Gospel Story Finder

1 Indians in the Western Hemisphere are often called Lamanites by Church members because these Indians are descendants of the Nephites and Lamanites in the Book of Mormon. Oliver Cowdery and Peter Whitmer, Jr., were called to go on a mission to the Lamanites. Other men wanted to go with them. The Lord indicated that Ziba Peterson and Parley P. Pratt were to accompany Oliver and Peter.
2 First the missionaries went to the Catteraugus Indians in New York. Finding a few Indians who could read, the missionaries gave them two copies of the Book of Mormon.
3 Near the Ohio border the missionaries preached to the Wyandot Indians, who were happy to learn about their ancestors in the Book of Mormon.
4 In Missouri the missionaries preached the gospel to the Delaware Indians. These Indians were also given the Book of Mormon. They thanked the missionaries for traveling so far and for caring enough to give them the Book of Mormon.
5 Other people in Missouri did not believe the gospel, nor did they believe the Book of Mormon. They told the missionaries to stay away from the Indians.
6 When told that soldiers would force the missionaries to stay away from the Indians, the missionaries were sorry, but they obeyed the authorities and left the Indian settlements.
7 One of the missionaries, Parley P. Pratt, went to tell the Prophet Joseph about their mission to the Lamanites. The mission had been a good one; the gospel had been taken to three great Indian tribes.

When I arrived, I joined a fraternity. A majority of the fraternity were also Church members, some of whom were returned missionaries. After a while I began to notice that the returned missionaries just seemed to “have their act together” in a way that the others, in my opinion, didn’t. I had not been raised with the notion of serving a mission, although as I got to be an older teenager my parents began to mention it. My father had not served a mission because of World War II. His medical school training went right through the war.
As I spent more and more time in Salt Lake and got to know the returned missionaries, somehow I was able to perceive that these missionaries had gotten more out of life and were further down the road in a very positive way than others of the same age. They were directed. They had goals. They had a feeling for who they were that others didn’t seem to have. In my view, they had social skills that I thought were an advantage. That was what got me started thinking about a mission. At first, it was entirely for the wrong reasons, for selfish reasons.
Even within this group there were some returned missionaries whose stories about their missions made me feel hesitant about service. Their stories were about how hard it was or how cold it was or how primitive the circumstances were. I was basically reluctant to do anything cold or difficult. But other returned missionaries took me aside and said, “Whit, let me tell you what it is really like, how wonderful it is.”
Nobody who was a returned missionary said, “Don’t go.” They all told me to go, but a few of them delighted in telling me the hard parts. I decided to listen to these others who said, “That’s just the way he talks. He had a great experience, and look what he became. You’ll have a great experience too.”
At the same time I had an experience that was very important to me. I used to go down to a local gym to work out. One time when I was down there in the late morning, I noticed Elder Marion D. Hanks of the Seventy. We were the only two in the gym, and he struck up a conversation with me.
After a little small talk, I asked him if I could ask a question.
“Sure, please go ahead,” he said. He was very friendly, very warm.
“I’m trying to decide whether to go on a mission.”
He said, “What are the things that you are thinking about? What are the considerations?”
I said, “Really just one, and it is a question about the amount of time it would take.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
At this point in time I thought I wanted to be a doctor. My father was a doctor, and I wanted to be a doctor. This was before I knew much about organic chemistry.
I said, “I’m 19 now and still have three years of college and then time as an intern and a resident. I expect to be drafted into the military (it was during the Vietnam conflict) plus a mission. You add all of these things up, I’ve got 14 or 15 years to go before I get to real life. If I do all of these things, I won’t get to real life until I’m 33 or 34 years old. That seems like a very late start.”
He said, “Well, that’s an interesting question. You should know that I did not serve a mission. I was in the military during World War II and was not able to serve a mission, but I’ll tell you how I think you should answer the question.”
He asked me, “How old are you now?”
I said, “I’m 19.”
“How old will you be in 14 years if you don’t do any of those things?”
I answered, “I’ll be 33.”
He again asked me, “How old are you now?”
I said, “I’m 19.”
“How old will you be in 14 years if you do all of those things?”
I said, “I’ll be 33.”
Then he asked me. “When you are 33, what would you rather have done? None of those things, half of those things, or all of those things?”
I saw immediately the wisdom of his response, and it just penetrated me. I saw how it fit with what I had seen in the returned missionaries on campus. I decided then and there I was going to serve a mission.
That was the best decision I have ever made, because everything good in my life has come from that decision. I don’t believe my wife would ever have been willing to consider marrying me if I had not been a returned missionary. I think her decision to marry me was the best thing that has happened in my life. Our experience together across the years, raising a family and being involved in Church service, our community involvement, my professional involvement, all of those things have been influenced by that mission.
I am so grateful for the example of returned missionaries—for the way they dressed, for the way they talked, the way they worked, for the light in their lives, which was immediately evident to me. I could see the difference in the way they dressed, spoke, and carried themselves, in the way they behaved. It was discernible. I could see it, and I wasn’t looking for it. It was simply that I began to perceive something that I hadn’t noticed before, and I learned that the Lord blesses those who do the things He asks them to do. He blessed me, and He blesses everyone who goes on a mission and then stays in essentially a modified missionary lifestyle after that. I’m grateful for that.
Those two experiences—watching returned missionaries and having a chance (well, maybe not a chance) meeting with Elder Hanks. That was the turning point in my life. My parents wanted me to go on a mission and were delighted when I did. And I think it helped my younger brothers to see me go.
Young men, look forward to serving a mission. It is hard; it is work, but there is nothing about it that you can’t do. You’ll love the experience. Doing hard things is good for us, and missions aren’t so hard that you can’t do them. They just require something of you. You have to grow up a little, and I promise you that if you will prepare yourself for a mission in every way—intellectually, physically, and spiritually—keeping yourself clean and ready to go, you’ll have a tremendous experience, and you’ll be grateful.

For example, a young woman describes how she stays on the covenant path: “I once had a classmate ask me for help. I didn’t think much of it, just gave her the help she needed. But afterward, the Spirit reminded me that by helping bear her burdens, I was keeping the covenants I made when I was baptized (see Mosiah 18:8–10). I am grateful for the opportunities Heavenly Father gives me every day to choose to walk the covenant path.”

The night before my football team’s first practice of the season, I was so excited I couldn’t sleep. All my life I’d wanted to play little league football. I’d saved up my money over the summer so I could pay for it myself, and now at age 14, I was finally going to fulfill my dream.
But during the practice the next day, something really surprised me. It wasn’t how hard my coaches made our team work or how hard they pushed us—I was expecting that. No, I was shocked at the filthy and vulgar language all the players and coaches were using. At first I tried to ignore it and not let it bother me, but after a while it started to have an effect on me. I found myself thinking those words and—even worse—repeating them under stress. I prayed to my Heavenly Father and asked Him to help me be strong. I felt that I needed to be an example to my teammates and my coaches. Then I promised myself and God that I wouldn’t swear.
Later in the season, my team was preparing to play our rivals. Right before the game, my coach gave us a pep talk. Our whole team was really motivated, and my coach had us gather to say a cheer. He told us the cheer, and unfortunately it contained swear words. I didn’t have much time to make a decision, but I remembered the promise I’d made to myself and to Heavenly Father. An idea came to my mind to say the cheer, but when the swear word came up, I would just replace it with a different, appropriate word.
During the cheer, the player next to me noticed what I said, and after the cheer he started to make fun of me. He went up to the coach and said, “Harsh is Mormon, and he’s not man enough to swear. He’s too churchy!” I thought the coach would get mad at me or start to make fun of me as well, but instead he stood up for me and told my teammate, “Hey, leave Harsh alone. He has a lot of heart and can show you up anytime on the football field!”
I was surprised. I thought my coach would respect me if I swore like everyone else. But he actually respected me more because I was true to my standards and set an example for him and the rest of the team.
I don’t know how big of an impact my example had on my teammates and coaches, but I realized later how much that experience strengthened me. Now, four years later, it’s easier for me to stand up for what I believe in, no matter what situations I find myself in. I also realized that when we make a decision to obey the commandments, we are not alone—the Holy Ghost will help and support us through our trials.

A giraffe, a lion, a tiger, a zebra, and an elephant lived together in the jungle. Or rather they all lived in the jungle but not exactly together. Often they were angry and cross with each other and none was a friend to the other. They were always complaining and finding fault.
The tiger complained because the zigzag stripes on the zebra made him dizzy.
The zebra complained about the giraffe’s long neck. Whenever the two of them talked together, the zebra got a stiff neck from looking up so high.
The giraffe found fault because the lion’s loud snoring kept him awake.
The lion complained because the elephant was so huge he shut out the sun when the lion wanted a sunbath, and the elephant in turn was always cross because the tiger hid in the tall grass and scared him.
And thus it went day after day. Complaints, complaints, complaints!
Then one lazy afternoon when the tiger awakened from his afternoon nap and peered through the grass to see if the elephant were near, he saw the zebra trotting about in the sunshine. Maybe it was because he was still a bit sleepy, but the thought crossed the tiger’s mind that the zebra’s stripes looked very pretty in the sunshine.
When the zebra came close, the tiger yawned a little and remarked, “That black and white outfit of yours is not bad at all. If I half close my eyes, I don’t get a bit dizzy.”
This pleased the zebra and he trotted off, arching his neck and flicking his tail. He saw the giraffe eating from the high branches of the acacia tree. And, still feeling good about the tiger’s compliment, he said to the giraffe, “Your long neck is certainly perfect for reaching so high. How do things look from up there?”
“The air is clear and bright and all is peaceful,” answered the giraffe, lowering his head to the zebra’s level. And so they visited and walked a while on that sunny afternoon until it was time for the giraffe to move off to a shady spot for his afternoon nap.
The lion had chosen the same shady spot and was already dozing and snoring there. For a minute the giraffe felt cross. Then he stretched his long neck and took a few nibbles of tender leaves before closing his eyes. The lion’s snoring was rhythmic and steady, and soon the giraffe was gently nodding to its beat. He quickly fell asleep and dreamed a pleasant dream.
They both awoke at the same time. The lion yawned and the giraffe stretched his neck. The giraffe spoke first. “Your snoring was very soothing,” he said, “almost like a lullaby.”
“Thank you,” answered the lion. “That was kind of you to say so.” Feeling pleased, he walked off through the tall grass to find a spot to sun in.
The sun was too bright and hot and soon the lion wished he were back under the tree in the shade. Just then the elephant plodded by on his way to the waterhole. As he passed the lion he cast a big shadow and for an instant the lion felt cool.
The lion arose and moved along with the elephant. “May I walk in your shadow to the waterhole?” he asked politely. “You make an even deeper shade than the acacia tree.”
“Come along,” said the elephant. “My shadow does me no good but I’m glad you can use it.” Together they went to the waterhole.
Later when the elephant moved off for his evening meal in the tall grass, the tiger crept up and scared him. The elephant jumped a little and said to the tiger, “My word! You certainly move quietly. Even with my big ears I didn’t hear you coming.”
The tiger was pleased and stopped to show the elephant just how he placed his paws on the ground so no noise could be heard.
The jungle is the same. The trees stand still. The grass waves in the breeze. The sun shines brightly. But there is a difference.
Now the giraffe, the lion, the tiger, the zebra, and the elephant live together in the jungle as friends.

Many, many years ago, woodcutters went deep into the jungle of Chiapas, Mexico, in search of precious wood. Because of the difficult terrain, they could not take their families with them. When they finally reached their work site, the men raised temporary rustic huts of thick branches, roofed with palm leaves.
Night after night, after long days of woodcutting, the men would sit around the fire and talk or sing. The songs they had learned from their ancestors floated away on the night wind. But the men were lonely, and there was sadness and even bitterness in their voices. There was a great need for some cheerful music to accompany the sad choruses that penetrated the jungle.
Among the woodcutters was a handsome young boy named Quetzal Feather. This boy loved the murmur of the jungle more than anything or anyone in the whole world.
One evening as the sun was about to set, Quetzal Feather went deep into the jungle. He was guided by the music of the wind in the foliage. Suddenly he stopped. He thought he heard the sound of voices high in the branches. He went forward cautiously until he was almost at the foot of a tasseled palm. The palm was speaking sadly to a majestic-looking silk-cotton tree.
Quetzal Feather hardly breathed as he listened to what the trees were saying.
“My friend,” said the palm, “because of my great height, I can see the place from where those heartrending songs come. Just before nightfall, I saw the woodcutters with their eyes fixed upon the jungle. How sadly they sang!”
The robust silk-cotton tree shook its branches in protest. “Man should not live sunken in sadness!” it declared.
“We should do something,” responded the palm tree.
Quetzal Feather, hidden in the underbrush, listened in wonderment to the conversation. Then, he heard another voice, shy and nervous. It sent a shiver through him as he strained to catch every word.
“Friends and companions,” said the voice humbly, “the sad songs of the woodcutters have moved me to my very roots. But—perhaps I can do something to help.”
Quetzal Feather poked his head out of the underbrush and saw the tree that had just spoken. It was an hormiguillo tree that stood not far from the stately palm.
The great silk-cotton tree answered first, a little doubtfully. “If you can help, please do so!” it begged.
“Yes,” agreed the palm, “but what can you do? How can you lift the sadness from the woodcutters’ hearts?”
“For a long time now,” began the hormiguillo tree with more self-assurance, “I have been storing under my bark the torrent of nature’s harmony. For a long time I have held the songs of the birds and the cricket, the murmur of wind and rain, and the sound of water cascading over rocks. I have treasured up in me the soft sound of doves in flight and the roar of the tempest.”
Suddenly, before Quetzal Feather had time to realize what the tree had said, beautiful chords began to come from the hormiguillo tree.
“What music is this?” Quetzal Feather asked himself in amazement. “Even the jungle trembles in delight!”
The branches of the palm and the silk-cotton tree swayed in surprised and happy approval.
Trembling with excitement, Quetzal Feather fled from the underbrush. He wished to tell the woodcutters all that he had heard.
But the woodcutters did not believe him, judging him to be a strange and imaginative boy. Wearily they entered their huts for a night’s rest. And Quetzal Feather was left by the dying fire, alone and confused. Then just before sunrise he arose and ran straight as an arrow to the place where he had hidden in the underbrush the night before. The hormiguillo tree was silent now, yet in spite of its silence, some strange love kept Quetzal Feather beside the tree.
Days and nights passed, but the youth, hugging the hormiguillo tree, heard not a single happy note of the heavenly music he had heard before.
The woodcutters were very fond of Quetzal Feather, in spite of what they thought were the boy’s strange imaginings, and they tried to persuade him to leave the tree. But it was of no use. “The tree has bewitched him,” the Old Ones said sadly.
At last, Quetzal Feather became so weak and tired that he fell asleep at the foot of the tree.
“Now,” said the oldest woodcutter, “we can help him. While he sleeps deeply, we will cut the tree down and free him from his bewitchment.”
With their sharpened axes, the woodcutters began to chop at the hormiguillo tree. But to their great surprise and fear, beautiful musical sounds came from the tree at each stroke of their axes.
Quetzal Feather, hearing the music, awoke and clung to the wounded tree that seemed to be moaning with pain.
“Finish cutting me down at once!” begged the hormiguillo tree. “Take my wood. It is full of harmony!”
The next day when Quetzal Feather gathered up the pieces of the fallen tree, he discovered to his great delight that the sticks of wood when tapped by other sticks sent out beautiful happy chords.
Day and night he worked without rest until he had arranged the small pieces of the hormiguillo tree into a rustic instrument.
Thus the noble forest of Chiapas had furnished a lively and happy accompaniment to the tired and sad voices of the woodcutters. The marimba was born, and to this day men search the jungles of Chiapas and Guatemala for the musical wood of the hormiguillo tree.

When Michael was in junior high, his father, Calvin, suggested that he get involved in a sport. He wasn’t tall enough for basketball or big enough for football. He went out for track. “I wasn’t very good at it,” said Michael, “but I stuck with it because I thought it’d get better the next year.”
There’s the first clue. Stick with it.
Calvin would watch his son run. The only advice Michael remembers his dad giving was, “Pay attention to what your coach says, and work hard.”
Another clue. Listen to those who know best. And work hard.
It paid off. Michael became the second best man in the distances on the cross-country team. His best friend, Darrin, could always beat him.
Next clue. After you do the best you can, support those ahead of you.
At the end of his sophomore year, Michael decided to get involved in school government. He ran for junior class council. Yvonne, Michael’s mother, said, “He didn’t even tell us he was running. He just did it.”
The next year, Michael ran for student-body president even though someone else seemed more likely to win. He ran and was elected.
One more clue. Try, you never know what you can do until you try.
Throughout his school years, Michael had friends from different groups and with different interests. But there were certain things that Michael had decided and those decisions never changed. He was determined to never miss seminary. Even when he came back from a track meet late, he was there.
And he never let his friends influence him into breaking the commandments. How did his friends react? Michael said, “They sort of understand. They say, ‘This is Michael, and this is the Church he belongs to. And this is what he does.’”
Another point for our list. Stick to your standards.
After graduation Michael knew he wanted to prepare for his mission. His birthday was in December, so he decided to stay home from college and work to earn money for his mission. His dad helped Michael get a job with him working with a tugboat company. As the rookie, Michael got all the jobs no one else wanted—cleaning up, painting, picking up supplies.
Two more things Michael learned. Sometimes you have to put up with jobs you don’t like to earn the goal you do want—going on a mission. And as a bonus, Michael learned to take righteous pride in the kind of man his father is. Michael said, “Working around tugboats is a rough environment. There’s a lot of bad language. But Dad’s not different at work than he is at home. He always lives what he believes.”
Michael has followed the advice of his parents and his Church leaders and made some good choices. He gets a chance to help his younger sisters, Joleane and Elizabeth, and brother, Daniel, with the choices they are making. “He gives us advice,” said Elizabeth. “He tells us what movies to go to. He’s always been that way, telling us what we should do.”
Now Michael is serving his mission in Ukraine. He’ll be going places where they have never heard of the Church. How will he do? Michael knows how to stick with it, work hard, listen to those who know best, try, and keep his standards, which are now mission rules.
Cal Higgins had one more word of advice for his son before he left home—“Finish the race.”
And that’s the last piece of the puzzle. The scriptures phrase it a little differently, but the meaning is the same: Endure to the end. That’s the key to many of Michael’s accomplishments. After working and trying, listening and learning, then finish the race.

One of the best ways to make friends is to invite them over, right? That’s what the Montreal Ward of the Montreal Quebec Mount Royal Stake did. Their new chapel created so much interest in the surrounding neighborhood of La Salle that ward leaders decided to open it up for tours.

And when they did, the youth of this ward played a major role. The Latter-day Saint teens served refreshments, directed parking, and greeted guests at the door.

“It was a good experience because it gave other people in the community an opportunity to know more about us—what we believe and what we do,” explains Melissa Poirier, 15. More than 300 non-Latter-day Saints toured the building.

Denver says service is not the only opportunity weight lifting has given him: “Anywhere you excel, people are going to notice, and that will give you missionary opportunities.” Recently at a national meet, a world-class power lifter asked Denver why he wasn’t coming to the next meet. Denver told him about his mission, and the power lifter surprised him by encouraging him to put God first. Denver later told his mother, Tammy, “I could be known as Denver the weight lifter, but I’d rather be known as Elder Brown in Mexico.”

Illustrations by David Curtis
When I was 16, I attended high school at a technical school in order to earn an associate’s degree in electronics. As a requirement for my degree, I had to complete a 30-day internship at a local business to show my technical skills.
My internship was with a paper goods company. My desire to serve a full-time mission had begun to grow, and this job would help me earn enough money to go. But there were three of us interns, and the company would only select one of us for a full-time position.
The company had a machine that had failed. When the machine was working properly, it could complete as much work as three similar machines. This piece of equipment hadn’t been working for quite some time, and the company had ordered replacement parts from abroad to activate it—but it still didn’t work. I accepted the challenge to try to fix it.
Day after day, I spent hours studying the machine. But it was complicated, and it wouldn’t be easy to determine in just 30 days why it had failed, especially for someone as inexperienced as I was. However, I felt I could do it. Each morning before work, I read articles from the Liahona magazine and prayed to my Father in Heaven. I also struck up a friendship with my boss, an experienced electrical engineer, who obtained permission for me to take home copies of the blueprints on the weekends. I studied them intently.
As the internship drew to an end, my two colleagues finished their assigned projects and I felt the pressure growing. But in spite of negative (and even mocking) comments around me, I never doubted. The Friday that marked the end of our internships arrived quickly. Though I had resolved some of the issues, the machine still wasn’t working. I felt confident that I was close to fixing it, so I told my boss that if I could have permission to work on Saturday, the machine would be fixed by Monday.
My words astonished my boss so much that he personally requested permission from the president of the company. My boss then informed me that the next day, all three of us—the president of the company, my boss, and I—would be working, just until noon. “All three?” I asked. He explained that the company president, an electronics engineer, was interested in my proposal because there had been so many failed efforts to repair the machine that he had given up on repairing it.
The next day, I was very intimidated to be working alongside two adult engineers. I was young and lacked expertise. However, they offered to work as my assistants; I felt uncomfortable and, at the same time, very privileged.
It was just minutes before noon when the president and my boss realized that our efforts had been a waste. I excused myself and went into the bathroom. I knelt down, praying to my Father with great fervor. I felt an unexplainable, marvelous strength. I asked Him to help me get the job because I would need it to help me pay for my mission.
I came out of the bathroom electrified; but by that time, my assistants had already closed up the circuit compartments and gathered up the tools. I opened the machine back up and looked carefully at the 15 circuit cards inside. I noticed that one simple pin among over 4,000 pins in the system was not connected to the card. I connected it, put it in place, and turned on the machine. It worked! It was a miracle.
It was an unforgettable and touching moment. My boss hugged me, and the company president shook my hand and congratulated me energetically.
I was able to work for that company for nearly two years, save up the money I needed, and leave on my long-awaited mission. When I explained the reason for my departure, the president of the company bid me farewell and said, “You already know where to come back to work after you finish your mission. I wish you much success.”
This experience showed me that nothing is impossible for God. If we do not doubt, miracles will be made manifest, but only after the trial of our faith—even at the last moment. Yes, miracles do occur.

“Father and I would often drive from Provo out to the farm. Just over the Provo River bridge was a grocery store with a blackboard in front that was used for advertising. Across the top of the blackboard was scrawled the saying, ‘As we travel through life, let us live by the way.’ On our return to Provo, I would recite this statement. Father would chuckle as he caught the hint. We would stop the horse in front of the store, and he would buy me an ice-cream cone.”

I’ve been a competitive swimmer for about five years. During one season, my coach and I realized I was progressing enough to swim on the varsity (advanced) team. But I knew that varsity practice times conflicted with in-person seminary, one of my favorite places to start my mornings and a key way I was coming closer to Christ.
I really struggled with this decision. As I prayed about it, I felt impressed that joining the varsity team was something God wanted me to do. I took a leap of faith and prepared myself to begin both varsity swimming and online seminary.
Waking up for early morning seminary had rarely been difficult for me. Though I was tired, I knew I was headed to a place of peace and learning. But waking up around 4:45 for swim practice was isolating and dark. And the practices were more difficult than any I had experienced.
In this time, I remembered a talk I loved by President Russell M. Nelson. A quote from the talk stood out to me:
“When you reach up for the Lord’s power in your life with the same intensity that a drowning person has when grasping and gasping for air, power from Jesus Christ will be yours. When the Savior knows you truly want to reach up to Him—when He can feel that the greatest desire of your heart is to draw His power into your life—you will be led by the Holy Ghost to know exactly what you should do.
“When you spiritually stretch beyond anything you have ever done before, then His power will flow into you.”
As I reflected on this quote, I came to understand on a deeper level what it felt like to be drowning. On the one hand, I sometimes felt like I was literally drowning. My body was being pushed to its max in the water, and I was often literally gasping for air. I also felt like I was drowning in darkness and isolation. I desperately needed air and saving.
To show Heavenly Father and the Savior that I wanted to reach up to Them, I focused on taking action. I attended the temple, studied the scriptures daily, participated in online seminary, and prayed for help and a positive attitude.
As I look back on this immensely difficult time, I can testify that “His power [did] flow into [me]!” Jesus Christ strengthened and enabled me. Sometimes it was hard to see in the moment, but when I look back and pray to see how I have grown, I see the Savior’s hand in my life. I know that He lives and loves me! Because of Him, all things are possible when we believe.

The spiritual roots of my family tree have been strengthened for three generations because of the unwavering faith of my great-grandfather.

Another example in my family history reminds me not to doubt. In 1913 in Mexico, Elder Ernest Young and his companions preached the gospel to my great-great-grandmother Maria de Jesus de Monroy, a widow; her three daughters, Natalia, Jovita, and Guadalupe; and her only son, Rafael—my great-grandfather. They were baptized on June 10. Two months later, citizens of the United States left the country because of the Mexican Revolution.

On August 29, 1913, the day President Rey L. Pratt and all American missionaries were to depart, Rafael Monroy, a 34-year-old convert of two months, went to the mission home to express his concern. “What is going to become of us?” he asked. “There is no organized branch in San Marcos, and we don’t have the priesthood.” Listening to Rafael’s concerns, President Pratt asked him to sit down. He placed his hands on Rafael’s head, conferred on him the Melchizedek Priesthood, ordained him an elder, and set him apart as president of the San Marcos Branch.

Rafael, who understood that his baptismal covenant was sacred and eternal, also understood that he should share the gospel. For 23 months he and his counselor, Vicente Morales, helped in the conversion and baptism of more than 50 people. They preached to dozens more.

Then, on July 17, 1915, the revolution arrived in San Marcos. Revolutionary soldiers accused Rafael and Vicente of belonging to and supporting the opposing army, hiding weapons, and belonging to a strange religion. They took them prisoner, tortured them, and hanged them until they fainted. Then the soldiers gave them one last chance to save their lives. They would be spared if they would renounce their religion. Rafael answered, “I cannot do it, for I know that what I have received is true.”

Rafael and Vicente did not doubt. They acted consistent with their knowledge and testimony. At the end of that day, they were executed by the Liberation Army of the South, giving their lives for what they believed.1

“A few weeks after my family tried out for the pageant, we each got letters telling us that we all made it. My dad was assigned to be Joseph in the scene of 12-year-old Jesus in the temple, my mom got to be Mary, and I played Jesus. When I looked at our letters again, I couldn’t believe it! I know Jesus lives and the Church is true, and I’m glad I got to be a missionary by being in the Easter pageant.”–Tyler Starr, 12

“‘Many churches are ruled by men, at the exclusion of women,’ said Mr. Rubin. ‘Is this the case for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints?’
“‘Well,’ said President Nelson, ‘you should talk to a woman about that.’
“President Nelson then turned and looked at Sheri Dew, executive vice president of Deseret Management Corporation, the CEO of Deseret Book Company, and former Relief Society General Presidency member.
“‘Can you help with this answer about the role of women in the Church?’ he asked her. He motioned her into camera range.
“Sister Dew told Mr. Rubin that he would have a hard time finding a church where more women have more authority than in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“‘There are hundreds of thousands of women, right now, who have legitimate leadership opportunities and expectations. As women in the Church we teach and preach, we expound doctrine, we serve missions as full-time proselyting missionaries, and we have leadership responsibilities,’ she said.
“Then she added, ‘I actually feel ennobled by being a Latter-day Saint woman. Every opportunity for growth I have ever had has come because of the Church.’
“President Nelson looked at Mr. Rubin and said, ‘It is better coming from a woman than from me.’
“Mr. Rubin agreed. ‘That is a live testimony,’ he said.
“The message was powerful. When given the chance to talk about women in the Church, our prophet had not spoken about Church doctrine or priesthood authority. He had not spoken of his wife or nine daughters. And he did not draw from one of the many sermons he has delivered about women. Instead, he called on a woman to speak for herself.
“President Nelson’s invitation to Sister Dew seemed like an invitation to me as well. The Church needs my voice as a Latter-day Saint woman. That is what I know now that I didn’t know before the South America ministry tour.
“I will never forget the way President Nelson watched as Sister Dew answered Mr. Rubin’s question. It was a look that reflected gratitude and trust for all Latter-day Saint women.

As a volunteer for my local council in the Community Learning and Development department, I help people become self-sufficient by teaching them computer skills and helping them with their CVs.
Through this work, I was asked to spearhead genealogy classes at local libraries. Wonderfully, this opportunity coincided with the opening of a family history centre at the Greenock Branch meetinghouse.
The genealogy classes are well attended, and my first objective was to have everyone register at familysearch.org. I walk through the site processes with participants and help them start their own research for ancestors. I informed attendees that the free website was the largest database for records, and that FamilySearch belonged to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.
During breaks between courses the participants would bring in refreshments and I heard them discussing what to give me to drink. I knew they knew I was a member of the Church.
After each course, participants receive a copy of the My Family: Stories That Bring Us Together pamphlet, with the details for the Greenock Branch Family History Centre.
In 2019, we opened the meetinghouse as a community centre to promote family research, self-reliance courses, and Bible studies. I built a Facebook page to build relationships with our neighbours in the community. As of now, we have 400 members and counting.
We networked the page with local organisations, including local governments. Through this, we received visits from the local council leaders, and were approached and asked if we could hold ESOL language classes.
With the permission of the branch president, we invited the leaders of the Community Learning and Development department and gave them a tour of our chapel building. A further tour was set up for Ukranian and Afghan refugees, and thereafter, the ESOL language course began. Local council leaders still stop by occasionally to see how the ESOL classes are progressing.
In early 2023, a branch of the Scottish government gave us a visit to review how the Ukrainians and Afghans were doing, and we gave them a tour. This was a positive step in bringing the Church into a good light with the government. From this, we have built positive relationships with our local councils.
https://www.facebook.com/GREENOCKcommunityresourcecentre

I remember when I was assigned to give my first talk in church. I was given the liberty to choose my subject. I’ve always liked birds, so I thought of the Seagull Monument. In preparation, I went to Temple Square and looked at the monument. First I was attracted to all the coins in the water surrounding the monument. I wondered how they would be retrieved and who would retrieve them. Then I looked upward at the seagulls atop that monument. I tried in my boyish mind to imagine what it would be like to be a pioneer watching the first year’s growth of precious grain being devoured by crickets and then seeing those seagulls, with their lofty wings, descending upon the fields and eating the crickets. I loved the account. I sat down with a pencil in hand and wrote out a two-and-one-half-minute talk. I’ve never forgotten the seagulls. I’ve never forgotten the crickets. I’ve never forgotten my knees knocking together as I gave that talk. I’ve never forgotten the experience of letting some of my innermost feelings be expressed verbally at the pulpit.

When Michael Hatch, who serves on the high council in the Farmington New Mexico Stake, was given the assignment to organize a stake day of service in response to President Eyring’s invitation, he wondered where they would find ideas for ministering to the poor in their community. He met in council with his committee, and they and other stake leaders encouraged stake members to share their ideas relating to needs in the community.
Roberta Rogers knew of a particular need among several organizations in the area—including the hospital where she works in community relations. While clothing drives usually generated helpful donations of used pants, shirts, shoes, and coats, what many charities still needed were things like socks, underwear, and pajamas—donations that needed to come new. Sister Rogers suggested that the stake organize a collection of such items.
On October 15, stake members distributed in their neighborhoods 1,000 cardstock door hangers that explained the project, invited the community to participate, and listed items needed. A week later stake members returned to collect the items and then brought them to the stake center for sorting and distribution among 10 local charitable organizations.
That combined effort met an urgent need in their community, Sister Rogers said. “It was something different, and it helped people. And because it was not really expensive, one family could spend a few dollars and really be able to help somebody.”

André
After living in Brazil for some time, our stake president came to our house and called me to serve as bishop. I somehow knew I was going to be called. For a couple of nights before my call, I couldn’t sleep. I was thinking and studying.
Giselle
I wondered what was going on. I saw him change before his call.
André
When I started my calling, our ward had 80 active members. When I was released, many more attended church regularly, and 12 missionaries went into the field from our ward. It was great!

On Church assignment in Hawaii, Sister Wirthlin and I visited the island of Molokai. As we walked back to our car after laboring up a trail in the mountains, we came upon a young man headed toward the overlook. I offered a polite greeting. From his answer, I could tell he was from Germany.
His countenance bespoke a sincere heart and an approachable personality. I spoke his language and understood his culture, having served a German-speaking mission. The Spirit prompted me to introduce the gospel to him. However, due to other people around us, our brief encounter was interrupted without my having said a word about the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. I failed to be the missionary that every member of the Savior’s Church ought to be.
As we drove away, I had the disturbing feeling that I had failed in my duty to proclaim the gospel. I was troubled while we drove around the island to see Molokai’s beautiful waterfalls. As we got out of our car, another car drove up and stopped. The young man we had seen earlier stepped out, smiled, and gave me a warm handshake. As I grasped his outstretched hand, I thought to myself, This time I will do my duty.
We introduced ourselves and I learned he was a university student in a small city south of Dusseldorf, Germany. We spoke of my fond memories of Germany, and of my admiration for the German people. Speaking of my work in Europe gave me an ideal opportunity to explain some of the basics of the gospel. As we parted, I asked for his address and telephone number, which he gladly shared. I felt he was truly a newfound friend.
Upon my return to Salt Lake City, I wrote to the Germany-Dusseldorf Mission and asked President John F. Charles to send missionaries to continue the gospel discussion. I don’t believe my wife and I met this young man twice by coincidence.
But the Lord doesn’t always give us a second chance to share the gospel. I failed to follow the Spirit the first time the still, small voice unmistakably spoke to my heart and mind.
We must act when the Spirit speaks. When I did, the young man responded positively to my message. It wasn’t really my message. It was God’s, brought to my mind by the Spirit of the Lord. I was but an instrument in the Lord’s hands.