Gospel Story Finder

Born in Salt Lake City, Utah, to Richard and Lena Sonntag, Elder Philip T. Sonntag grew up in Liberty Stake. “Of course, I don’t remember my coming into the world,” Elder Sonntag says, “but as other people have related it to me, the circumstances were quite remarkable. After my mother had had five children, she didn’t know whether it would be wise to have any more, so she petitioned the Lord for an answer. Later at Relief Society one day, the stake patriarch spoke. As he talked, he said that he was impressed that a sister there needed a blessing, adding that if that sister would come to him after the meeting, he would give her a blessing. The patriarch told my mother in the blessing that the Lord was pleased that she desired to have more children and that in doing so she would not feel the pains of childbirth nor suffer any difficulties. She had me and six more children and never suffered the usual pains of childbirth.
I had great parents. They instilled in us a love for the gospel. Mother was usually there to meet us whenever we came home. If part of the family had already had family prayer when some other family members returned, she would say, ‘Come, let’s have evening prayers,’ and we would pray together.
“My father was born in Germany. Later he came to America, met my mother, and joined the Church. Before the Great Depression, he ran several cafes. However, he lost them during the Depression, and there was just no other work available. As I look back on it, I don’t know how he managed as well as he did, but we never missed a meal.”
As each Sonntag child became old enough to get a job, he worked to help maintain the family. Elder Sonntag used to sell hot dogs and popcorn at ball games; he also worked at the growers’ market early in the mornings. “When any of us children brought home a dollar of earnings, Mother would have that child set aside a dime for tithing and a dime to keep or spend. The rest went toward family expenses.”
In Elder Sonntag’s ward a group of twelve boys his age played ball together and were good friends. They were also energetic and drove many Sunday School and Primary teachers away. Elder Sonntag relates that “the teachers all loved us, but they didn’t want to teach us. One, however, Sean Christensen, knew how to get through to us by teaching us a game that used our hands and kept us from hitting each other. Meanwhile, he would bear his testimony that God lives and that Jesus is the Christ.
“This teacher challenged us to go on missions. It meant a great deal to him to have ‘his boys’ be worthy to be missionaries, and Brother Christensen’s challenge greatly helped us to prepare.
“I had been taught to obey the Word of Wisdom, and I earnestly tried to obey it all my life. When I was married and a young bishop and the father of three children, my brother and I were involved in a serious car accident. I walked to get help for the other people in the accident, who were unconscious. By the time I got to the hospital myself, I’d lost a great deal of blood, and the doctors thought that I wouldn’t live. I asked the Lord to let me live to fulfill my responsibilities as husband, father, and bishop, and I heard a voice speaking, just as clearly as I might speak to you, say that because I had lived the Word of Wisdom all my life, I would ‘run and not be weary, and … walk and not faint’ [D&C 89:20] and that I would receive even more blessings. When my wife arrived at the hospital, someone suggested that she not go into my room because I looked so terrible. She asked, ‘Is he breathing?’ and went in anyway. She also received the same witness that I would live.”
Elder Sonntag wants the children of the Church to know that “it is a privilege to be a member of the Church and to live the commandments. The commandments are easy when you decide that you are going to keep them. The Word of Wisdom is not a hard thing—it is a blessing. It is within the power of each of you to determine what you want to be. There is no other you in the whole world. You are the only you; you are an individual. You alone can decide what you want to be and where you’re going to go. Choose the Lord’s way and live the gospel, for that will bring you the greatest happiness.”

Several years ago there was an inspiring story in a popular sports magazine about a professional football player named Deion Branch. He was a wide receiver for the New England Patriots for eleven years, and during that time he played in three Super Bowls.

The article pointed out that many professional football players go out drinking and get “hammered” in the days leading up to the Super Bowl. They find various ways to deal with the stress, and many of these ways are not praiseworthy.

But Deion Branch had a different way of preparing himself for the big game in 2005. He picked up his phone and called every coach he had ever had. He called his junior college coaches. He called his high school coaches. He even sought out the phone numbers of his Pee Wee coaches and reached out to them. He made thirteen phone calls in all.

He called these men to say thank you: “Thank you for caring about me [enough to teach me]. Thank you for making me run stairs. Thank you for believing I could do this.” He thanked his college coach for not giving up on him when his grades were bad. Deion stood only five feet nine inches tall, so he thanked his high school coach for never saying that he was too small to play football.

These phone conversations were very meaningful to his coaches, but they also invigorated Deion Branch. He felt so motivated that he played his very best, leading his team to victory. He was named the Most Valuable Player of the Super Bowl in 2005.

It was three o’clock in the morning. My dad had just nailed the final trim on the three-story dollhouse we had built for my little sisters (the trim was not quite dry and the white paint still bears several thumb prints). Mom and I placed inside all of the furniture we had made and gathered, and then sat back and looked with real pleasure on our creation. It had been a hectic three weeks of building, creating, and upholstering, but this year Christmas somehow seemed more real. The small house was beautiful. The furnishings were charming, and the tiny crocheted rugs just fit the decorating scheme we had chosen.
Since that Christmas several years ago we have made a few improvements in our dollhouse—pasted 1-by-1 1/2-inch cardboard pieces on the roof for shingles, added tiny accessories on the tables and shelves, found a potbellied stove for the upstairs bedroom—and with each passing year, and the arrival of each new niece and nephew, the dollhouse has grown in popularity; it has even become the pattern for several others as far away as Michigan.

In October 1984, I was working as a quality control supervisor for a paper mill in Orani, Bataan, Philippines. Like most paper mills, ours recycled waste paper. One day, the book Meet the Mormons was included in a load of magazines. I got curious, took it into my office, and started reading it. I learned about Joseph Smith and his vision, and I readily accepted that God would reveal himself to a boy. I did not understand the section on the priesthood hierarchy, but I liked the Relief Society section. I read the book several times.
For many months, I had been trying to find more meaning in life. I had always been an active Catholic, and had even attended several meetings to become a Franciscan nun. Still, I felt like a piece of wood drifting in the ocean.
Two weeks later, I was inspecting the raw material in one of the delivery trucks when I noticed a blue book. It was the Book of Mormon! I asked the driver if I could have it. I took it back to my office and started reading. Inside the front cover were the steps of prayer. “Maybe I should try praying this way,” I told myself. It also listed the pages that told of Christ’s visit to America. I eagerly turned to those pages. Here were the Beatitudes and other teachings Jesus gave to the Jews! Were these chapters not copied from the New Testament? Then I realized that he was the very same Christ. Surely he would give the same teachings. I wondered if Christ might have come to the Philippines, too. I turned to 1 Nephi. Who were Lehi, Nephi, and Laman? They were such strange names. I treasured both books.
Then, in late November, a friend introduced me to Karen Gerdes, a Latter-day Saint from the United States who was serving as a Peace Corps volunteer in the Philippines. Karen was working in the area of Pantalan Luma, which had been hit by a tidal wave.
There was something about Karen that I had not seen in others. It wasn’t just that her eyes were blue. Her smile and her whole countenance were different. I could feel her sincerity. Happiness and love radiated from her.
I wondered why she would leave the comfort of her home, live in a poverty-stricken area in hot, humid weather, and eat foreign food—all without a salary. Why would she care? Were all Mormons like her?
A few months after I met Karen, I told her, “I am ashamed, because I should be helping my people.” I asked if there was anything I could do to help with her projects. That started our friendship. I would ask her questions about religion. I knew she understood me, because she had also been a Catholic. She did not try to convince me, but she answered my questions and gave me Church pamphlets.
Then in March 1985, Karen invited me to a fireside. At the fireside, I noticed a poster about baptism for the dead. That was new to me. I memorized the scripture reference. The sister missionaries showed a filmstrip called Run and Not Be Weary. I accepted the Word of Wisdom right there. Then they showed The Windows of Heaven. I had never known that a tithe meant ten percent. I resolved to start giving ten percent and to not cheat God.
I found myself explaining to the members how I viewed tithing: “It is like when you go fishing. You use bait—tithing—and then you catch a fish—a blessing.” Then I used another comparison: “When you remove the sweet potato tops, they produce more tops and sweet potatoes, too.”
But I did not like being called an “investigator,” and I didn’t like to be pushed. When members asked if I would like the missionaries to teach me at home, I said no. But I invited the sister missionaries for dinner the following Saturday. They came and showed slides of a refugee camp where they worked, but nothing about religion was discussed. Before they left, they gave me several pamphlets, which I promised to read.
The next week, I went to visit my mother in Manila. I asked her where I could find a priest to answer my questions. She suggested that I go to a Bible class my brother and sister were attending. I did as she said, praying in my heart that I would be able to ask my question. To my surprise, the priest began to explain the importance of baptism. I wasted no time, but raised my hand and asked, “Was there baptism for the dead before, as stated in 1 Corinthians 15:29 [1 Cor. 15:29]?” He read the verse aloud, then looked at his watch and dismissed the class. He said, “I will talk to you in my office.” He got his Greek translation of the Bible and other books, then started explaining the Resurrection. I said, “That is not the issue; I believe in the Resurrection.” After more than two hours of discussion, I was still not satisfied. He lent me two books to read.
The next day I asked the same question of an older priest. He told me that baptism for the dead was no longer necessary.
On April 1, the paper mill was temporarily shut down. I was reading a pamphlet called The Plan of Salvation when I began to feel a certainty that what I was reading was true. The Holy Ghost was bearing witness, making everything clear to me. I knew that Joseph Smith was a prophet, that the Church was true. I was crying. I had found something so precious. I wanted to tell my co-workers, but they would not understand. I went home early and found Karen at my home. “I know that the plan of salvation is true,” I told her, “and I want to be baptized.” She arranged for the missionaries to teach me.
The following day, I had my first discussion with Elder Johnson and Elder Barangan. I had such a strong desire to be baptized that I went to their home very early the next morning. When I told them of my desire, Elder Johnson told me that to be baptized I must obey the Word of Wisdom and attend church. I said, “I started obeying the Word of Wisdom when I saw the filmstrip, and I have attended the church several times.” They taught me three more discussions. Then on Easter Sunday, 7 April 1985, I was baptized. I felt that this was the very moment I had waited for since I was born.
That day was also Fast Sunday. I fasted, shared my testimony in sacrament meeting, and paid my tithing for the first time. After sharing my testimony, I had an even stronger conviction that I had made the right decision. I felt complete—no longer drifting, but with sure direction. I know that the Spirit bore witness to me.
Since my baptism, I have served a mission and have been an ordinance worker in the Manila Philippines Temple.
I feel so blessed to have the gospel in my life. I know that the Book of Mormon I rescued from the trash is the book that rescued me.

“Visits to this house are certainly a waste of time,” my visiting teaching companion said as we knocked on the weather-beaten door of a small and sagging house located behind another house. “We never find anyone home.”
I glanced at her and nodded, as the peeling paint dug deep into my knuckles with the repeated firm raps; but we lingered, hoping today might be different. It wasn’t, and we finally walked back along the heavily overgrown path to the street.
“Well, we’re really (see Matt. 5:41) trying to see this woman,” I said as we climbed into the car. “Even locating her place was a monumental accomplishment.”
Hidden from view by a larger house in front of it, the shabby little place had been difficult to find when we had made our first visit six months earlier. Altered ward boundaries had brought a few new families into our ward from another ward, and this sister had been added to our district. When the address seemed incorrect, we had persisted, and after stopping at two service stations and inquiring at several doors, we had finally followed the overgrown path and discovered the small house. But that discovery was followed only by disappointing silence.
Since no telephone number showed on Judy Kearns’s information card, we had checked the directory service, only to learn that she had an unlisted number. A look at the ward records showed us that she was an inactive convert of three years who was supporting two small children by herself.
With each visit we had left a friendly note asking her to telephone us, but there was no response. We had even left some fruit at her door and had stopped by on a weekend, but we were always met by empty silence.
“Just another lost cause,” I thought as we drove down the street toward home, but my conscience nagged. Had we really gone the extra mile? What was the extra mile? By gospel standards, it was not just filling an assignment, I remembered, but caring enough to magnify an opportunity to successful fulfillment. True, we had put our toes into the extra mile, but that was only a tiny distance, and full steps could be taken.
That night, after four telephone calls, I managed to locate the visiting teacher from Judy’s previous ward. The information I got was vague, but I did get the unlisted telephone number. As I hung up, a little stirring of excitement lifted my spirits, and I eagerly dialed her number, only to be met again with the disappointment of prolonged, hollow, unanswered ringing. I tried again the next day and evening, but with no success.
While I was on my way home from a late-afternoon dental appointment several days later, the thought flashed into my mind that Judy, too, might be on her way home. It was the end of the normal working day, and she must go home once in a while. Would she resent a visit at such an inconvenient time? On a quick impulse I swung the car in her direction and decided to take a chance. Stopping my car at the curb and looking down the long driveway, I could see the usual empty car stall, so I switched off the motor to wait. When twenty-five minutes had ticked by I shifted nervously, knowing my own family would be arriving home wondering where Mom and the usual dinner aroma was.
Uneasily I waited another fifteen minutes and was just getting ready to leave when an old, weather-beaten Volkswagen pulled into the driveway and filled the stall. By the time Judy had unloaded two small children from the car and located her house key, I was on the porch explaining who I was and expressing delight in finally having the opportunity to meet her. She responded with a cool, uncomfortable attitude, but my friendliness won and she invited me into her small living room.
I initially centered my attention on her young son and daughter, while they showed me their art work from nursery school and described in detail the skinned knee under Gary’s bandage. This gave Judy a chance to relax and observe me. Slowly she warmed up to my interest in her children, and she hesitantly began sharing some of her struggles to protect them from the ravages of a shattered marriage. I learned that her husband had left her and the children to find what he called his “personal freedom.” In her determination to survive, she began working at a job that did not pay much and was taking night classes to become a dental assistant. She had placed the children in a neighborhood christian church school, and was attending Sunday services there as well. It really didn’t matter where they went to church, she said, as long as they went.
My visit was short, but I had established a relationship and made an appointment for another visit on her day off. At the door, I looked straight into her eyes and bore my testimony to the truthfulness of the gospel, and begged her not to deprive her precious children of the chance to share in its beauty. Her eyes filled with tears and I squeezed her hand as I left.
Anxious to take another step for Judy, I tried to communicate with her home teacher. After three telephone calls devoted to locating someone with the latest list of assignments, I learned that the ward executive secretary would be the one with whom to talk. He wasn’t home when I called, and after repeated attempts all evening, I finally gave up.
Two nights later, I tried again, only to find he had left her records at church and that I should call the clerk’s office in a few nights to get the information. I called as suggested, but no one answered, and I began wondering if it really was important to contact the home teacher.
My visiting teaching companion was delighted when she learned I had actually made an appointment with Judy, and she brought new enthusiasm to our efforts as we approached the little house in the rear. Judy was waiting for us and received, with appreciation, the still warm cookies we had baked for her. The first part of our visit was light and friendly, but then Judy began sharing her fears and concerns for her children, the devastating feelings of inadequacy she had, and the agony of her financial struggles. We offered sympathy and dried her tears, but I knew more must be done. At the door I asked about her home teacher and learned she had never seen one since coming into our ward boundary. I was indignant! How could six months have passed without an assignment?
Sunday morning I was at church early to talk with the executive secretary. On investigation, we found that Ray Greer, a responsible, dedicated elder, was Judy’s assigned home teacher. I was baffled, and tried to locate him at church, only to learn he was on a two-week vacation. I was amazed at how many obstacles cluttered this extra mile I was trying to walk and I determined not to let them stop me. With that in mind, I contacted Ray on the day he arrived home. As I asked my questions, he looked at me in blank confusion. He knew nothing of Judy Kearns, or of an assignment to be her home teacher, and we quickly realized that the communication chain had dropped a link someplace along the way. I handed him Judy’s unlisted number, gave him notes on my information, and told him my urgent concern for her. He expressed appreciation for my help and seemed eager to correct the situation.
In a few short weeks the extra mile had turned into a miracle mile. It was the miracle of God’s organized plan in operation, the miracle of dedicated men honoring their priesthood, the miracle of women who care. It was thrilling to see the process in full operation, to see people eagerly following the Lord’s outlined programs. It was exciting to know that I belonged to his church.
Ray not only had an immediate visit with Judy, but he also invited her to share dinner and home evening with his family that week. At that gathering the children responded to each other, and soon Judy was enjoying the deep interest of Ray’s wife, who offered to come and drive them all to Sunday School. Judy was hesitant, but the children were eager, and she finally agreed.
Coming back to church gave Judy a new awareness of the importance of the restored gospel, and before leaving she had met the bishop, talked with the Relief Society president, and agreed to let one of the Primary officers pick up her children from nursery school to attend Primary. When the bishop learned that Judy would soon be a trained dental assistant and was concerned about a job, he asked the ward employment director to start looking for dentists who might be prospective employers. By the time Judy was certified, he had three good interviews waiting. She was offered all three jobs and chose the highest salary offer.
A few weeks later the Relief Society president visited Judy to request her help in giving some information about dental care to the night Relief Society. Judy responded and enjoyed meeting other working sisters who shared many of her same problems. She became a steady supporter of Relief Society. Then the bishop decided it was time for a Church calling. Junior Sunday School seemed to fit her schedule best, and in a short time Judy was one of its outstanding teachers.
Then Ray Greer, who had been concentrating on finding her a better place to live within the ward boundary, found an excellent home for them. While the elders moved her belongings, the night Relief Society put paper on the shelves and the Sunday School officers prepared food to make it a party. Judy had become special to a lot of people and a very vital part of our ward.
On the fast Sunday when Judy stood to bear her testimony for the first time, the chapel was especially quiet as we all listened closely. She humbly acknowledged her new-found security in the knowledge that the Lord walked with her and that his gospel brought the serenity to overcome fear and inadequacy. Tears of gratitude flowed down her cheeks as she expressed love for all those who had helped lift her life with their caring. As she finished, most of us reached for our handkerchiefs and sensed the elation of shared victory. Wiping my eyes, I marveled at the beautiful process that had brought about Judy’s transformation. And I knew, incredible as it seemed, that it had all begun with some meager efforts to go the extra mile in my visiting teaching assignment.
I realized that day with a new clarity that, insignificant as we may feel in the service of God, each of us possesses the ability to put His great plans into operation, to release marvelous power that changes and builds lives, to provide the outlet for dedicated, vibrant service. But this tremendous potential can move ahead only when we create the momentum, when we release the dams and allow God’s magnificent glory to go forward and make the extra mile a miracle mile!

In May of 2020, just as the world was grappling with the spread of a global pandemic, members of the New York City Commission of Religious Leaders met virtually in an abruptly called meeting. There was no agenda. No special guests. Just a request to come together and discuss the challenges we were all facing as faith leaders. The Centers for Disease Control had just reported that our city was the epicenter of the COVID-19 pandemic in the United States. This meant no more gathering. No more coming together.

For these religious leaders, removing the personal ministry, the congregational gathering, and the weekly worship was a devastating blow. Our small group—which included a cardinal, reverend, rabbi, imam, pastor, monsignor, and an elder—listened to, consoled, and supported one another. Instead of focusing on our differences, we saw what we had in common. We spoke of possibilities and then probabilities. We rallied and responded to questions about faith and the future. And then we prayed. Oh, how we prayed.

In a richly diverse city filled with complexity and colliding cultures, we saw our differences dissipate as we came together as friends with one voice, one purpose, and one prayer.

No longer were we looking across the table at each other but heavenward with each other. We left each subsequent meeting more united and ready to pick up our “shovels” and go to work. The collaboration that resulted and the service rendered to thousands of New Yorkers taught me that in a world calling for division, distance, and disengagement, there is always much more that unites us than divides us. The Savior pled, “Be one; and if ye are not one ye are not mine.”

Last year one of my grandsons took his wife to New York City with their parents to attend the beautiful new Manhattan temple. The hustle and bustle and noise of the thousands of people outside was deafening. As the taxi pulled up in front of the temple, Katherine, my grandson’s wife, began to cry. Even on the outside of the temple she felt its sacredness. They entered, left the noisome world, and worshiped in the house of the Lord. It was a sacred and unforgettable experience for them.

Photographs from Getty Images
Wilma Rudolph: 2-time Olympian, 3 gold medals, polio survivor.
In 1960 Wilma Rudolph became a track and field legend. She was running for the United States in the Olympics, which were being televised for the first time. In spite of the intense pressure, Wilma ran so quickly she was proclaimed “the fastest woman in the world.” By the end of the Olympics, she had won not just one gold medal but three—the first American woman ever to do so.
Wilma’s incredible victory teaches us a powerful lesson about our true potential and identity. But her story is even more inspiring when you know how it began.
Wilma was born in Tennessee in 1940. She was the 20th of 22 children in her family. She was born prematurely and weighed under five pounds. In her early childhood she suffered from a slew of illnesses—pneumonia, scarlet fever, and then polio, which left her with limited use of her left leg. She required leg braces to stand. “My doctor told me I would never walk again. My mother told me I would,” Wilma said. “I believed my mother.”1
When she was nine years old, Wilma determined to prove the doctors wrong. She took off her leg braces and began to walk, one slow step at a time. She fell, she got up and tried again, and again, and again. With grit, determination, and faith, Wilma continued to practice. Eventually, she even started to run. She ran a lot. And, after years of work, she ran fast—very fast. Fast enough to run in the 1956 Olympics and win a bronze medal at age 16. Then, four years later, she ran again to win those amazing three gold medals.
Winners of the women’s 100-meter race at the 1960 Rome, Italy, Olympics. Wilma Rudolph (center) is awarded the gold medal.
Photograph from Getty Images

When April’s family moved to a farm, there was lots to love about their new home. There were ponds to swim in and meadows to explore. And there was always something that needed to be done! The whole family—Mom, Dad, and eight kids—learned to milk cows, pick corn, and fill jars with homemade applesauce.
For April, the hardest part of the move was making new friends. None of her siblings went to her school, and most of her classmates had grown up together. It was tough to fit in, especially when some classmates made fun of her hand-me-down clothes and worn-out backpack.
And worst of all, April didn’t have a bike.
Almost everyone had a bike. After school, they’d hold races and play bike tag. Meanwhile, April was stuck walking home—usually alone.
One day while April was on her way home, David and Maria from school pulled up next to her, their bike wheels glinting in the sunshine.
“You should ask for a bike for Christmas,” David said. Before April could say anything, Maria started teasing.
“Her family can’t afford bikes, not even one.”
“That’s not true!” April said. “My parents could buy us all bikes if they wanted!”
Maria and David just laughed and rode away.
From then on, April wanted a bike more than anything. Christmas was a few weeks away. Was there any chance she might get one under the tree? She started asking for a bike every chance she got.
The big day finally arrived—Christmas morning! April was the first to run to the tree. She saw games, clothes, and a few school supplies … and zero bikes.
But then Dad said something that made her heart pound.
“Hey, I think I saw something on the porch.”
“I did too!” Mom said. “Kids, why don’t you see what’s out there?”
April and her siblings ran outside to look. And there, right on the porch, was a row of bikes! April could tell they weren’t new, but that didn’t matter. They were bikes!
Pam squealed in delight as she grabbed the red one with her name on the tag. Billy rolled the orange one down the steps. Then April got a good look at hers.
It was big. It was black. And it had the widest tires she’d ever seen. April felt her stomach drop. She tried to smile but felt a little sick.
It looks like a monster, she thought. What will the other kids say?
On the first school day after Christmas break, April pedaled slowly. She hoped the bell would ring before she got to school so she could hide the Bike Monster while no one was watching.
But everyone was still outside, talking about the holidays. And it wasn’t long before someone spotted the Bike Monster.
“Is that made of old tractor parts?”
“It’s from the junkyard!”
“Maybe if your folks didn’t have so many kids, they could get you something nice for once.”
April tried to ignore the mean comments, but those last words stuck in her mind. Would I be happier with a new bike instead of all my brothers and sisters?That evening April was watching her older brothers playing in the living room. She picked up her littlest sister and squeezed her with a giant hug. Would I trade her for a shiny new bike? April thought. No way!
Suddenly the Bike Monster didn’t seem like such a big deal after all. And it didn’t even really seem like such a monster. It was a gift from parents who loved her, and that made it the best bike in the world.
As the school year went on, April discovered that her bike was the very best—at least for racing and riding in the snow. Everyone wanted to try the big, wide tires. And April would let them. But the Bike Monster was hers, after all, and she loved it!

Because of economic circumstance, ten years of depression, my mother and father never talked about getting an education in collage. They always talked at the dinner table about not if the boys go on missions but when they went and we all did go. But no one mentioned about getting an education and especially when father died and left mother in dire economic circumstances to provide for those eight children, missions were in jeopardy, let alone an education.

Then some things began to happen. I was seven years out of high school and I was home from my mission. I was working as a milk deliveryman, up at 3:30 in the morning to prepare my truck with the milk bottles and then deliver the early morning milk. This was several years after high school had occurred. My supervisor began to suggest, "Quinn, why don't you think of gettin a college education?" That was out for me so I didn"™t pay much attention. He'd remind me again, "You know Quinn, you could go to Weber College." It was a two-year school. He talked and finally when Christmas time came around, the week between Christmas and New Years, my supervisor comes to me and he says, "Quinn, you ought to go over to Weber college and register, they're registering there for school."

I thought about that for a while. I knew where the Deseret Gym was so I finally wondered over. I didn't know you had to register, I didn't even know what registration meant. I walked in the door and there was a young student sitting there are the desk. When I walked in she says, "Can I help you?" and I said, "Yes, I want to go to school." She said, "What to you want to study?" and I said, "Books!" She said, "Well, what do you want to major in?" That immediately called my military experience, and I said to her, "Well, I was only a Corporal, I wasn't a Major." This dialogue went on for a few minutes and she could see it wasn't getting any place.

Fortunately Talmage DeLange came walking by and she said, "Mr. Dalang, can you help this young man?" Mr. DeLange took me over and sat me down and counseled me about how to get into school and what to study. I don't know why it happened, it must be obvious. He was an accounting teacher so I majored in accounting. In fact, at one time I was headed to be a CPA and then I escaped.

I registered for school but at that time, I was earning money to help mother provide for the needs of those eight fatherless children so I know I had to work part time and I knew I had to make up my mind I would study. I would get my lessons. I would not have time for extracurricular activity. I went to school. Don Ripplinger, who was president of the Delta Phi fraternity, a return missionary fraternity, invited me to come join. I told him I couldn't, I had these other obligations. He came back again one day. "Quinn, we're short a member on our intramural football team. Would you come and play with us this afternoon?" I couldn't turn it down and so one thing led to another and he got me involved in the extracurricular activities on campus.

When I was nearly finishing my second year at Weber Collage, Henry Dickson, the president of the collage stopped me in the hall. He said, "Quinn, what are you going to do now when you graduate?" I told him I had to go out and go to work for I was already providing means for my mother to provide help for this family. He turned to me and he said, "Quinn, you need to finish your college." Patted me on the shoulder and walked away. I cogitated on that for about two weeks. Finally decided I"™d experimented so I sent in an application to BYU. They accepted me, to my surprise.

I went that fall to BYU, again, to study. Mel Maybe, a friend of mine, a missionary, who I had met in Czechoslovakia years before, came to me and said, "Quinn you ought to join Blue Key Honor Society." I declined him. Again, I other things to do, and came back to me again, and of all things it was made up of men that were so busy, the only time they could get together once a week was 6 AM in the morning. Well I had time then so I went with him and joined. It was interesting, I'd only been on campus one quarter. It was when we had the quarter system.

One of the members of that blue key organization came to me and said, "Quinn, you ought to run for student body president," which was starting a month away. I had only been on campus for one month and he said, "That doesn't make any difference. You can do it. We'll help you." So he and a group got together and ran me for student body president. Somehow I was elected.

In your life, in lives of people around you, one of the greatest gifts you can give them is to give them a vision of their possibilities. So many of us go through life and we don't see our potential. We're sons and daughters of God and many of us don't understand that. Just a little help from a friend.

I was just graduating from BYU. In fact, I don't know how it happened. That spring when I was elected, I went with Leroy Porter down to University of Arizona. They had an association of student body presidents of the thirteen western states. When we got down there, I got acquainted with all these students from the thirteen western states. During the course of events, a couple of the kids from the University of Utah nominated me for president of that organization. I still don't know how it happened but I got elected. Whole worlds began to open up just because someone had enough interest in this little farm boy from the great town of Huntsville, saw more potential in him than he saw in himself.

I was finishing my last year at BYU, after one of the classes taught by William F. Edwards, he stopped me and he said, "Quinn, there's a scholarship posted on the bulletin board by the dean's office. You should apply for it and do graduate work." Well, I followed his advice. I went by the bulletin board and sure enough, there was a scholarship covering tuition and living expenses. But it was a little collage back in Boston called Harvard. A boy from Huntsville that milked cows every night and morning going to a place like that? It didn't take me long. That didn't make any sense at all. Two weeks later after class, Professor Edwards stopped me and asked, "Quinn, I thought you would ask me for a letter of recommendation for that scholarship." I had forgotten and so I said, "What scholarship?" He said, "You didn't apply did you?" He took me into his office. He pulled out an application, blank, a 16-page application blank, and helped me fill out the first two pages and said, "Now take it, and finish it, send it in," and I did. I got notice back that I was the recipient of the Donald Kirk David Fellowship." That opened that world to go to school where our President Steve Wheelwright served so very well.

Young people, most of us don't see the potential that's in us. You have friends. You have an obligation not to wait till you graduate to help but them get a vision of what they might do.

Not long ago, Josh received his mission call to serve in the Washington D.C. South Mission, speaking Persian.
“Persian?!” he says. “I had no idea that language was even taught at the MTC.”
As it happens, there are only three elders in his mission who currently speak Persian. And very few other missions include that language at all.
He started buckling down to learn as much Persian as possible before entering the missionary training center, but then everything missionary-wise got thrown into uncertainty as the pandemic took hold.
It’d be understandable for anybody in Luke’s situation to feel discouraged, but he says he finds heavenly help every day. “I see a lot of blessings in disguise.”
One of his favorite blessings in disguise was only possible because seminary was held virtually. Due to different start times, he was actually able to attend his current seminary class in Alabama as well as his old one back in Mississippi! “That’s been kind of cool because I can stay in touch with my friends!”
That’s only one blessing, though. “I also have more time for prayer and scriptures,” he points out. “And more time to study my language before entering the MTC.”
On that note, Luke was fortunate enough to connect, through a social media group, with the mother of one of the Persian-speaking missionaries in his mission. She was thrilled to hear from Luke and offered to send him some language-training tools her son used before his mission.
Luke has been using those tools ever since.
“I love the extra time to study,” he says again. “Especially family study in the morning. Now we have more time to do that than we normally did.”
The biggest question on Luke’s mind has been about what to decide regarding his mission. Like so many others in his situation, Luke has to choose whether to defer his mission call for a year or more, or wait and see if he can go as soon as possible with the original date.
Nothing is certain yet.
For Luke, direction came after watching general conference. “President Nelson and the other leaders were so optimistic,” Luke said. “It makes me optimistic too. So, at least for now, I’m going to plan on serving during my normal time.”
Luke knows that nothing is certain where COVID-19 is concerned. Even so, he’s absolutely certain about something else. “God is at the wheel,” Luke says. “He isn’t going to let us fail.”

Jayant loved the Church even before he became a member. He liked to listen to his uncle talk about the gospel and tell how he had been the first person from India to join the Church in Fiji.
After listening to the missionaries, Jayant asked his parents if he might join the Church. They gave their permission, and Jayant tried hard to be a missionary to his family by living the principles of the gospel and being a good example.
Before long Jayant’s father and brother were baptized, but his mother hesitated. Her grandfather had been an important Hindu priest in India, and she was worried about what her family would say if she became a Mormon. Because of the example of her son, however, she too finally joined the Church.
Now all of Jayant’s family are active in their branch in Suva, Fiji, and they know the love and joy that come from serving our Father in heaven.

Where will Personal Progress take you? It took the young women of the Colorado Miramont Ward to Hawaii—well, kind of. The young women earned “miles” to travel the 3,000-plus miles to “Hawaii” every time they completed a Personal Progress goal or project.
Haley Tyler, a Laurel, loved the idea of going somewhere exotic. “I was excited because I thought it was a good way to get more motivated about Personal Progress.” One of Haley’s projects was sewing teddy bears for hospitals and fire departments.
The night they went to Hawaii was unforgettable. Even though Hawaii was actually in the backyard of one of their advisers, the girls didn’t mind. They ate tropical food and listened to Hawaiian music, and a stake member taught them how to dance the Hukilau.
Clarissa Clements, a Laurel, said, “It was awesome. The food was great. I loved the dancing.” She also liked learning how to play traditional Hawaiian instruments.
Next year the Miramont young women plan on going to “France.”

Elder John B. Dickson, former President of the South America South Area, tells of an area-wide youth service activity that was held several years ago: “The youth of the Comodoro Rivadavia Argentina Stake, in the extreme southern part of Argentina, prepared to paint a 1.25-kilometer beach wall fence. One hundred and fifty youth and their leaders with white paint, buckets, and brushes must have created quite a sight, because when the local radio station heard about the event, they came to investigate. ‘Who are these young people?’ they asked. ‘They are youth from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.’ ‘Why are they doing this?’ ‘Well, they just love their community and want to give some voluntary service.’ This information went out to all the radio stations and newspapers in the community.

“These kids knew they were doing something for someone else—taking their minds off themselves as they served others,” says Elder Dickson. “If you multiply that kind of example time and time again—in about 160 stakes throughout the area—all giving service to their communities on the same day, the effect is staggering!”

May I share today a story about a person who lived in such a way, in an eternal, loving companionship in Hawaii.

In 1850, Brigham Young sent ten missionaries to the Hawaiian Islands. Without understanding the language and culture, the missionaries found the work extremely difficult. Eventually they became discouraged, including the mission president. They became so discouraged that five of the ten left to go home. The youngest of the remaining missionaries, Elder George Q. Cannon, was determined to stay. He went to the Lord in prayer. The Lord inspired him to go to Lahaina on Maui. He did so.

As he approached this town, two ladies went screaming into a nearby house and brought out a local gentleman. The previous night, this man had had a dream that a messenger of God was coming to his town and that he must feed him. Elder Cannon was invited to stay and preach in the home of this man, Jonathon H. Napela, who was a very well-educated man and the magistrate of that district (see Alma 10:4).

Subsequently, Elder Cannon and Jonathon Napela became very close friends, like Alma and Amulek in the Book of Mormon (see Alma 10–15). Because of the guiding hand of God and Brother Napela’s great help, along with the hospitality and kindness of the Hawaiian Saints, the missionary work began to excel in Hawaii, and the foundation was laid.

My wife likes to tell the story of a friend of hers who, when she was a little girl, was left an orphan. She scarcely knew her mother. As she grew, she wondered about her mother. What kind of a girl, what kind of a woman was she?

One day she came across her mother’s old report card. The teacher had noted on that card, “This student is excellent in every way.”

When she read that, her entire life changed. She recognized that her mother was a woman of excellence. Her whole attitude changed. She took on the patina of excellence herself and became a remarkable woman in her own right. She married a man who is recognized in all of these communities, and their children have distinguished themselves for their excellence.

When Ofelia Trejo de Cárdenas was called to teach young adults in her Mexico City ward, she felt that having a close relationship with each of her Sunday School students would increase her ability to teach and strengthen them.
“If I don’t have a close relationship with my students and if they don’t feel my love, they may not believe me when I’m teaching a class or bearing my testimony,” she says. “They may feel that I’m just a Sunday School teacher.”
But how could Sister Cárdenas develop such a relationship if she taught only once every two weeks? She found the answer through technology. Using the mobile phone application WhatsApp, she and her students were soon connecting daily through text and voice messages. Now, every day before the next Sunday School lesson, a class volunteer sends to other class members a verse of scripture from that next lesson with a related personal thought. After reading the verse and the thought, class members respond with their own thoughts.
“When they read the scripture, they send a happy face so I know they have read or studied the scripture and that they have thought about it,” says Sister Cárdenas. When it’s time for the next Sunday lesson, the students are prepared to participate.
This daily connection recently blessed one young adult whose parents are not active in the Church.
“I love it when I see him come to church because I know that to get there, he had to go through several challenges,” says Sister Cárdenas. “I’m sure that the scriptures and thoughts his classmates have sent out and the scriptures and thoughts he has sent out when it was his turn have strengthened him a lot.”
Sister Cárdenas says ministering through the scriptures doesn’t stop with her Sunday lesson and her class’s daily scriptural connection.
“My preparation includes praying for my students,” she says. “I think of them not only on Sunday but every day of the week as well. Each of them has specific and different needs. Each is a child of God. I think about them while I’m preparing my lessons.”
And when she teaches, she listens—both to her students and to the Holy Ghost.
“The teacher is the Spirit,” which she often hears in the voices of her students. “I have to pay attention because what they say is the revelation that the Spirit is giving to them.”

As a teenager in Matsumoto, Japan, I was very interested in learning English. At age 17 I joined the English club at my high school. At the start of the school year, the club decided to find a native English speaker to teach us English conversation. We searched and searched, but the English instructors we spoke to charged a fee, and the club couldn’t afford to pay. Discouraged, we almost gave up.
Then one day, as I rode my bicycle to school, I saw some young American men in suits handing out flyers. I took one and put it in my pocket. After school I examined the paper and found that it was an invitation to attend a free English conversation class. On the flyer was the name “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” I had never heard of such a church, but I was excited; I had solved the English club’s problem!
On the day of the next class, about 30 club members attended with me. The missionaries taught the class, which we all enjoyed very much. From the very first day of class, I noticed that there was something different about the missionaries. Their warmth, love, positive attitudes, and cheerfulness deeply impressed me. There seemed to be a light around them—I had never before met anyone quite like them.
After several weeks I began asking the missionaries about their church, and they invited me to learn more. I accepted, and they taught me the missionary lessons. At the time I did not fully understand or appreciate the importance of what I was learning, but I felt the Spirit, and I understood that the principles the missionaries were teaching me were good. When they invited me to be baptized, I accepted.
Before I could join the Church, however, I had to receive my parents’ consent. At first they were very much against it—the teachings of Christianity were foreign and strange to them. But I was not yet ready to give up. I asked the missionaries to come to my home and explain to my parents about the Church, what they had been teaching me, and what would be expected of me. The Spirit softened my parents’ hearts, and this time they gave me permission to be baptized.
After I was baptized and confirmed, I attended the little Matsumoto Branch of 12 to 15 active members. I made friends, and it was fun to attend every week. About a year later I graduated from high school and moved to Yokohama to attend the university. The nearest branch was the Tokyo Central Branch, which had more than 150 active members. When I attended this new branch, I felt like a country boy in the big city. I had a hard time making friends. One Sunday I stayed home from church. Soon I stopped attending altogether. I began making friends with my nonmember classmates, and the Church drifted further and further from my mind.
This continued for several months. Then one day I received a letter from a sister in the Matsumoto Branch. “I heard you have stopped attending church,” she said. I was surprised. Apparently someone from my new branch had told her I was not attending church anymore! The sister continued her letter by quoting Doctrine and Covenants 121:34: “Behold, there are many called, but few are chosen.” Then she wrote, “Koichi, you have been baptized a member of the Church. You have been called, but you are no longer among the chosen.”
As I read these words, I was filled with regret. I knew I needed to change somehow. I realized that I did not have a strong testimony. I wasn’t sure if God lived, and I didn’t know if Jesus Christ was my Savior. For several days I grew anxious as I thought about the message in the letter. I didn’t know what to do. Then one morning I remembered something the missionaries had taught me. They had asked me to read Moroni 10:3–5, promising that I could know the truth for myself. I decided that I must pray. If I felt nothing, I could completely forget about the Church and the commandments, and I would never go again. However, if I did receive an answer, as Moroni promised, I would have to repent, embrace the gospel with all my heart, go back to church, and do all I could to follow the commandments.
As I knelt and prayed that morning, I pleaded with Heavenly Father to answer me. “If Thou live—if Thou are real,” I prayed, “please let me know.” I prayed to know if Jesus Christ was my Savior and if the Church was true. As I finished, I suddenly felt something. I was surrounded by a warm feeling, and my heart was filled with joy. I understood the truth: God does live, and Jesus is my Savior. The Lord’s Church was truly restored by the Prophet Joseph Smith, and the Book of Mormon is the word of God.
Needless to say, I prayed for forgiveness that very day and resolved to follow the commandments. I returned to church and promised the Lord that I would do whatever it took to remain faithful.
A short time later the Church began making plans to build a chapel in Yokohama. At that time members of the branch were expected to contribute money and provide labor for the building’s construction. When the mission president challenged the branch members to contribute all they could, I remembered my commitment to do whatever the Lord asked of me. So every day for nearly a year, I helped with the construction after my university classes were over.
About this same time, Elder Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985), then of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, visited Japan and encouraged the youth of the Church to achieve four goals: (1) receive as much higher education as possible, (2) serve a full-time mission, especially the young men, (3) marry in the temple, and (4) gain skills to support a family. Until that point I had never planned to accomplish these four things. But I later knelt and prayed: “Heavenly Father, I want to accomplish those four goals. Please help me.”
I knew that in order to stay on the path of the chosen, I needed to follow the counsel of the Lord’s servants. I committed to do all I could to follow Elder Kimball’s advice and to work hard to build up the Church.
For the next several years I continued to work toward my four goals. I served as a construction missionary for two years, helping build two chapels in my home country. Then I was called to serve a full-time proselytizing mission. Soon after returning home, I married in the temple the woman from the Matsumoto Branch who wrote me the letter. Later I landed my dream job in a foreign trading company. As I followed the word of the Lord and the counsel of the prophets, I felt that again I was on the path of the chosen. And I am striving to stay on that path today.

As a young girl, Elaine Schwartz Dalton found great joy in dancing. But as a young mother with six children, she found that dancing seemed impractical, so she started running as a way to enjoy movement each day. At first she would run 10 steps and then walk 10 steps until she could run a mile. Since that modest start, she has run 18 marathons.
“Running gives me a time to be still in my mind and contemplate life,” says Sister Dalton. It’s one hour when she can think about the scriptures she has just read.

Illustrations by Mark Robison
1 “I found the apples, Mom!” Jennifer called.
“Thank you, Jennifer,” Mom said as she put the bag of apples in the shopping cart. Jennifer felt good inside. Helping Mom shop was fun.
“Do we need anything else?” Jennifer asked.
“Nope, I think that’s it,” Mom said.
2 Jennifer followed Mom to the front of the store. She helped Mom stack the groceries on the moving checkout counter, being careful that heavy things, like apples, didn’t smash delicate items, like bread and eggs. The clerk at the cash register scanned each item under a red light with a loud “Beep!”
3 While she waited for Mom to pay for the groceries, Jennifer looked at the fun things at the check stand—toys, magazines, and shiny packages of candy. Then something caught her eye: a magazine-sized book with pictures and stickers from one of her favorite movies.
“Mom, can I have this?” Jennifer asked, holding up the book.
4 Jennifer’s mom looked at the book. “No, Jennifer. I am not going to buy that for you.”
“Why not?” Jennifer asked.
“Please put it away for now. We’ll talk about it at home,” Mom said.
In the car, Jennifer wondered why Mom had said no about the sticker book. After they got home and put the groceries away, Mom sat by Jennifer on the couch.
“I know you wanted me to buy that book for you,” Mom said. “I know that it’s your favorite movie and I can tell that the sticker book is something you really want. And that’s why I said no.”
Jennifer looked confused.
5 “I think it is something that you should earn for yourself,” Mom said.
“What do you mean?” Jennifer asked.
“Do you know how much the sticker book costs?”
Jennifer shook her head.
“Well, that’s the first thing you need to find out,” Mom said.
“The first thing before what?” Jennifer asked.
“Before you start earning the money to buy the sticker book for yourself.”
Next time they were at the grocery store, Jennifer found the price tag on the sticker book. Back at home, Mom gave Jennifer a notebook to keep track of her money and wrote the price of the sticker book next to the word “GOAL.”
Then Jennifer went to work. She washed windows and took out the garbage. She pulled weeds in the backyard and scrubbed spots on the carpet. When Mom paid her for the extra chores, Jennifer kept track of her earnings in the notebook. She put 10 percent of what she earned in a gray tithing envelope to give to the bishop. Then she put the rest of her money in a white envelope for the sticker book.
6 After several weeks, Jennifer looked inside her white envelope. She finally had enough money! She felt very grown up at the store as she carefully counted out the exact amount in bills and coins to pay for the sticker book.
When she got home, Jennifer placed the sticker book in her special drawer. She had worked long and hard to buy it, and she wanted to take good care of it. It made Jennifer feel good to know that she had earned something for herself.