Gospel Story Finder

Soon it was time for Emma’s baby to be born. The pile of manuscript pages had grown thick, and Martin had become convinced that if he could let his wife read the translation, she would see its value and stop interfering with their work.32 He also hoped Lucy would be pleased with how he had spent his time and money to help bring forth God’s word.
One day, Martin asked Joseph for permission to take the manuscript to Palmyra for a few weeks.33 Remembering how Lucy Harris had acted when she visited the house, Joseph was wary of the idea. Yet he wanted to please Martin, who had believed him when so many others had doubted his word.34
Unsure what to do, Joseph prayed for guidance, and the Lord told him not to let Martin take the pages.35 But Martin was sure showing them to his wife would change things, and he begged Joseph to ask again. Joseph did so, but the answer was the same. Martin pressed him to ask a third time, however, and this time God allowed them to do as they pleased.
Joseph told Martin he could take the pages for two weeks if he covenanted to keep them locked up and show them only to certain family members. Martin made the promise and returned to Palmyra, manuscript in hand.36
After Martin left, Moroni appeared to Joseph and took the interpreters from him.37
The day after Martin’s departure, Emma endured an agonizing labor and gave birth to a boy. The baby was frail and sickly and did not live long. The ordeal left Emma physically drained and emotionally devastated, and for a time it seemed she might die too. Joseph tended to her constantly, never leaving her side for long.38
After two weeks, Emma’s health began to improve, and her thoughts turned to Martin and the manuscript. “I feel so uneasy,” she told Joseph, “that I cannot rest and shall not be at ease until I know something about what Mr. Harris is doing with it.”
She urged Joseph to find Martin, but Joseph did not want to leave her. “Send for my mother,” she said, “and she shall stay with me while you are gone.”39
Joseph took a stagecoach north. He ate and slept little during the journey, afraid that he had offended the Lord by not listening when He said not to let Martin take the manuscript.40
The sun was rising when he arrived at his parents’ home in Manchester. The Smiths were preparing breakfast and sent Martin an invitation to join them. By eight o’clock, the meal was on the table but Martin had not come. Joseph and the family started to grow uneasy as they waited for him.
Finally, after more than four hours had passed, Martin appeared in the distance, walking slowly toward the house, his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him.41 At the gate he paused, sat on the fence, and pulled his hat down over his eyes. He then came inside and sat down to eat in silence.
The family watched as Martin picked up his utensils, as if ready to eat, then dropped them. “I have lost my soul!” he cried, pressing his hands on his temples. “I have lost my soul.”
Joseph jumped up. “Martin, have you lost that manuscript?”
“Yes,” Martin said. “It is gone, and I know not where.”
“Oh, my God, my God,” Joseph groaned, clenching his fists. “All is lost!”
He started pacing the floor. He did not know what to do. “Go back,” he ordered Martin. “Search again.”
“It is all in vain,” Martin cried. “I have looked every place in the house. I have even ripped open beds and pillows, and I know it is not there.”
“Must I return to my wife with such a tale?” Joseph feared the news would kill her. “And how shall I appear before the Lord?”
His mother tried to comfort him. She said maybe the Lord would forgive him if he repented humbly. But Joseph was sobbing now, furious at himself for not obeying the Lord the first time. He could barely eat for the rest of the day. He stayed the night and left the next morning for Harmony.42
As his mother, Lucy, watched him go, her heart was heavy. It seemed everything they had hoped for as a family—everything that had brought them joy over the last few years—had fled in a moment.43

Zachary is a very kind little boy, and he is sensitive to the feelings of others. When Zac was attending preschool, a new little boy moved into town from another country and was in his class. Samuel*, the new boy, couldn’t speak English, a new language for him, and he was a little uncomfortable in his new class.
One day at school, Samuel was really sad and wanted his mom. The preschool teacher asked Zac if he would play with Samuel. Zac took Samuel by the hand, led him over to where the toys were, and they began to play together. Zac really tried to treat his classmate the way the Savior would want him to by becoming his friend.

As Gary grew in football know-how, he was undergoing a spiritual transformation also. A few months after turning away the two missionaries, he happened to be in Salt Lake City, and curiosity drew him onto Temple Square just as a tour was about to begin at the Seagull Monument. “I decided to take a quick, crash course in Mormonism, find out what it was all about, and put the matter to rest,” Gary admits. “But it didn’t happen that way. Afterward, my head buzzed with questions, new ideas, and names like Moroni, Cumorah, Joseph Smith. I left there puzzled and confused, with the weight of seven dispensations on my shoulders.
“But no way was I going to ask for formal lessons. So I might not have been converted had it not been for friends who knew the gospel. ‘How come this is so?’ I’d ask on the spur of the moment. ‘Well, it’s because of that,’ they’d answer. ‘But why did that happen?’ I’d challenge. ‘Well, because of this,’ they’d explain. And so it went. Dozens of casual conversations over a year’s time. And finally, the last week of school, I went back to Temple Square. This time a friend stood at my elbow, answering my questions. I signed up for the missionaries right there at Temple Square and then went home for the summer.
“I thought it would take three weeks or so to process my name, but a couple of days after I got home, I looked out the window and saw two guys coming up the walk. As I opened the door I said, ‘Yeah, I know, you’re Mormon missionaries. Come in.’
“We were on the third lesson when my older brother Gregg decided to join the group, so we started over. Lots of times as many as six of my friends would come to listen. We were real doubters. We’d ask every possible question, and the missionaries would answer us out of the scriptures.
“Before I knew it, I was converted. But I kept praying night and day for a special manifestation. Others knew for sure that the Church was true, and before I would agree to be baptized, I had to know too. So I kept praying and studying and praying some more.
“And then one day things focused, and that’s a jubilant feeling. I thought: Gary, how come you keep praying over and over, ‘Lord, please tell me if the Church is true.’ Because look, Gary, you know the Church is true, and you know that you know. It’s like you’ve been standing out in the rain. And you see the water falling down and watch it making everything green and hear it patter on the pavement and feel the cool, wet rain in your face and know you’re getting drenched through and through by the sure, steady rain, but you look up and say, ‘Lord, is it raining—please, I’ve got to know for sure.’ The Church is true, Gary. What are you waiting for, a bolt of lightning?”
On July 13, 1974, Gary and Gregg were baptized. It caused quite a stir in Antioch.
“How come you did that, Gary?” his friends would ask.
“Because I know the Mormon Church is God’s church,” he would reply. “I’ve studied and prayed about it. And I know. And if you’ll study and pray, you can know too.”
“Uh … sure, Gary, if you say so.”
There was never any argument. Over the years Gary and Gregg Sheide had earned the respect of a wide circle of friends. They’d been leaders, and if they said Mormonism was true, there must be something to it.

But just under three months and several blood tests later, I miscarried again—this time only a week before Christmas. Another three months passed and my hopes soared after another positive pregnancy test, only to miscarry a week later—yet another stoplight.
“Even if we have strong faith, many mountains will not be moved. … If all opposition were curtailed, if all maladies were removed, then the primary purposes of the Father’s plan would be frustrated.”2 —Elder David A. Bednar
I got pregnant again, and my next due date was going to land right around the following Christmas. I had a good feeling about this pregnancy. We had seen the heartbeat on an early ultrasound and knew that family members were praying for us. While we were sitting in an endowment session in the temple one day, I had a distinct stream of thoughts: “If I were to lose this pregnancy, would my faith hold up? Of course it would. But of course I won’t have another miscarriage because this time I am ready to accept the Lord’s will no matter what.”
Despite my positive attitude, several weeks later I saw the signs, went in for the ultrasounds, and began the painful process that I felt all too familiar with. My faith did not hold up quite like I had expected. The answers that had sustained me through my previous miscarriages no longer seemed adequate. A wave of depression set in. I felt broken, empty, and even slightly betrayed. My husband and I weren’t the only ones waiting on the Lord; our daughter frequently told us how much she wanted a baby brother or sister. Our hearts ached for her as well. As I turned my vulnerable emotions over to the Lord in fervent prayer, I again received a clear witness that Heavenly Father was very aware of my pain and circumstances and that He loved me. Although my circumstances remained the same, this sweet and simple experience miraculously lightened the burden I felt and gave me the ability to cope and even feel happy as I continued through my day-to-day life. Whatever the future held, I would be OK.
When genetic testing came back several months later with no answers, we again felt confused about the purpose of these setbacks in our lives. I tried my best to set my own desires aside and align my will with the Lord’s, but during the difficult moments my heart would cry out, “What am I supposed to learn from this? I’m trying to do something good! Where is the help I need?”
“Hard is the constant! We all have challenges. The variable is our reaction to the hard.”3 —Elder Stanley G. Ellis
Eight months after my fourth miscarriage and just several weeks after my stressful drive to meet the sister missionaries, I was peacefully waiting at a stoplight on my way home when my answers came. As I watched the cars stopped next to me and the cars making their way down the road ahead of me, I caught an eternal perspective of my life. I suddenly realized that all that mattered in my journey was that I stay on the path that would take me back to my heavenly home. How many “stoplights” I waited at would have no effect on my destination. How I responded to them would.
I began to cherish every stoplight in my life, both metaphorical and literal. Instead of wasted time, each became an opportunity to acquire patience and to gain perspective that comes only through waiting. Just as every red traffic light is paired with a green light in a different direction, I found that every stoplight in my life opened an avenue for growth, just not necessarily in the way I had been planning to grow right then. Instead of dwelling on the disappointments, I began to delight in the opportunity for progress that every unexpected turn of events provided.
“A critical question to ponder is ‘Where do we place our faith?’ Is our faith focused on simply wanting to be relieved of pain and suffering, or is it firmly centered on God the Father and His holy plan and in Jesus the Christ and His Atonement?”4 —Elder Donald L. Hallstrom
Two long years after my first miscarriage, I gave birth to a beautiful, healthy baby boy. In the time leading up to that joyful day for our family, I came to realize that Jesus Christ did not suffer for me in order to remove all suffering from my life. Rather, He suffered so that I could be strengthened through and grow from the challenges I face. Although the heartbreaking moments of loss and the long months of waiting are still painful to remember, they have become a treasure in my life. In those sacred moments, I came to understand how individually the Savior knows my suffering. He succored me in a way that only one who knows my personal sorrows could succor. While the opposition in our lives often seems to thwart our plans for progress, as we turn to the Lord, that opposition can function as the friction that propels us to a higher end: knowing and abiding in the Savior’s perfect love.

The next day was fast Sunday. Brother Owen was the first one up to bear his testimony. He explained that he had lost his job and his family was struggling to get by. The night before, he was getting his three daughters ready for bed. They were crying because they were hungry and there was no food. His oldest daughter, still in Primary, explained that if they prayed, Heavenly Father would bring them food.
Brother Owen was overcome by the faith of his daughter. With tears in his eyes, he asked his daughter to pray. He explained that she had said a simple prayer, explaining to Heavenly Father that she and her family were hungry. Then she asked Heavenly Father to bring them food. As the prayer ended, the family was surprised by a knock on the door. They opened the door and found not one, but two large geese sitting on the doorstep. They thanked Heavenly Father for such a quick answer to their prayer. Brother Owen testified that God answers prayers and sat down. Rick and I had tears in our eyes.
From then on, every time my brother and I went hunting, we would drop our birds on the doorstep and run to the car. We left pheasants, ducks, quail, doves, and even some fish.
One day, as we were emptying the birds from our vests onto the Owens’ front porch, the door opened. Brother Owen stood in the doorway.
“I thought it was you,” said Brother Owen.
We apologized for leaving the birds there without cleaning them. He assured us that he was happy to clean the birds, and he was thankful for all the food we had left him. He told us how much he appreciated our thoughtfulness.
Initially, my brother and I had been trying to avoid the responsibility of cleaning after a hunt. But our loving Heavenly Father was able to use us to bless the lives of others. Now I look for opportunities to bless the lives of others—not to get out of work, but to be an instrument in God’s hands.

I remember well the afternoon a few years ago when I went up in an airplane with an instructor for a lesson on flying using the control panel instruments only with no reference to the surrounding countryside.
It was a crystal clear day, though a few gusty winds were blowing. We left the field, flying due north into a chilly wind blowing directly against us. When we reached the right altitude, the instructor put a special hood over my head so that all I could see was the instrument panel. After an hour’s lesson we stopped in an airport about a hundred miles north to eat and make another check on the weather.
It was early evening when we climbed into the airplane for our return flight. Both of us were a little nervous because a small storm was moving into our flight path, and as we climbed toward the clouds we could feel the increased power of the winds. Now we would have an opportunity for some real instrument flying.
I wasn’t really worried until the instructor told me to put on the hood because I was going to fly us home. As we flew into the storm, the weather started tossing us around. But the instructor assured me that things were well under control: all I had to do was fly by the instruments just as I had done in practice, and follow his directions.
As the minutes went by and we flew deeper into the turbulence, a terrible fear began to grip me and I began to feel a dizziness as if the airplane were in a turn, slightly diving. Panicking, I started making what I perceived as corrections to our flight. My instructor had to tell me four times that the instruments were correct and that I should trust them, not my own judgment.
After several more minutes of agony and constant reassurances from my instructor that the instruments were indeed telling the truth, I couldn’t take the suspense any longer and tore off the hood to see for myself. When I looked through the window, all I could see was the rain streaking out of a pitch-black sky at us. My face went pale, and a terrified expression swept over me.
My instructor said, “Norman, you’ve been sitting here for twenty-five minutes with a clear signal and true instruments to follow, but you’ve steered off course thirty-two times and have dropped the airplane nine hundred feet in elevation. Now you really don’t know where you are. Let me show you something.”
He took the controls and with little effort started climbing up through the clouds. Eight hundred feet later we were above the tops of the clouds that were glistening under the light of a beautiful full moon. In the near distance on the side of a hill we saw two large red lights on top of a broadcasting tower. On the other side of that hill through an opening in the clouds we could see a faint green and white airport light flashing out a signal that to us meant home.
After a safe landing, I felt that I had been taught one of those great lessons we are sent here to earth to learn: that the Lord gives us fine instruments, a good strong signal, and many clear markers, and still we sometimes stray from their indications and fall into a sea of confusion. Yet if we will trust those signals and follow them, whether we fully understand them or not, we will be able to fly above the clouds, safe and secure, knowing our course and our destination.

Mariam Conarroe, 12, yawned. She was tired and had a right to be. “Only three days,” she said to herself. “And we’ve done everything.”
Even before the trip began, the schedule had been full. Six months ago, as part of the preparations, everyone had been challenged to read the Book of Mormon. There had been regular reminders and repeated encouragement. Everybody had at least read some of it. Then there was the planning, and the preparation—how many times had they talked in Young Women classes about coming here, about how fun this would be?
Then—was it just a few days ago?—Mariam remembered getting up early, piling into trucks and cars, getting teased and teasing back, and suddenly being in Vernal, at a service station where Tyrannosaurus rex waves at motorists, urging them to buy gasoline.
From there the next three days rushed by in a blur. A visit to the bone quarry at Dinosaur National Monument. Two hours at a water slide. Pitching tents for camp. Skits and talks and firesides. Washing your hair with the help of a bucket. Floating the Green River—not once, but twice. A morning spent alone, reading the Book of Mormon and praying. Testimony meeting. A service project clearing aspen seedlings at the base of a fire lookout tower. Biting into juicy, sweet fruit at a watermelon feast.
Mariam yawned again, tired but happy.
“It’s been busy.”
She felt something comfortable, but it was more than the glow from the campfire. There was a wonderful feeling inside of her, a knowledge that here among leaders and friends she could do good things and be accepted.
She wrapped her quilt around her. It sure felt nice to be warm.

“Manya,” invited her mother, “go into the garden and play. Your sisters and your brother have been outdoors since daybreak and here you are with your nose still buried in that book.”
With a deep sigh, Manya Sklodowska obediently put down the book and went out to join her sisters and her brother. Soon tiring of playing in the garden, they went into the nearby forest to pick the berries that had just started to ripen. Of course, they ate more than they picked because none of them could resist the delicious sweetness of the fruit.
Although Manya, the youngest of the family, had been christened Marja, she immediately became Manya to her family and friends.
Manya’s childhood was a happy one. The Sklodowska family was poor in material things but they were wealthy with the richness that comes from love of God and their country Poland. Manya’s father had the post of Professor of Physics at the university in Warsaw and encouraged his children to read the books in his library.
Next to the bookshelves was a glass case containing what Professor Sklodowska called his specimens, which he had collected during his physics classes. It was here that Manya spent a great deal of her time. “Some day,” she told herself, “I will learn what each of these is.”
Although Manya was not old enough to attend regular school, her older sisters involved her when they studied. Because of this, Manya was soon able to read and write, even before she entered school.
One privilege she did not have was a place at the big desk where her sisters did their homework. But as soon as she became a student, she, too, was allowed to join them, and these occasions became some of the happiest moments of her life. Manya had the kind of memory that retained everything she read, a gift that lasted throughout her life.
Manya’s teachers found her to be an exceptional student, and her grades were always among the highest in her classes. Nothing seemed too difficult for her, and soon she found herself two years ahead of the rest of the students in her starting class. But often she thought of the glass shelf in her father’s study containing his specimens. She repeatedly told herself that one day they would no longer be a mystery to her.
After graduating from the Russian Lycee (high school), Manya was selected as a gold-medal winner. Although this was not the first time a member of her family had achieved that honor, this was a tremendous event in her life.
“I think I will take a holiday now,” she told her family and friends. “I need to relax.” And off she went to the countryside, far from the bustling city of Warsaw.
How she loved the country! All was peaceful and happy there with picnics, balls, and dances that lasted far into the night. Many handsome young Polish men came from the neighboring villages to join in the festivities.
Too soon the good times came to an end. Manya’s father had invested his money unwisely, and so the Sklodowska sisters had to find a way to earn a living for themselves. In those days there was little opportunity for well-brought up women to earn a livelihood. Manya decided that her way would be to become a teacher. This was the kind of work she loved. She was no longer called Manya but Mademoiselle Marja (Marie) instead, because she had become a young lady with the responsibility of teaching others.
For six years Marja did what she thought would be her life’s work—teaching others. However, all of this changed when, on a visit to her father, she immediately saw the changes that had taken place in her absence. He had been able to add a laboratory to his workroom. Although to many it seemed a strange place for a young lady to spend her time, Marja soon found herself very much at home among the test tubes and beakers. For the first time in her life, Marja knew what she was meant to do. First of all, though, she would have to continue with her studies.
All of her life Marja’s father had told her that there were many ways to solve a problem. Her funds were insufficient for her to spend additional time in school without help. She wrote to her married sister Bronia in Paris to see whether she could repay part of the money Marja had once loaned her to go to medical school. Bronia responded, and with that and what other money Marja managed to get together, she was able to return to school.
In Paris, Marja became completely involved with the study of physics. When she married a young scientist by the name of Pierre Curie, they worked as a team to discover two new elements, polonium and radium, now so important to the medical world.
The rest is history. Manya, Marja, or Marie (as the French people called her), together with her husband Pierre, made some of the most important discoveries in the annals of medicine. Countless lives have benefited because a young girl once told herself that one day she would know all about the minerals in her father’s workshop. Her dedicated research led her to find out things that even her father never dreamed of discovering.
In 1903, Marie and Pierre Curie shared the coveted Nobel Prize for Physics with Henri Becquerel. In 1911, five years after the untimely death of Pierre, Marie Curie was awarded the Nobel Prize for Chemistry.

Jonathon Morales, 14, leans over the front seat of his older brother’s car and guides him through the streets of Mexico City, population 20 million. Israel Morales has just returned from a mission to New York City. He has forgotten some of Mexico City’s streets. The two brothers talk softly, trying to figure out the best way to their destination. There are questions and confusion, but no impatience or sharpness. There’s a peaceful feeling in the car.
Finally the two brothers find the right street, and a few minutes later arrive at their destination. Their influence on each other is warm and genuine. While Jonathon has been looking up to his older brother for many years, the reverse is also true. Israel is motivated to do what is right because his younger brother is doing what is right. And Israel knows that Jonathon is watching him.

Reminiscing about Lier and her experiences there almost makes Bonnie homesick for the scrub brushes and her many friends. “I learned some really great things at Lier—I certainly learned endurance—but the most wonderful thing about it was the people. They really care about you. At Easter I was allowed to fly home to the United States to visit my family. All of the girls and the teachers were up at 6:00 to see me off. And they had made me piles of delicious sandwiches because they were afraid I’d get hungry on the long trip home.”

Like many of you, I have shared the gospel with some who are soon baptized or activated, and others—such as my nonmember friend Tim and his less-active wife, Charlene—take much more time.
For over 25 years I engaged Tim in gospel conversations and took Tim and Charlene to temple open houses. Others joined the rescue; however, Tim declined each invitation made to meet with the missionaries.
One weekend I was assigned to preside at a stake conference. I had asked the stake president to fast and pray about whom we should visit. I was shocked when he handed me the name of my friend Tim. When Tim’s bishop, the stake president, and I knocked on the door, Tim opened it, looked at me, looked at the bishop, and then said, “Bishop, I thought you told me you were going to bring somebody special!”
Then Tim laughed and said, “Come on in, Merv.” A miracle occurred that day. Tim has now been baptized, and he and Charlene have been sealed in the temple. We must never give up.

It isn’t your typical activity at the Byrd Springs Ward cultural hall. Two hundred young men and women from all over the Huntsville Alabama Stake have gathered here on a Saturday afternoon, but they’re not attending a dance or a youth conference, not playing sports or putting on road shows. They’re tying quilts, more than two dozen of them. The quilts will be donated to a center for children whose parents are in jail or otherwise absent. The massive quilting bee is Tyler Williams’ Eagle Scout project.
Tyler got his idea of holding a massive quilting bee by talking with the stake Young Women presidency. “They came to me, actually,” he explains. “Of course, my mother is in the presidency, and she knew I was looking for a project!” But he quickly realized that providing the quilts could do what he hoped to do—he could organize a lot of people (including some non-LDS friends he had helped with their projects), he could help the community, and he could let some lonely children know they were loved.
He learned quickly that other things were required, too. “You can’t just crash it through,” he says. “You’ve got to have a plan. You have to be organized. You have to delegate; you’ve got to have it mapped out mentally and be assertive, so people know what to do.” With donated yarn and fabric, fliers and announcements throughout the stake, and half a dozen borrowed quilting frames, the project, from start to finish, was completed in about one month. “And that,” he says, “was rushing it.” His advice to others: “Get it done before you’re about to turn 18.”

Being the youngest in his family (Steven has four older sisters and one older brother) means that Steven has plenty of people who are willing to help him learn. His older brother, Russell (13), has helped teach him how to use the family’s home computer. Steven’s dad works with computers, and he has helped Steven too. One night Brother Brantzeg created a program to picture flags of different countries. Steven worked with him as they put all the right colors in the right places. Later that evening, Steven changed the flags himself. All of a sudden, the red, white, and blue Norwegian flag was pink!
Many sports interest Steven. He plays basketball with his brother-in-law, Kevin. He also plays baseball, and he likes to go sleigh-riding. When Steven wanted a bike of his own, he and his dad went to a thrift store and bought one that needed a lot of work. Together they fixed it.
Steven isn’t sure what he wants to do when he grows up. Right now he thinks that being an artist and owning a ranch sound like good ways to earn a living. One thing he is sure of, however: Before he buys that ranch and becomes an artist, he wants to serve a mission. He wants to share all those stories that he loves in the scriptures with people in other parts of the world. He will even be able to share them with children who don’t yet know how to read!

One Friday morning in 2013, Ojukwu M. Sesay entered a taxi from Jui to SS Camp in Freetown, Sierra Leone. As is common there, he was joining the taxi with other people already en route. The other two people in the taxi were missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. A discussion of faith and beliefs arose in the taxi. Ojukwu contributed that he believed that in the kinetic energy study of physics, faith is the potential within us, and our expressions and actions make the belief known and moving.
It was immediately after this contribution on the discussion, that one of the missionaries asked for his name, where he lives, and when he can be visited. When he answered their questions, they realized that he was not in their area for teaching. Upon reaching his drop-off point, they requested his phone number and told him that two other people would be calling him since they do not cover where he lives.
As promised, the other missionaries called and visited the following Saturday. They introduced the Church to Ojukwu and his family. He lived with his wife, children, brothers, and sisters. They were interested in the missionaries and wanted to know why they were in their family home. After they left, Ojukwu read the first lesson from the leaflet provided by the missionaries and explained it to his family.
While sharing thoughts with his wife and encouraging her to look at the truth surrounding the quotes, she became interested in the teachings. She asked him to visit the Church, so he attended the Jui Branch. Immediately after his first visit, he held a meeting with his family to explain about the Church he visited. He told them the way of worship was different from the other Pentecostal churches and his spirit found peace with the pattern of worship. The family continued to investigate and attend church services until three members of the family i.e., himself, his wife and his brother were baptized at the Jui Branch. His brother later went on a mission.
After their confirmation and obtaining a series of assignments, his wife, Ramatu Bintu Sesay, was called as the district public affair president and later as branch Primary president. He was called as the Young Men president. In 2018 there was a change in the leadership of the branch, and he was called as the first councilor of the branch presidency. He later served as the branch president of Jui Branch from 2019–2021. The family was sealed in the temple for time and all eternity in 2022.
Since February 2023, he has been the temple facility manager of the Freetown Sierra Leone Temple, which is under construction.

A good friend of mine recently died in a tragic car accident. I have found comfort through coming unto Christ. I had to gain a testimony of Christ’s love for each one of us; I had to understand who we are as children of God; and most importantly I had to understand God’s plan and will for His children. As I turned to Him through scriptures, church, and Church materials, I was able to gain that testimony and feel peace and comfort. Especially helpful was the youth lesson titled “How can I find comfort when someone I care about dies?” All of the scriptures, articles, and videos referenced in this lesson are amazing and have changed my life.
Madilin N., 18, Iowa, USA

This was the second time I had entered this town, and I remembered the first time 17 years before when I was seven years old. It had been a little cooler, a little later; the streets had been darkening, street lights shining, but the sounds, the noises, had been the same.
Only the feeling was different because then it was all new and I was frightened. Instead of my very own, hard-earned, bought-and-paid-for sports car, I had been sitting, small and still, in Grandpa’s black and white sedan with the worn, creaky seats, the dusty dashboard, and the smell of Grandpa emanating from every corner, every fiber, circling around me, descending on me, yet all culminating on the person of that tall, broad figure sitting beside me. The car seemed to live and breathe as if it were a part of the man who had driven it year after year, smelling always of the same shaving lotion, the hot chocolate he drank for breakfast every morning, the solution he soaked his teeth in every night, the mints he sucked on after every meal. Clean smells, sweet smells, Grandpa smells that had been woven through his clothes, grown into his scratchy face, and soaked into the ends of his fingertips.
I didn’t know him. We had lived far away. Every year my mother and father had talked about going to see Grandpa and Grandma, but money was short, and we needed a new bathroom. The next year I broke my arm. The next year … well that was the year I had come, without my parents, who lay, to my bewilderment, in pretty boxes called caskets under the ground. The car and the night had claimed them. I didn’t understand.
Grandpa had waited at a red light, perhaps the same one I was waiting at now, and looked down at me. I must have looked very tiny to such a man, my skinny legs sticking out from my little skirt, my thin hands clutching my eyeless teddy bear, my pale face turned toward him, round, red eyes waiting.
Then he smiled that smile, that special smile. Not a broad one, not a hearty one. Such a slight upturn of lips, a simple rounding of cheeks, a curving of heavy eyebrows. But it was mostly his eyes that, dark as they were, shone deep into mine, sparkling dark like black diamonds. I sat startled, my mouth dropped, and for just a moment I felt certain that he was this Heavenly Father that my mother had told me about so often. He put his big hand on my neatly parted hair, touched the side of my face, then lifted one long blonde braid with his fingers. His words were simple, like the rest of him.
“Move closer, Blondie.” He put his arm around me, pulling me close. “Grandpa’s gonna take care of you now. Don’t be afraid, little Blondie Boo.” The light turned green and he drove on.
The warmth of his body helped me forget how cold my mama and daddy were in those boxes, and the tears that fell were no longer frightened but relieved. With my wet face against his side I slept.

He had not thought about the law of tithing, however, in his biblical study of Christ’s ancient church. It seemed a hard thing to give up one tenth of his income in his family’s difficult financial situation. “I don’t know if we can pay the tithing. Let’s wait until the Lord helps us (to be capable of paying), and then we will become members,” he told his wife.
His children and his wife helped him change his mind about putting off baptism. Daughter Angelina, then a teenager, had become convinced that the Church was true and wanted to join. She suggested to her mother that they plan a special birthday gift for her father—they would be baptized on his birthday, with him.
Ignacia Perez was not hard to convince. She had had a dream of her own. In it, a young man offered her a cup from which she was to drink. When she attended a sacrament meeting with her husband for the first time, at Angelina’s urging, Ignacia realized the cup in her dream had been a sacrament cup.
So she and the children studied the gospel with the missionaries, until finally she was ready to tell her husband, “We have a gift we want to give you for your birthday—but I have to tell you because it requires your consent.” He quickly gave permission, deciding then that they would simply find a way to pay tithing. He soon found it was not the difficulty he had imagined.
Ricardo and Ignacia Perez and their three oldest children—Angelina, Jorge, and Teresa—were baptized 26 January 1954. Their sons Israel and Victor were too young yet to be baptized, and their youngest son, Josue Ricardo, was not born until after the Perez family had been in the Church for three years.

“I share with you an experience that embarrassed, a game that was lost, and a lesson in not taking ourselves too seriously.

“First, in a basketball game when the outcome was in doubt, the coach sent me onto the playing floor right after the second half began. I took an in-bounds pass, dribbled the ball toward the key, and let the shot fly. Just as the ball left my fingertips, I realized why the opposing guards did not attempt to stop my drive: I was shooting for the wrong basket! I offered a silent prayer: ‘Please, Father, don’t let that ball go in.’ The ball rimmed the hoop and fell out.

“From the bleachers came the call: ‘We want Monson, we want Monson, we want Monson—out!’ The coach obliged. …

“I fared much better at fast-pitch softball. My most memorable experience in softball was a thirteen-inning game I pitched in Salt Lake City on a hot Memorial Day. The game was scheduled for just seven innings, but the tied score could not be broken. In the last of the thirteenth, with two men out and a runner on third, the batter hit a high pop fly to left field. The catch was certain, I thought. And yet the ball fell through the hands of the left fielder. For thirty-eight years I have teased my friend who dropped the ball. I have promised myself I will never do so again. I’m not even going to mention his name. After all, he, too, remembers. It was only a game.”1

In the Philippines, there are science high schools that have a strong focus on academics. Students in these schools take more subjects, spend more time in class, and have a lot of homework. This is the kind of environment I was in as a young woman.
I gave up many activities upon entering high school because I knew I would be spending so much time studying. I almost never attended Church activities and would occasionally miss church on Sundays because of school events. I also struggled to attend seminary.
One Saturday my seminary teacher told us how busy she was in her high school days. Despite her schedule, she managed to do her seminary assignments and study scripture mastery at the library. I decided to take up her challenge to do the same. I carried my scripture mastery cards with me all the time and reviewed them during my free time. I prayed for help to balance my seminary study with the demands of school. I memorized scriptures while commuting to school. I took the cards out while I chatted with my friends. During breaks and lunchtime, my friends enjoyed quizzing me on the mastery cards. And then some of them started bringing their scriptures and talking about activities at their churches. I felt the change in atmosphere around me, and school felt lighter and better.
My three younger sisters followed my lead, and now my family reaps the blessings of the scriptures in our home. Learning my scripture mastery verses was a very simple act, but more important than the memorized words, I learned the difference the scriptures could make in me and the people around me. I know that whatever challenge or trial we face, we will always find strength and guidance in the words of our loving Savior.

When stake missionary Paul Stanfield of the Lakeland Ward, Tampa Florida Stake, travels on speaking assignments as part of his calling as a seventy, he often invites a guest speaker to come with him. The guest is his son Rod, 17, who shares some of his missionary experiences as the only LDS teenager at Kathleen High School.
Participating alongside his parents isn’t a new experience for Rod, who, beginning at age seven, got up at 6:00 A.M. every Sunday for two and one-half years to attend stake missionary meetings with his mother and father, and who placed figures on a flannel board as his parents taught missionary lessons in their home.
“I want to let young people know how great the Church is,” Rod says. “I want them to know they can be proud of it, that they can get along without the bad things a lot of kids think they need to have fun.”
Rod’s commitment is apparently evident to his classmates, who elected him school chaplain. “It’s an office in the student council,” Rod explains. “I help to provide a moral voice for school officers and can also counsel students who come to me for help or advice.”
It isn’t hard for the other students to recognize the chaplain; he’s active in many other school activities as well. These have included playing defensive end on the varsity football team for the past three years (he’s the team member who makes a point about not swearing and the one for whom the coach made sure there was root beer in the locker room cola machine). He attended Florida Boys’ State and was one of 17 finalists out of 600 Florida applicants for Boys’ Nation. He was one of 12 high school students on a panel for the local chapter of Women for Responsible Legislation, a movement to combat the Equal Rights Amendment. He’s the president of the National Honor Society in his school, vice-president of the art club, a member of the lettermen’s club, and the one who presented a paper about Joseph Smith’s accomplishments as his English class project.
Rod’s post-high school plans include a full-time mission and then continuing his education at BYU.