and make new friends in her apartment building. A new physician, determined to correct her dependency on medication, insisted that she rely on her own strength to cope with problems and would not allow her to use medication for that purpose. Through his diligence and the power of the priesthood to bless and strengthen, she was able to endure a difficult period of withdrawal.
The blessings which have come to the “new” Sister Elliott have been many, including participation in the sacred temple ceremonies with her family and friends. Brother Lyman reports: “I am deeply grateful for the opportunity which has been mine to serve as her home teacher. Indeed, I loved the ‘old’ Sister Elliott as much as the ‘new’ Sister Elliott—but now I need not feel sad because of her meager and dreary life. Today it is full and pleasant, enriched by the blessings of gospel living.”

Juan Rodríguez is from the La Romana Stake in the Dominican Republic. He was baptized at the age of 13 and promptly took the action part of the gospel seriously. He enthusiastically shared the gospel message with the people in Mexico on his mission in 2014 and when he returned home, his passion for the gospel increased. For reasons of employment, he moved to a small community near Punta Cana called Verón, and there he likened the revelation given to Hyrum to himself when he was called to be the branch president. Juan knew that he and his counselors were being called of God to establish the cause of Zion in his hometown.
Together in prayer, with others in the area, they brought the Church out of obscurity through connecting with the community’s needs. They created activities like, Night at the Movies for the young single adults and International Day of Our Heritage as the community bonded together over delicious food. The youth also connected with the community on the International Day of Service as they cleaned a public school or did fundraisers. Through these events, the community became interested in the Church and the missionaries were kept busy teaching lessons and challenging friends to be baptized.
All this time, the members were meeting in a rented building that increasingly became too small for their growing group of Saints. Juan and his counselors believed, “If you will ask of me you shall receive; if you will knock it shall be opened unto you” (Doctrine and Covenants 11:5). So, they went to their stake president and asked how they could build a meetinghouse. Leaving the meeting with the Church guidelines to receive a meetinghouse for their congregation, they were filled with the spirit knowing that “A great and marvelous work [was] about to come forth among the children of men” (Doctrine and Covenants 11:1). Through faith and effort, they would fulfill scripture right there in Verón.
During a period of four years, the branch became a ward, the guidelines were met, and in April of 2022, land was purchased, followed by the groundbreaking ceremony on Jan. 20, 2023. The meetinghouse is anticipated to be completed early in 2024 and will be a monument of faith and hard work.

As a teenager, I didn’t want to participate in the branch choir. I loved to sing, but singing with the branch never thrilled me. One day, though, I grudgingly decided to accompany my mom to choir practice. Believe it or not, I actually had fun that day. I couldn’t exactly explain what it was, but for the first time I could remember, I wanted to be there. I continued to go.
At our last practice before we were to sing at branch conference, a recently returned missionary suggested that our choir go sing for Sister Rose. Sister Rose was a sweet 90-year-old lady whom I’d heard a lot about but never met. She was homebound, and the leaders were always telling us youth that she was lonely and that we should visit her. Not knowing her, I felt funny about just showing up on her doorstep. When this returned missionary suggested we sing, I jumped on the idea. Everyone else did too.
The next week, our choir sang at branch conference. Our stake president said that we were one of the best choirs in the stake. Even though we were a small branch, we had the best turnout as well.
Finally, we got to go sing for Sister Rose. I don’t recall having met a sweeter lady. While we were singing, she caught my eye and smiled. I struggled hard to choke back the tears as I saw her singing the chorus of “Praise to the Man” with us. That day I knew why I had participated in the choir.
After we were done, Sister Rose said we were one of the best choirs in the stake. Members of our choir enthusiastically reported to her that the stake president had said the same thing.
The joy I saw on her face was worth dragging myself from my Sunday afternoon nap to choir practice. In fact, it was a small price to pay. I shudder to think that if I had been hardhearted and not gone to choir, I would have missed out on this amazing experience. It was wonderful to be a part of something that brought another person such happiness.

Because of the drought in the area, sometimes there wasn’t any water in the village we were serving in as missionaries.
Since the taps were dry on Sunday, my companion and I had to bring a bottle of water from our apartment for the sacrament.
Before preparing the sacrament, I prayed that the Spirit would be present as I prepared these emblems and throughout sacrament meeting. After placing the cups in the tray, I unscrewed the bottle’s lid to begin to fill them. Normally, we would just sweep the tray underneath the steady stream of water from a tap, filling multiple cups at a time. But this time our water was limited, so I had to change the way I filled the cups. I began to fill each cup one by one, doing my best to make sure there was enough in each individual cup. The process took longer and was more tedious, but I was taught a lesson.
When Jesus Christ suffered for our sins, He felt our pains and sins on a very individual and personal basis. He came to understand, know, and love each of us personally. He paid the price for the weaknesses and sins of each one of us, and He did this so we can come to understand, know, love, and even become like Him.
I felt so much joy right there in the back room of the chapel, and I feel it every time I think of Jesus Christ’s love for me.
Elder Brigham Jewkes, South Africa Durban Mission

I served my mission in Finland from 1959 to 1962. I loved the service, and I loved my companions. I had wonderful mission presidents. I loved the Finnish people and their language. I loved my mission. To this day, I hold my mission experiences as sacred and wonderful, and I often refer to them.
After this wonderful mission in Finland, I returned home and my bishop called me in for an interview. I loved my bishop, and I expected him to say: “We are so proud of you! You have represented the ward well, and we are sure you represented the Lord well.”
But instead, he looked at me and said, “Well, Dennis, are you converted?” It was a question I did not expect.
While I was thinking about this, the bishop helped me understand why he had asked me that question. He told me that we had wonderful people in our ward, but some of them would not accept a calling or pay their tithing or keep the Sabbath day holy.
My bishop wanted me to answer the question about being converted because that would determine how I lived my life. I told the bishop that I was indeed converted.
This question burned itself into my mind and into my heart. We must do the little things in our lives every day. They not only bring conversion, but they keep us converted.
I’m pleased with the small things in my life. And I’m grateful for my bishop. Every time I see him, I thank him for asking me that question.

It was 1963, and I was serving as a full-time missionary in the Argentina North Mission. Ten elders and my companion and I served in three small branches in Mendoza.
December arrived and with it Christmas! It was my first Christmas in the mission field. We had great hopes as we all made our plans for Christmas Eve. The elders hired a man to drive us around in his four-wheeled cart, pulled by two horses. We planned to stop on street corners where lots of people would be rushing by to make their last-minute purchases.
When it was time to leave, the 12 of us climbed into the cart and sat with our feet hanging over the sides and back. The driver slowly guided the cart. We stopped every four or five blocks at the corners we had chosen. Our group then got out and formed a semicircle, sisters in front and elders behind. We opened our hymnbooks and let our voices fill the night air, time and again, with Christmas carols.
“Joy to the world, the Lord is come!” Men and women, teenagers and children, stopped to listen, caught up in the spirit of Christmas. Many of them looked surprised, as if they were remembering the real event they were getting ready to celebrate.
When the cart started to head for another stop, we noticed that many of the listeners were following us. Each time there were more and more. Through my tears, I could see their smiling faces. What joy we felt! We received many referrals and contacts, as we had hoped we would.
The crowd asked us to sing “Joy to the World” (Hymns, no. 201) again. As we sang they cried, touched by the Spirit on that unforgettable Christmas Eve.
After more than 40 years, my heart still overflows with gratitude as I remember my first Christmas as a missionary. I thank my Heavenly Father for the gift of His Son. And I thank Him for the knowledge that there is indeed “joy to the world,” for “the Lord is come!”

There are a lot of things I’m not good at. For example, I am not a great chef—my idea of gourmet is adding crushed potato chips to my tuna fish. With regard to sewing, I’m top notch as long as I have a stapler or hot-glue gun handy. And when it comes to drawing, well, my stick figures don’t even look like sticks!
But there is one thing I think I’m particularly good at. I can talk.
It’s not that I’m better at enunciating than other people, or that I have superior grammar and diction; I just enjoy making good conversation. My teachers in grade school would always tell my parents, “She’s quite the little chatterbox.” In junior high, the common statement was, “My, isn’t she enthusiastic.” By the time I got to high school, it had delicately evolved to, “Does this girl ever stop talking?”
Then, a few years later, I was serving a mission in North Carolina—the perfect reason for me to use my talent to its fullest extent. The only problem was that I didn’t want to. I discovered that being on a mission was a little scary at first.
When my first senior companion, Sister Hubbard, invited me to teach a discussion, I would reply, “You teach it. I want to watch you first.” When we knocked on doors, she would sweetly remind me when it was my turn to greet them. I would stiffly utter a bland hello and pray that they wouldn’t have any questions to ask me.
This went on for a little while until I woke up one morning with a bad cold and sore throat. When I tried to tell my companion how rotten I felt, I found that I had lost my voice too. At first, it was pretty good. I had the perfect excuse to sit quietly through every appointment, not saying a word. After a few days, though, the novelty began to fade. I couldn’t chat with anyone, use the phone, or sing. Life wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be without a voice. Soon I was more down than ever.
Toward the end of the week, while I was studying the scriptures, I came to Matthew 25 [Matt. 25], where it talks about the parable of the talents. As I read, I slowly realized that I had acted like the slothful servant. Heavenly Father had given me the talent of communication and had provided me with the means to use my talent by calling me to share the gospel. But what did I do? “I was afraid, and went and hid [my] talent in the earth” (Matt. 25:25). My days of silence taught me what it would really be like to lose my talent for good if I didn’t use it.
Well, I’m still on my mission and I’m happy to report that my voice came back, and I’ve decided to use it as much as I possibly can. At every appointment, I try to teach with a grateful heart, thanking the Lord for the opportunity to bear my testimony of Jesus Christ. When it comes to knocking on doors, I greet people with a cheerful grin and a hearty “How y’all doing today?” (That’s southern for hello.) And when I walk through town, no one gets by without a friendly invitation to learn more about the plan of happiness.
I may not be a master chef, a superior seamstress, or a modern Monet, but I am using the talent that I do have to do the very best I can. And I find special meaning in these words from the Doctrine and Covenants: “And thou must open thy mouth at all times, declaring my gospel with the sound of rejoicing” (D&C 128:16).

Brother William and Sister Johanna Buckley are converts to the Church and live on the island of Aruba. Years ago, when they were investigating the Church, they became friends with Sister Ana St. Cyr and her four-year-old grandson, Ralph, who attended the Oranjestad, Aruba branch. These two were the only members of the Church in their family and the only Haitian members of the branch. As the Buckleys integrated into the branch they found special joy in watching young Ralph’s testimony and spirituality develop.
In John 4:13–14, Jesus says to the Samarian woman at the well, “Whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again:
“But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life.”
It was apparent that Sister St. Cyr and little Ralph had allowed those everlasting waters to spring up within them.
Like the Samarian women who went off to share the good news, Ralph did the same. In 2018, Ralph Desir was called to serve in the Vanuatu Port Vila Mission where he had the opportunity to share the everlasting waters of the Savior, Jesus Christ. He was blessed with many companions from diverse cultures, lived in eight different places, and learned Bislama, the native language of Vanuatu, which helped him to effectively create relationships with the people.
Elder Desir was blessed to see the gospel of Jesus Christ strengthen the people he taught as they overcame the challenges in their lives. Upon completion of his mission, he testifies of the truthfulness of the power of everlasting waters and knows how to allow those waters to continue to bless his own life and the lives of others.
Brother Desir testifies that “serving a mission was the best decision that I have made in my life. I have learned to be like the Savior and teach the gospel by example in all things. I love the gospel with all my heart, and I wouldn’t exchange my mission experiences for anything. One of the reasons I served a mission was because I knew how much it would bless my family and how much joy it would bring to my own life.”
Since returning from his mission, Brother Desir has served as first counselor in the San Nicolas Branch presidency, Aruba, and as a delegation leader for the Aruba, Bonaire, Curacao District that attended the youth conference in the Dominican Republic in 2022. He is now serving as branch secretary. He uses his proficiency in the Dutch, Spanish, English, Papiamento, and French Creole languages to continue to bless lives in Aruba and elsewhere.
Brother and Sister Buckley have followed Brother Desir’s example and are now serving in the ABC district as church communication directors. They continue to enjoy watching him grow and share the gospel.

A true story from South Africa.
Aurora loved Sundays. She got to visit Great-Granny’s house.
Aurora wanted to play hide-and-seek. Mom asked if she would help bake a cake first.
Aurora knew Granny loved lemon cake. She wanted to help make Granny happy.
While they worked, Aurora told Granny what she learned in Primary.
Finally Aurora and Granny played hide-and-seek! “I love Sundays because I get a Sunday helper,” said Granny.
“How do I help you? We just played,” said Aurora.
“You help when you spend time with me and show me love!” said Granny.

The worth of a soul! President McKay felt that every living thing deserves our respect and thoughtful care. He felt this way even about animals and birds, and he often liked to return to his Huntsville farm to ride his horses and to visit. Several years ago someone broke into the farm and stole the President’s saddles. When the saddles were replaced with new ones, they were kept in the saddle house under lock and key. One day President McKay’s sisters stopped to check on things at the farm and seeing one of the windows of the saddle house open, they closed it to avert a second theft. Hearing from his sisters what they had done, the president gently said, “I left that window open purposely because there is a bird’s nest inside, and that is the only entrance the parent birds have to carry food to their babies. I think I shall just have time to run over.” He went and opened the window and, returning, said in a gracious way, “It was just as I expected—one little bird was outside trying to get in, and the mother was inside attempting to get out.”

The room was small. Mirrored darkly in the panes of a tall china closet, it seemed even smaller. The deep afternoon hinted of spice, cedar, and old wool. The creak of a rocking chair and the ticking of a clock seemed quieter than mere silence.
Serious young men in the uniforms of two wars, flanked by snapshots of lacy babies and an embroidered rose, looked down out of their gilded frames onto a couch overflowing with pillows. The room was full of time-worn furniture and the dainty odds and ends a woman can accumulate in a lifetime.
Two windows spread sunlight through white curtains covered with moving leaf-shadows, highlighting here a ceramic ballerina on her crocheted doily, there a white pin jar, elsewhere a flight of plaster angels flapping up one wall toward a high ceiling.
In the best light a white-haired lady sat working, her knitting on her lap. She hummed softly to herself and glanced from time to time at the hands of the clock. When the door chimes sounded, she soon had the door open. “Come in,” she said warmly to the three smiling girls who stood outside, “I’ve been expecting you.”
She was expecting them because weeks earlier Laurel president Donna Muir had suggested that something should be done for the elderly. The young people of the Culver City and La Cienega wards, who meet together for activity night, agreed, and so they sought and received inspiration. The result was an innovative service project that would allow some of the widows and widowers in the area to give just as much as they received. Small groups of young people would visit selected oldsters and chat with them about their lives. The interviews would be recorded and preserved as a contribution to oral history. They decided that each group would take a small present to those they visited to show their love and appreciation.
And in other houses, other cassettes turned, other pens scratched, and warm, old voices escorted other young people into the heart of other times and other lives. It was a guided tour of history—not embalmed textbook history, but history still alive and breathing. Horizons of time, space, and personality were broadened, and everyone, young and old, knew that they were co-citizens of forever.
Several weeks after the last stop buttons had been pushed and the last goodbyes said, the young people hosted their elderly friends at a dinner where each of them was presented with a typed transcript of what he had said. It had nothing to do with a service project anymore. It was a get-together between friends.
The young men and women involved in the visits speak glowingly of the experience. Brother George Mitchell, an immigrant from Bulgaria, was visited by Alfred Griffith, Bruce Wright, Sandra Tong, and Myra-Lynn Jensen, who took an apple pie as a gift. Sandra later commented, “He talked for two hours, and when we left, he had just made it up to 1945. He has lived an interesting life. I never realized what a struggle immigrants to our country experience.” Myra-Lynn added, “The thing I remember is that he said that the apartment he lives in at the low-rent housing project is like a palace compared to the tar-paper shack he lived in when he first came to this country.”
Donna Muir, Mary Synold, and Diane Muir visited Sister Ruth Yancy, an elderly widow in poor health who devotes all the time she can to visiting disabled veterans at a veterans hospital. The young ladies, who took along a plate of cookies, were amazed at the amount of information Sister Yancy had given them. Diane said, “Older people seem so quiet, but they really have a story to tell. I didn’t know Sister Yancy at all, but I appreciate her as a person now. I can see the good she has done throughout her life.”
Sister Hazel Gotts, a widow who is a recent convert, was visited by Gerilynn Price and Mark Packard, the priests quorum group leader. They took her a cake. Mark reports, “I enjoyed talking with a person who has been around so long and seen so much. I think it’s a good way for the youth and older people to get to know and understand each other better. I had a very nice feeling when I left, knowing I had made someone happy, and I know she was very happy to know that someone cares about her. She enjoyed telling us about herself. I think it would be nice if the youth could establish a close relationship with the elderly people in the ward.”
The bishops of both wards suggested many people who would enjoy a visit, and five were chosen for the initial project. Youth leaders contacted each of these people to see if they would be willing to be visited. One elderly lady burst into tears and said, “Visit? With me? I’ve been so lonely.” Another replied, “The young people are so beautiful! I’d just love for them to come.” All five were eager to participate.
So the visits were scheduled, the preparations made.
Inside the house of the white curtains, the three young ladies complimented their hostess on her hand-painted china, broke the ice with a little small talk, and again explained their mission. Soon the tape recorder was set up, one young lady had her pen poised above a notebook ready to take notes, and the good sister started talking about her girlhood and her life. On the rare occasions when she ran dry momentarily, the girls were ready with well-conceived questions to start the flow again.
As they listened and the cassette turned, a wonderful thing happened. Years blurred and ran together, and the Laurels were no longer in the little house of sunlight and painted china. They were in Heber City, Utah, around the turn of the century, seeing life through the eyes of a young Mormon girl. They knew the bitterness of the winters, the headiness of mountain springs, the crushes, hopes, and secrets of being young. They met and loved all the old forgotten people, old and forgotten no more, who had filled a girl’s childhood. They visited a sawmill on the Utah-Wyoming border where she had spent some summers and smelled the sweetness of clean-sawed pine. They lived with her her first time away from home.
“It’s an awful thing to be homesick,” she said, closing her eyes and remembering, but with a smile. And then, in the present again for a moment, she leaned forward and asked, with a twinkle in her eyes, “Have you girls ever been homesick?”
Suddenly there was no generation gap—no time barrier between Utah then and California now—as the girls realized more fully than ever that people don’t stop being people just because they grow old. They forgot all about tape recorders and oral history for a while and talked friend to friend about homesickness, and family, and love, and all the other things that never stop mattering, and for a moment they glimpsed a more eternal perspective of existence and saw time as the sham it is.
Randy Tong, Gayle Allen, and Susan Langford visited Sister LaVern Brown who had suffered several severe falls and couldn’t get out much, and they presented her with a potted plant. The youth unanimously reported that it had been a delightful experience. Sister Brown later commented, “Oh, those young people were just so nice, but so quiet. I had to do all the talking.”
Sister Louella Norberg was visited by Kathy Peterson, Joele Chafant, Deanna Peterson, and Kiku Okauchi. Kathy said of the visit, “Joele, Deanna, Kiku, and I met outside her apartment and were standing there wondering how we should approach her when she stuck her head out and called, ‘Yoo-hoo, girls! Here I am!’ and invited us in to see her. It was fascinating. She told us things that happened over the years, and I really enjoyed it. I know she liked it a lot too because she kissed us all before we left.”
A kiss on the cheek in California—it’s a little thing, but it’s the sort of little thing that’s teaching youth all over the Church that service is truly its own reward.

On a preparation day in the Cambodia Phnom Penh Mission, Elder Trent Nielson of Mesa, Arizona, watched as his fellow missionaries began a game of soccer. The field was adjacent to a school, and the activity of the missionaries attracted some of the local teenagers who approached Elder Nielson and asked why so many Americans were playing soccer in Cambodia. He explained that they were all missionary teachers of the gospel of Jesus Christ. The young men wanted to know how much these teachers were paid. When they learned that the missionaries paid their own way, they were dumbfounded. Why would anybody do such a thing?
Soon the curiosity of the teens led to probing spiritual questions, and they became engrossed in the missionary’s message. Before long Elder Nielson was teaching 10 young men on the grass of a soccer field about the Restoration of the gospel.
The member of the group who was the most antagonistic in the beginning became the most interested in the end. He and others asked for copies of the Book of Mormon. Elder Nielson realized that he did not have enough to give one to each of the inquisitive young men, so he hurriedly searched through the bags of the missionaries on the field for additional copies. Before the group left, Elder Nielson told them how they could get more information about the Church.