Gospel Story Finder

It is significant to note just what took place at the time of the passing of President Harold B. Lee. President Romney had been called to the hospital and as they talked, President Lee, realizing that he might be incapacitated for some time, said to President Romney: “President Tanner is away, and I want you to take over and carry on the affairs of the Church.” President Kimball, who came in later, offered his services to President Romney. However, immediately upon the announcement of President Lee’s passing, President Romney turned to President Kimball and said: “You, as the president of the Quorum of the Twelve, are now in charge. I am at your disposal and prepared to do anything I can to help.”
This was entirely in keeping with the order of the Church and is a great example of how the Church is never left without a presidency and how smoothly it passes from one to another. Immediately President Kimball, as president of the Twelve, became the presiding authority of the Church.

Both of my parents joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Kenya, and both served full-time missions. Ever since I was young, they taught me that I should serve a mission too. I looked forward to it.
Nine months before I received my call, I moved from Kenya to New Jersey, USA, where my mother was working. When I turned in my mission application, I thought it would be cool to go back to Africa on my mission. In fact, I hoped to be called there.
But when I received my mission call, I learned that I would be going to the Washington Spokane Mission in the United States. I didn’t even know where that was, but the first thought the Spirit spoke to my mind was, “That is where the Lord needs you.”
When I landed in Spokane a few months later, the mission president greeted me and asked me a question: “I was looking at your application. Do you really speak Swahili?”
“Yes,” I replied. “I grew up speaking Swahili and English.”
“Well, then,” he said, “your mission call has been changed from English speaking to Swahili speaking.”
He had been praying for a missionary who could speak Swahili. Some elders in the mission had even tried to learn Swahili on their own. I soon found out why.
Spokane had received a large group of refugees from the east African nations of Tanzania, Kenya, Burundi, Rwanda, and Uganda. Many of those refugees originally came from the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Their Swahili was a little different from what I spoke, but we could understand each other. I ended up spending my whole mission in the same ward in Spokane teaching those refugees.
We are all children of God. He knows us and will use us in areas where we can best serve Him with our unique abilities. This is His work. It is not our work. He puts us where He knows best. When missionaries get their call, they may not be going where they wanted to go, but the Lord is for sure sending them where He wants them to go. The place He sends them is the land where He has prepared people to receive them.
When I arrived in Spokane, I felt like I didn’t have to go to Africa after all. In Spokane, I felt like I was brought to a little Africa in America.
Sometimes I think about my mission and say, “That was too big for me to be a part of. Was I really supposed to be a part of that?”
I’m humbled and grateful to think I was.

A few years ago I had an assignment that took me to Germany. I had been sick with the flu before I left, and I wasn’t sure if I ought to go: but I felt that I had better make the trip because of what had been planned and because of the many people who were depending on me. After the flight from New York to Frankfurt, Germany, I was tired and not feeling well. I was alone, and I didn’t speak German, so I checked into the hotel at the airport. Before going to my room, I went to the pharmacy and got a medicinal spray to disinfect my throat. It was in a push-button canister that dispenses the medication through a finger-length piece of plastic tubing that you stick down into your throat.

I went to my room and prepared to rest for a while; but when I began to spray my throat, the plastic tube came loose and drove itself down my throat and into my chest. I couldn’t feel it, but I knew there was a 7 1/2 cm piece of plastic somewhere, and I didn’t know what to do. I coughed. I did all that I could to get rid of it. Then I began to worry—not that I would die, for I knew that I wasn’t near death. But there were people waiting for me in various countries where I was to be traveling for the next three weeks, and I knew that if something didn’t happen right away I would end up in the hospital to have the plastic pipe removed surgically. So I needed immediate help. I knelt at my bed and told the Lord that I had no place to go; I didn’t speak German; I didn’t know a doctor; I didn’t know anyone; and there were people waiting for me. And I asked him to please remove this tubing. I got up from praying, and in two seconds it came out of my throat. You see, there are some answers to prayers that come immediately.

Sometimes it is hard to feel this love. A young woman I know looked like she had everything going for her. She had just won a student-body election, she had auditioned for the madrigal choir and made it, and she had been chosen as the junior prom queen. She went home from school one day and threw herself on her bed in tears. Her mother asked what was wrong, and the daughter blurted out, “I feel like a failure; nobody likes me; I don’t have any talents; I can’t keep up in my classes; and besides that, I’m ugly.” No one would suspect that she was feeling insecure, lonely, and inadequate; but most teens feel this way at one time or another.

SYDNEY—“Flames were shooting 50 feet into the air. They were about 15 yards off. I could feel the heat on my face. That’s hot enough to know what firefighters would feel.”
But Michael James Davis isn’t a firefighter. The then 18-year-old member of the Sutherland Ward, Sydney North Stake, was standing in the driveway of his family’s home, ready to flee in horror as fire surged up from the valley where normally he walks his dog Jess.
The fire was one of about 130 that ravaged much of New South Wales in January, many of them set by arsonists. Nearly 1.5 million acres were burned.
Michael and his father had been trying to pump water from their swimming pool to hose down their house, but the fire got too intense. Firefighters ordered them to evacuate.
“I haven’t prayed so much in a long time,” Mike said. “I felt calm, but I still thought the house was going to burn. Just as long as everyone was safe, that was the main thing.”
Out in the street, he saw “everyone crying and trying to get their children out. All the people in the street, everyone just fled. It hurt me to witness that. That was almost as bad as the fire.”
He and his father joined the rest of their family at the home of some fellow Church members. After 45 minutes, a radio announcement said the fires had passed and residents were allowed to check on their homes.
“First we went to the chapel, to let them know we were safe and to see if anyone needed help. Then we came home to inspect the damage.” Miraculously, their home had been spared, even though the house next door had burned to the ground.
“All around their porch there were thick shrubs, and the shrubs spread the fire to their house,” Michael explained. Everything was gone but the foundation and a children’s play area out in the yard.
At his own house, Michael and his father found that two big gum trees in the backyard had burned completely. An iron fence had melted in the intense heat. And on the back porch, a mop sitting on the wooden deck had burned—the scorch marks are still there—but the deck had not ignited. That’s how close the fire had come.
That night Mike was allowed to sleep in his home. “The air smelled bad,” he remembers. “You could look down in the valley and see the embers glowing in the dark.” He lay there thinking of what he’d learned in just a few short hours:
—“Heavenly Father did hear my prayers. He helped me to be calm, to know that everything would be all right, even though he didn’t tell me exactly what would happen.”
—“There was a lot of help and friendship from the Church, but there was a lot of help from people in the general area as well. I took a walk around an area that wasn’t burning. Everyone was stopping and having a chat and saying, ‘Is your family all right? Is there anything we can do to help?’ These are people I hadn’t ever seen, people who weren’t in the Church, and they were good people trying to help each other.”
Over the next few days, he learned some additional things:
—“Fifteen members of our ward chipped in and bought a new fridge and a washing machine and brought blankets for the people in the house that burned down. They were just renting, but they didn’t have the contents insured. We helped them start getting their life back together.”
—“The worst thing is that police caught people looting burned out houses for jewelry. How people could do that to someone who is already hurt by their house being burned down is incredible to me. I’ve seen the bad side of people and the good side, too. I’ll take the good side.”
Time passed. “Soon we had the pool cleaned of the soot deposited during the fire, and fertilizer greened up our grass.” Down in the valley, green shoots poked through the ashes on the ground.
“Life comes back,” Mike says. “But the memory of this fire will be around for a long, long time.” Even more enduring, however, will be the new understanding of the things that are really important in life, and Mike’s deepened gratitude for them.

On the third day, the group awoke to a terrible storm with winds blowing more than 50 miles per hour. Pegs pulled loose, tents collapsed, the rain pounded down, and dark clouds covered the entire sky. Fearing that the weather would stop the trek, the leaders knelt in prayer. President Randy Eberline of the stake presidency asked the Lord to calm the storm. Throughout the camp, trek families also knelt and prayed for relief from the weather. Suddenly, the clouds parted and a bowl of warm sunlight shone down. Kelly Maxwell, a priest from Sterling, described the answer to their combined prayers: “President Eberline prayed for there to be sunlight, and I was also hoping and praying that it would work. Minutes later we saw a break in the sky, and we started to see blue and then the sun just came out of the clouds.”

Kaylene described it this way: “The wind stopped, and you could see the clouds parting and the sun coming out. It was like seeing Moses parting the Red Sea, except this time God parted the clouds for us.”

Brother and Sister Matt and Jodi Clark arrived that evening to speak at a fireside. They reported that on the 100-mile drive from Anchorage it had been pouring rain. As they crested the last hill before reaching the camp, they saw the most incredible sight. Sunlight flooded the camp while the rest of the sky, as far as they could see in all directions, was full of dark clouds.

James Barrett, a priest from the Kenai Ward, said, “It was wonderful to feel the sun again, the warmth and the light that brought encouragement and hope. It was a miracle. It was as if the Lord had stretched out his hand and protected us from the harsh weather by surrounding our camp with sunlight.”

Photo illustration by Ilda Masa/iStock/Thinkstock
On the first morning of our vacation, my family and I went snowboarding. After several runs and then lunch, my father, my older brother, and I decided to try a new trail. We snowboarded for quite some time through unfamiliar territory, encountering strange obstacles that you wouldn’t normally find on a regular ski trail. We weaved through trees and pushed through the endless snow until we discovered we’d taken a wrong turn at the top of the mountain. Now near the bottom of the canyon, we realized we were lost.
We were standing in three feet of snow, and aside from the few pine trees that dotted the canyon, everything was white. We had no idea where to go. It was three o’clock in the afternoon; in a few hours, the sun would set and temperatures would drop dramatically. Plus, the ski patrol went home at four o’clock. If we didn’t get help soon, we’d have to spend the night in the freezing cold, stranded in a snowy canyon without food, water, or clothes that would keep us warm enough through the night. I didn’t even want to think about what might happen to us.
We knew that contacting Mom was the only way we’d get out of the canyon that night. So we got out our phone, but we didn’t have any reception and the battery was almost dead. We adjusted the settings on the phone so an alarm would go off if we got to a place with service, and then we wandered anxiously as the sun sank lower behind the mountain.
As it got darker and colder, our chances for survival seemed to decrease. I began to worry. “What if we don’t make it out tonight?” I thought. Feeling overwhelmed and scared, the three of us offered a prayer to Heavenly Father asking for safety and for the comfort of the Holy Ghost. We asked Heavenly Father to help us find our way out of the canyon, to meet our physical needs, and to allow us to contact help.
As we opened our eyes, we saw a small trail, and the Holy Ghost prompted us to follow it south. Hiking through three feet of snow in winter gear is not an easy task, but we felt God’s merciful hand pushing us forward.
We reached the top of a small hill, and the phone beeped. We didn’t dare move from where we stood. Carefully, I pulled out the phone and sent Mom a message explaining our dire situation and asking her to contact the ski patrol.
By this point, the sun had almost disappeared behind the mountain. Temperatures averaged -25º Fahrenheit (-32º C) and were dropping fast. We were wet, cold, and tired, and we still had no idea where to go. “We could die out here,” I thought.
Then we heard voices—people were yelling for us! We yelled back and waved our arms around to try to get their attention. The ski patrol followed the sound of our voices until they saw us. They led us safely out of the canyon, and we were reunited with Mom, who waited just outside the mouth of the canyon. We had been saved.
As soon as I sat down, my tired body collapsed, the setting sun disappeared behind distant mountains, and my cell phone’s battery died. Heavenly Father had given us just enough energy and time to safely make it out of the canyon. He had heard our prayers and granted them to the fullest.
I am so grateful for a loving Heavenly Father who hears our prayers and watches over us.

For most of my life I felt an emptiness and longed for something solid to cling to. I suspected that what I was looking for might be found in a church, so from the time I was very young, I investigated a number of religions and philosophies. Many of them were good and filled with good people. Some of them were strange and offered nothing like what I was seeking.
After many years of searching, I became bored and discouraged, so I gave up. I determined to build a relationship with God on my own and stay away from organized religion.
Sometime after I had come to this decision, I was watching a television program that focused on spirituality. The program’s host was interviewing a Latter-day Saint family. As I listened to this family, I felt the love and solid faith that I had long been looking for. I was also impressed to learn that Latter-day Saints highly emphasize the family. Maybe I would investigate just one more church.
On the bottom of the television screen was a phone number for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the Milan area. I called it and spoke with some members at the stake center, who arranged for the missionaries to call me.
This was a particularly busy time for me, so when the missionaries called to set up an appointment, I asked if I could call them back in a few weeks after things had settled down. They agreed and gave me the phone number of the local Relief Society president, who called and invited me to attend church on Sunday. I went, and I loved everything there: the lessons, the people, and the spirit. I left feeling very happy.
I went to church every Sunday for the next two months. Then, in October 2008, I was baptized. My search had not just ended; it had been completed. I no longer felt the thirst and the longing I once did.
I am immensely grateful to have found the truth, but in some ways I am sad that it took me so long to find the gospel of Jesus Christ. Nevertheless, I am grateful for the experiences I had during my search. Because I looked in so many other places, I feel extra content knowing that I’ve found the right place—the place where I belong.

Marci’s Relief Society experience was positive from day one. Any doubts she had about leaving the secure nest of her Laurel class flew when, on her first day in Relief Society, she was spotlighted. Relief Society President Liz Douglas had contacted Marci’s mother and found out all sorts of fun, interesting things about her. Sister Douglas then presented a rose to Marci and presented Marci to the rest of the sisters in Relief Society. Everyone there welcomed Marci with open arms, and she immediately felt the strong bonds of sisterhood.

Chase and Heston watched as Sister Lind interrupted their Primary lesson by placing an empty chair between them.
“President Benson has a family saying about chairs. Have any of you heard it?” she asked, glancing at the extra seat. When no one held up his hand, she gave the answer herself: “‘no empty chairs!’ What do you suppose President Benson means?”
When still no one responded, Sister Lind help up a picture of Jesus holding a lamb. Smiling, she continued, “Could it have something to do with our lesson on Jesus and His lost sheep?”
Sharla raised her hand timidly. “Is the chair missing a person, like Jesus was missing a sheep?”
Sister Lind nodded. “That’s it, Sharla. Just as Jesus brought back His lost sheep, we’re supposed to find our friends missing from Primary and bring them back to their empty chairs.” She placed her hand on the chair between Chase and Heston. “Now, who is missing from our class? Who needs to come back and sit in this chair?”
The whole class turned to one another and mumbled one name—“Charles.” No one dared to shout it out. They were all reluctant to talk about Charles because his mother had died only two months before.
Charles had loved Primary, especially singing time, but he hadn’t come to church for almost three months. The empty chair in the classroom suddenly seemed very lonely. Charles wasn’t in it, and the other children missed him.
“What can we do?” Heston asked.
“Well, Charles is what the rest of our lesson is about. We’re going to discuss what we can do for him, and then we’ll pray for help.”
The class had a lot of ideas: “Let’s ask him to play soccer!” “How about inviting him to the Primary talent activity?” “Isn’t it almost time for his birthday? Why don’t we do something for his birthday?”
Sister Lind checked the class roll and looked at the birthday list. “You’re right,” she announced. “His birthday is next Saturday.”
Jessica jumped up and suggested, “What if we took balloons and sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to him at his house?”
Heston and Chase pulled faces. “The balloons are okay, but do we have to sing?”
Sister Lind laughed. “Of course you’ll sing.” She smiled at Jessica and said, “That’s a fine idea.” To the whole class, she added, “I also think that while we’re there, he’d like to be invited to the Primary activity. Let’s meet at my house on Saturday at ten o’clock.”
When everyone agreed, Sister Lind looked at the empty chair again. “Before we have the closing prayer, I want to remind you to remember Charles in your individual prayers this week.”
On Saturday morning the children met at Sister Lind’s house and they all went to visit Charles. “Before we go in,” she said, turning to the children, “don’t forget about the talent activity.” She smiled at Chase and asked him to invite Charles to the activity. “The rest of you must show Charles that you really want him to come,” she told them.
The balloons bobbed gaily as the children walked to the door. Only Chase walked slowly—he was wondering how to invite Charles to the activity.
A dog ran out the door when Charles opened it. “Look who’s here, Dad!” he shouted with a surprised look on his face. “It’s Sister Lind and my Primary class!”
“Happy birthday to you,” they sang. “Happy birthday to you. …”
“Ar-rooo!” a strange voice joined in, unheard by all but Sister Lind.
“Happy birthday, dear Charles. …”
“Ar-rooo!”
This time they all heard Charles’s dog, Bowser, “singing” with them. He was sitting by the door with his head thrown back for a full-throated sound.
“Ar-rooo-ooo!” he finished the song for them, then gave them a big doggy smile, rolling his head to one side and watching the children and Sister Lind laugh.
“Charles, Bowser likes to sing, too,” Heston shouted.
“He sure does,” Charles said, hugging his dog tightly. “He loves music as much as I do.”
Chase saw his opportunity. “Then how about singing with us for the Primary talent activity?”
The class stopped giggling at Bowser and looked expectantly at Charles.
“Dad, can I?”
Charles’s dad was quiet. He just looked down at the floor. Their whole plan might have ended awkwardly right then if Heston hadn’t started giggling again. “Hey, Charles,” he laughed, “can Bowser sing with us for the show? Do you think he’d do it?”
Bowser loved the idea! He lifted his head high and sang his loudest “Ar-roo.”
Charles’s dad lifted his head, too, and watched the happy faces of his son and his son’s friends as they again broke into helpless laughter. “Sure,” he said softly. “Maybe I’ll come too.”
During the next few weeks Charles, Bowser, and the rest of the class practiced their special act at Sister Lind’s house. Bowser enjoyed certain notes more than others, so Sister Lind played through her music until they found the song that appealed the most to him.
On Primary Talent Night, everyone’s family and friends crowded into the cultural hall. After the opening prayer, the bishop announced, “And now for a very different opening act, Sister Lind’s Valiant A class will accompany Bowser, the singing dog!”
Charles and his classmates led Bowser onto the stage, and Sister Lind stood below them. “Look across the room and tell me what you see,” she whispered.
The children looked out at the hall filled with people. Charles waved when he saw his dad sitting in the back, surrounded by Sister Lind’s family.
“No empty chairs!” Sharla told Sister Lind excitedly. “There are no empty chairs here tonight—or in our class, anymore.”
“That’s right!” Sister Lind gave them all a big smile and Bowser a pat, which made his tail wag with a thud on the stage. “Now let’s sing!”
The children’s voices rang, and so did Bowser’s. The room filled with laughter at the hound’s musical howls. Everyone—including the children and Bowser—was having a good time. And best of all, there were no empty chairs.

Trish Goodsell, of the Atwater Second Ward, Merced California Stake, is especially sensitive to the needs of the handicapped. She is handicapped herself, and this inspired her to plan a Laurel project that involved helping the teachers and Mia Maids in her stake put on a Halloween party and dance for the residents of a local facility for the mentally and physically disabled.
The youth provided games, a costume contest, a parade, and, of course, a dance that even those in wheelchairs loved. Each guest was escorted by one of the young people, so no one was left alone.

Diana Borges (above in red) is the only Latter-day Saint in the private all-girls school she attends in her home town of Curitiba, Brazil. Being the only member at school can be a bit tough sometimes. But Diana has a secret weapon to keep her testimony strong and her spirits up: daily seminary attendance.
“Being together with my friends at seminary every day keeps me going,” she says. The other students in her seminary class (also above) agree. Since they all go to different schools, they cherish their time together.

A few years after the Smith family moved into the log home, 24-year-old Alvin, the oldest son, planned and began construction on a frame house. “To the neighbors who watched the progress of the new house, he often said: ‘I am going to have a nice, pleasant room for father and mother to sit in, and everything arranged for their comfort. They shall not work any more as they have done.’ But Alvin never lived to see the house completed.” In the middle of November 1823, he became ill and died.

One Sunday while I was serving as mission president in Vladivostok, Russia, a rather amazing thing happened. I had gone to my office to gather some materials when a 13-year-old young man, Vladimir, whose friends call him Vova, knocked on the door. Vova is a deacon in the Vladivostok First Branch. He asked to visit with me in my office. He was accompanied by Sister Olga Vyachyeslavna Dryagunova. This sister speaks wonderful English, and the boy had asked her if she would act as his interpreter. Vova speaks no English, and I speak only a little Russian.
Vova had been an orphan, abandoned at birth because he was born with a cleft palate. The birth defect has since been partially repaired, leaving a scar. He was adopted by a wonderful woman who has treated him as her son. The boy is always happy. He has a smile on his face and a wonderful countenance when he passes the sacrament. He wears the mantle of a deacon as well as any boy I have ever known. He regularly bears a sweet and brief testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel. He is everything that a deacon ought to be.
At our meeting Vova spoke Russian and Sister Olga interpreted. She told me that Vova had come to fill out his application to serve as a full-time missionary. I asked, without a hint of a smile, “How old is he?”
She asked and he answered, “Nearly 14.”
Retaining my composure, I said, “Does he understand that he needs to be 19 before he can serve a mission?”
She responded, “He does, but he does not want to be tardy in getting his application in.”
I assured them that there was still time before we needed to send his missionary application to Moscow and then on to Salt Lake City. Neither the branch president nor I would forget when it was time for him to fill out his forms. I walked to the wall displaying pictures of the 44 missionaries then serving in the Russia Vladivostok Mission. I told Vova I was worried that the missionary papers might be returned if it appeared that I was recommending a 13-year-old boy for a mission.
Then I explained that since he was in my office where I conducted interviews with the missionaries, I thought it appropriate to ask him the questions that will be asked of him when he is 19, just to make sure that he was currently worthy to serve a mission. I then went through all the worthiness questions as though Vova were one of my full-time missionaries but tactfully passed over the boy-girl questions, thinking them premature. Besides, I didn’t want to embarrass Sister Olga.
Vova answered all my questions with the appropriate responses and with the wisdom of a boy twice his age. Upon further reflection, I guessed that he may have even asked one of the elders what interview questions he might anticipate from the mission president. I then told Vova that he could come back every six months, and we would repeat the interview process.
He then asked with some concern what he should say to let me know he was ready for another interview six months from now. I said to him, through Sister Olga, that it was time for him to have his first English lesson. I then said slowly, “This is what you should say to me, ‘President, I am ready for my missionary interview.’”
He repeated the important words he needed to know three times.
As I was ready to end the interview, Vova asked Sister Olga to ask me one last question. “President,” he said, “what advice do you have for me to prepare for my mission?”
I was a bit taken back. Few of my mature elders would have the wisdom to ask such a timely question. I pondered for a moment and then told him to do three things: First, I told him to read the scriptures each day. Second, I suggested that he pray to his Heavenly Father each morning and evening. Third, I told him to practice his English.
I confess the last suggestion was a little selfish on my part, as I was thinking how I would enjoy speaking with him in English and asking him questions about the things of his heart. I suggested he attend the free English classes taught by the missionaries, but he said his mother would not allow him to be out after dark. We agreed that he would work harder each day in his English class at school.
Later, when I saw the deacons in the hall after church, I asked Vova if he would like to repeat the phrase he needed to use to ask for his next interview. This he did in a fine manner. Then to my great surprise, I learned that each of the other deacons in the branch had also learned the magic words. Each one repeated while looking right at me, “President, I am ready for my missionary interview!”
Oh, the power of example! The joy of one willing to open his mouth and share the things he had learned with another was something I was trying to get all of my missionaries to experience! These Russian deacons were on the road to perfection.

One day, Justina met two young missionaries in crisp white shirts and ties. Intrigued by their appearance and message, she invited them into her home and listened to their teachings. The message resonated with her, and in 2006, she was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Shortly afterward, her husband and daughters followed her example, embracing the gospel with open hearts.

The Lord tells us in Doctrine and Covenants 100:6 that “it shall be given you in the very hour, yea, in the very moment, what ye shall say.” [D&C 100:6] But I didn’t really believe him. That is, until I met Michelle.
Michelle and I worked together in a restaurant one summer. We were hired the same day, so we became acquainted at new-employee orientation. As time passed and we struggled through each day together—refilling glasses, clearing tables, and spilling on restaurant guests—we became good friends.
One day Michelle startled me by asking, “Marissa, are you a Mormon?”
I nodded my head sheepishly, not wanting to attract too much attention. I was content in being a quiet member missionary. If others were taught by my example that was fine, but I didn’t want to be known as the restaurant preacher.
“I thought so,” she continued. “All of the most sincere, kind people I’ve ever met are Mormon.”
I smiled at the indirect compliment, unsure of how I should respond. Luckily, the lunch-hour rush hit, and we were quickly put back to work.
As I left work that day, I couldn’t stop thinking about what Michelle had said. It had been a nice thing to say about Church members, but it was more than that—I felt as if she needed to hear the gospel. And this feeling frightened me.
That night the ward missionaries came to our house for dinner, and I told them about Michelle. I thought they would respond by commending me for being such a stalwart example, that they would tell me to keep up the good work. But instead they gave me a Book of Mormon to give to her. As I told the missionaries good-bye that night, I looked down at the book I was holding and wondered what I had gotten myself into.
After the missionaries left, I took the Book of Mormon downstairs to mark some key verses I had been studying in seminary. I then placed the book in my bag with my work clothes and vowed to bring it with me to work every day. I also promised myself that I would pray for the Lord’s help in giving me the opportunity to share the gospel with Michelle.
For the next few days, it seemed as if Michelle and I were scheduled to work different shifts. Instead of serving the same tables and having the same lunch hour as we usually did, I rarely saw her.
But I continued to pray and I kept the Book of Mormon in my bag. After about a week of not seeing each other, we finally had the same lunch hour. It was a little later than most of the other employees stayed, so Michelle and I were alone in the lunch room. We were talking and laughing as we usually did, but then she became quiet.
“Can I ask you something?” she said.
Suddenly every off-the-wall question people usually ask about the Church came whizzing through my head.
“Sure,” I said, praying that I would be able to answer her question.
“What’s a Book of Mormon?”
I couldn’t believe what she was asking. It was the exact question I had been praying for.
“It’s another testament of Jesus Christ written by prophets in the Americas,” I said, as my knees rattled against the table.
I then briefly explained Lehi’s journey from Jerusalem, Mormon’s compilation of the records, and finally, Joseph Smith’s experience in the Sacred Grove.
Michelle seemed interested in what I was saying, but she had a confused, pensive look on her face.
“I don’t know if this will make sense,” she began, “but I feel like I’m looking for something in my life right now. It’s like I’m walking around a pool of religions, dipping my foot in to test the waters of each one to see where I belong.”
It seemed as if time stopped; it was all too perfect. My thoughts raced. This can’t be happening, I thought. Things this perfect don’t happen in real life, only in Church videos. I wasn’t sure how I should respond, so I silently pleaded with the Lord to tell me what to say.
“You remind me of Joseph Smith,” I said. “He didn’t know which church to join either. Then he prayed and was told that none of the churches was true. Later on he received instructions from God about how to restore and organize the true Church of Jesus Christ on the earth. He also received the Book of Mormon, which contains the fulness of Christ’s gospel.”
As we walked to the elevator, I took out the Book of Mormon I had brought for her.
“After we talked the other day, I thought I should bring this for you,” I explained. “I marked some verses for you to read. Now you can see for yourself what the Book of Mormon is.”
She happily accepted it, and we said good-bye.
“Great,” I said to myself, relieved that all had gone well and that I had done my duty as a member missionary. “Mission accomplished.”
That night, whenever the phone rang, I expected it to be Michelle calling to say she wanted to join the Church. After all, the Lord had made everything else so easy. As far as I could tell, Michelle was as good as baptized.
But that’s not exactly what happened. In fact, I don’t know if she’ll ever join the Church. She quit her job a few weeks later, and then I went back to BYU.
For the longest time I thought my first attempt at missionary work had been a failure. I even questioned why the Lord would go through so much trouble, answer my prayers, and then let things turn out the way they did. But then I realized that there had already been one person converted during this “useless” attempt at proselyting—me.
It was because of my missionary efforts that I gained a testimony of prayer. I knew that my experience with Michelle in the lunchroom was not a coincidence; the Lord had prompted her to ask me about the Book of Mormon.
I also learned that the Lord does what he says he will do. He told me that he would fill my mouth with words; he told Michelle that she would be given the agency to make her own choices. And in the end, both promises were kept.

During my sophomore year at Brigham Young University, our ward bishopric signed the ward up for a Sub-for-Santa program, through which we would provide Christmas presents for a family in need.
Our ward name, however, kept disappearing from the list of volunteers. As Christmas neared, we still had no family to help. Then one of the bishop’s counselors told us of a family that might be able to use our help instead. When we learned about this family, we all felt certain that we should focus on them.
Linda (name has been changed), who had several sons ages 9 to 15, had fought a grueling battle with breast cancer. During the stress of that illness, her husband had left her. She had just moved from another state to take a job in Provo, Utah, but the job fell through, and she was left with no income.
When we met Linda, we immediately took her into our hearts. We were blessed to see her the way the Savior did—as a great and noble spirit who had overcome many difficult challenges. She was never a project to us; rather, she was an eternal friend. Every member of the ward contributed something to help her and her boys. We were all young college students and poor in our own right, but we gladly gave because we loved her.
Linda came to our ward Christmas party, during which several ward members went to her apartment and filled her cupboards and refrigerator with food. They decorated a Christmas tree and surrounded it with presents for the whole family. They also left her four new car tires and paid her rent for several months. I’m not sure how our meager contributions managed to accomplish all that, but I knew that Heavenly Father had used our sacrifices to bless her.
A year later I was in another student ward, but I returned at Christmastime to visit my previous bishopric. I learned that Linda’s husband had returned to the family and that their finances had stabilized. But then her cancer had returned and claimed her life. I realized that we had helped give Linda her last Christmas.
In feeling “the pure love of Christ” (Moroni 7:47) so strongly through that experience, I learned that real charity is a priceless spiritual gift that propels us to act in the Savior’s place.

One of our goals as a family is to save enough money to make a down payment on our own home. Without that goal, I might waste my weekends watching television, waiting for financial opportunities to come to me.
As a driver for a mining company in northern Chile, I work four days away from home at the mines and then have three days off—Saturday through Monday. To supplement our income and savings toward a home, we decided to start selling eggs. Our plan was to take orders from friends, neighbors, and Church members; buy about 1,000 eggs each week from a wholesaler; and then pick up and deliver the eggs on Saturdays and Mondays.
My wife, Laura, and I decided we would bring our two children with us on deliveries and enjoy the time together. As we were on our way to buy our first batch of eggs, however, disaster struck. One of our children, playing with a small metal pencil sharpener, tossed the sharpener and it landed squarely in the empty cigarette lighter receptacle. Sparks flew, and our van lost all electrical power, coming to a sudden stop right in the middle of a highway. We had blown a fuse.
As we sat there holding up traffic and wondering what to do, we became so frustrated that we felt like crying. But at that moment, I remembered that the Lord has promised to lift us and help us if we put our trust in Him. A calmness came over me. I realized I couldn’t just sit there complaining. We had a problem, and with God’s help, we would solve it.
Laura and I turned to each other and said, “We have to show faith.” We said a prayer and dried our tears. Then, with Laura steering, I got out to push the car. Several people jumped out of their cars and helped me.
We pushed the car about 200 meters before finding a safe place off the highway to park. As the car rolled to a stop, I noticed that we had parked right in front of a car stereo shop.
I located the blown fuse, walked inside the shop, and asked, “Do you have one of these?”
The clerk replied, “Of course.”
I bought a fuse and put it in place, the car started right up, and off we went. The egg wholesaler was just about to close when we pulled up. We bought our eggs and made our deliveries.
When we have challenges, we need to remember to ask our Heavenly Father for help. I know He will answer us as we move forward and show our faith in Him.

President David O. McKay loved horses. One of his favorite horses was named Sonny Boy. Even when he was President of the Church, he kept horses on his farm in Huntsville, Utah, so he could ride them whenever he visited.
Once, someone stole a hand-carved saddle from President McKay’s saddle house on the farm. President McKay valued the saddle greatly and felt very sad when it was stolen. After that, he was very careful to keep his saddle house locked.
One hot summer day, several members of President McKay’s family were visiting the farm. Two of his sisters were driving past the saddle house when they saw that a window had been left open. Fearing that another theft would happen, they stopped and closed the window.
Later that day, they told President McKay what they had done, hoping he would be as relieved as they were. But the prophet’s forehead creased with worry as they explained what they had done.
“I left that window open on purpose,” President McKay told his sisters. “There is a birds’ 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.”
“We can easily run over and open the window again. It’s no trouble,” one of his sisters offered. She knew that President McKay needed to leave soon to get back to Salt Lake City.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I must pick up a rope that needs repairing anyway.”
President McKay reached for his sister’s hand, gave it a squeeze, and left to rescue the bird family. Before long he had gone there and come back home again.
“Was everything all right?” his sister asked when he returned.
“It was just as I expected,” President McKay said. “One bird was outside trying to get in, and another was inside attempting to get out.” He patted her arm gently. “But, all’s well now.”
President McKay was a very kind person. He knew that Heavenly Father was mindful of all of His creations, and he had a special love for Heavenly Father’s creations too.

The air in the gym is heavy, thick with the smell of rubber-soled shoes, of basketballs, and of sweat. In one corner, young men stretch and pull. One of them calls out, “Pasame la pelota!”
In unison, the other players repeat, “Pasame la pelota!”
“What does that mean, Kelly?”
“Pass me the ball,” Kelly answers. “Now try this, ‘a la izquierda,’ That means ‘to the left.’”
“A la izquierda!” the group answers.
And so the Spanish drill continues as the basketball players prepare for a scrimmage. You might think this is a scene from a gym class at the MTC, but guess again. It actually took place at the University of New Mexico, where the Lobos were preparing for a game against Brigham Young University. The Lobos were getting a crash course in Spanish from last year’s senior guard Kelly Graves, who served in the Chile Santiago Mission. It just so happens that the majority of the starters for BYU served Spanish-speaking missions, and sometimes they tried to confuse and intimidate the opposing teams by speaking Spanish on the court.
“Those BYU guys can’t fool me,” said Kelly. “I served a Spanish-speaking mission too. During our stretching time, we’ve been going over some Spanish phrases.”