Gospel Story Finder

Years ago, I once tried to persuade my friends at school to not do their homework because I hadn’t done mine. I was in the wrong, but I thought that if we all got in trouble, I would somehow feel better about myself. My poor behaviour reminds me of Satan’s attitude toward us. Because he is miserable, he wants to spoil our potential for eternal life.
Satan is so distorted by his bitterness that he—even knowing he will ultimately fail—desperately attempts to “spread the works of darkness” (Helaman 6:28), to harm as many of us as he can.

In September 2020, with the declining health of our parents and the instability of the COVID-19 pandemic, we relocated my sweet 83-year-old parents from their home of 45 years in Las Vegas, Nevada, to Cedar Hills, Utah, to be closer to family, making it easier for us to help care for them.
As you can imagine, this move was difficult for them on many levels. Residing in Las Vegas for most of their married years, they enjoyed their independence and the relationships they built there. They owned a lovely home and prided themselves on having an open door when family passed through. Giving up home ownership after 66 years and downsizing into a small rental home in a new state was challenging. Now they had to say goodbye to everything familiar to them, including friends they’d shared years of memories and experiences with and people they’d grown close to while serving in various callings.
At the time of the move, Church meetings were held remotely. Our parents worried how they would be able to get to know the people of their new ward when there was no opportunity to go to church and build new friendships. How could they possibly feel at home in these circumstances?
We found them a small rental home in a neighborhood in the Cedar Hills Sixth Ward, unaware of what a special place it would turn out to be.
Because we had simplified their belongings for the move and didn’t need assistance with moving bulky items, we hadn’t contacted the ward leadership to announce their arrival. That didn’t matter. Within five minutes of our pulling in with the moving van, neighbors arrived at the door, gloves on, asking how they could help. Homemade muffins were delivered and cold drinks offered to our family members helping with the move.
On Thursday of that week, members of the Relief Society presidency visited to introduce themselves and welcome our parents to the ward. On Sunday the bishop came to meet them and inquire whether they needed anything. He spent almost an hour with them, genuinely getting to know them and asking if they’d be willing to take ministering assignments.
Within two weeks of their arrival, they had ministering brothers and sisters assigned to them and were contacted by both. They also received ministering assignments and were introduced to their assigned families. Even with Mom’s late-stage dementia, her ministering companion made the effort to invite her and bring her along as they visited the sisters they were assigned to. The ministering brothers were consistent, loving, and genuine. They immediately found a commonality with roots from Wyoming, and my parents felt loved from the first visit.
Later that month the youth of the ward secretly covered their front door with notes of welcome and love. The first week of November, some deacons asked if they could come by and meet Mom and Dad. About seven young men and their leaders spent time with them, introducing themselves through get-to-know-you topics such as favorite foods, where they went to school, and what they did for after-school activities. The deacons followed up by asking our parents questions about how things were when they grew up and how they met.
These youth continued to come by at least monthly, sometimes just to drop off a treat or to check in. They caroled at Christmastime and brought a lovely holiday basket of food and treats. Because of these simple kindnesses, Dad could call the boys by name when he saw them and had a sense of familiarity with the ward, even though they weren’t able to meet in person for Sunday meetings.
A girl in the ward was invited in her home evening to say hello to someone new, and she chose Mom and Dad. She proceeded to build a relationship with them, coming over almost every day with a treat or to drop off a flower she had picked from her yard.
Our parents were asked to create a short video introducing themselves that was shown at the ward Christmas party. Every time there was a ward activity or gathering, our parents were reminded and offered a ride by someone. Special treats and hand-colored cards were delivered on their birthdays and holidays, and kind neighbors shoveled their driveway, sprayed the lawn for dandelions, and pulled their trash cans in every week. The ward members made a special effort to call them by name, recognized them at the grocery store, and helped them feel like they belonged.
Just four months after moving into this new ward, Dad fell and broke his hip while visiting a family member in St. George in southern Utah. This accident required surgery and an extended stay in a care facility 250 miles (400 km) from his new home. When we told his ministering brother about the incident, he immediately contacted the Primary president, who started a letter-writing and picture-coloring campaign with the Primary children and other ward members. They sent him mail and coloring pages almost every day. The abundance of attention led the workers at the St. George nursing home to ask if he was some sort of celebrity, as they had never had a patient receive so much mail. Since this was during the height of COVID, he couldn’t have visitors, so this daily written interaction was a gift of service beyond description.
With Mom’s dementia, one activity she was drawn to was sweeping. A kind neighbor recognized this and allowed her to come and sweep around them as they pulled bushes from their front yard, all the while making Mom feel like she was the one providing the service.
Dad was invited to participate in the ward choir and made to feel he was a valued addition. At age 84, he was called to work in the Young Men organization as a specialist with the deacons, gaining a feeling of relevance and contribution.
After only a year, they felt at home, that they mattered, that they could still make a difference. They were never made to feel like they were a burden or just “another renter” in the neighborhood. My heart is full as I contemplate the Lord’s words in Matthew 25:40: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” Well done, Cedar Hills Sixth Ward!

Two friends were talking. The one was outlining her concerns about graduate school and her upcoming finals. She was also worried about her boyfriend and getting married before she graduated. She wondered if she could find work after she did get her degree. Her father wasn’t very well, and she was worried about getting together enough money to go visit him. She was feeling some stress in her roommate situation, too, and wondered about trying to find another place to live. The friend listened carefully and then asked, “Which of these problems can you really do anything about right now and which are just recreational anxiety?”

As the Ellsworth Company started its third month of travel, food supplies began to dwindle. During this part of the journey, the pioneers were blessed to come across many buffalo on the Plains. The pioneers replenished their food supplies by shooting a few buffalo, cooking and eating the fresh meat, and then drying some meat for the days ahead. Buffalo chips were used, in the absence of wood, to build fires for warmth and for cooking. The pioneers spent many hours repairing the handcarts that often carried up to 500 pounds of goods over hard roads, through numerous streams and rivers, and up sandy bluffs from Florence, Nebraska, to the Salt Lake Valley. Meanwhile, the Saints already in the valley were organizing to help the approaching companies. Food was sent in wagons to Deer Creek to help the pioneers on the last leg of their journey.
1
Crossed Prairie Creek twice—second time brethren had to carry handcarts across (16 miles)
2
Forded two creeks; saw many buffalo; camped at Wood River (18 miles)
3
Sunday—rested and mended handcarts; ate shellfish from river (no miles)
4
Roads good; camped near Platte River (18 miles)
5
Roads pretty good; wood plentiful; water merely sufficient (16 miles)
6
Saw thousands of buffalo—killed four, which furnished camp with good supply of meat (12 miles)
7
No water found all day; at night dug for water, which was sufficient but very thick (25 miles)
8
Traveled without finding water; Brother Sanders somehow left behind; men unsuccessfully searched for him (13 miles)
9
Found Brother Sanders five miles ahead of camp; brought him to camp on a mule (13 miles)
10
Sunday—many ill; camped in excellent place near cold spring (14 miles)
11
Four men sent to shoot two buffalo; one milk cow died (17 miles)
12
Dried buffalo meat and repaired handcarts (no miles)
13
Roads difficult to travel, owing to rainfall last night (12 miles)
14
Travel hard; one handcart broke down (18 miles)
15
Forded five creeks; camped by Rattlesnake Creek, 352 miles from Florence (14 miles)
16
Camped on east bank of Wolf Creek; buffalo chips not plentiful; good grazing for cattle (17 miles)
17
Sunday—Brother Peter Stalley died; camped opposite Ash Hollow (12 miles)
18
Forded Hustle Creek; camped on banks of Platte River (19 miles)
19
Plenty of buffalo chips to burn; camped opposite Ancient Bluff Ruins (20 miles)
20
Started out at 7:30 A.M.; crossed sandy bluffs; camped by Platte River (20 miles)
21
Tolerably good road; camped two miles past Chimney Rock (16 miles)
22
Delayed in travels for three hours by thunderstorm; camped on Platte River half a mile from Spring Creek (21 miles)
23
Captain Ellsworth shot a buffalo, which was very thankfully received (16 miles)
24
Sunday—at evening meeting, Brother Ellsworth admonished those who had robbed handcarts or wagons to repent (no miles)
25
Saw many Indians; plenty of wood—quite a treat after burning buffalo chips (19 miles)
26
Forded North Fork of Platte River; camped three miles from Fort Laramie (17 miles)
27
Bacon and meal porridge for supper—best supper for many weeks (21 miles)
28
Camped near Horseshoe Creek, 4:30 P.M.; washed clothes and mended handcarts (15 miles)
29
Forded Platte River and camped where wood was plentiful and feed fair (25 miles)
30
Met two Californians, who said wagons from Salt Lake were waiting to meets Ellsworth Company at Deer Creek (19 miles)
31
Sunday—Brother Stoddard died of consumption; at Deer Creek met wagons with provisions for last part of journey (24 miles)

Some years ago I spoke to a Mia Maid adviser who told me of an experience she had with one of the young women in her class. This young woman had been tempted time and time again to leave the pathway of truth and follow the detour of sin. Through the constant persuasion of some of her friends at school, she had finally agreed to follow such a detour. The plan was set: she would tell her parents she was going to her activity night for Young Women. She planned, however, to be there only long enough for her girlfriends and their dates to pick her up. They would then attend a party where alcoholic beverages would be consumed and where the behavior would be in complete violation of what this young woman knew was right.

The teacher had prayed for inspiration in helping all her girls but especially this particular young woman, who seemed so uncertain about her commitment to the gospel. The teacher had received inspiration that night to abandon what she had previously planned and to speak to the girls about remaining morally clean. As she began sharing her thoughts and feelings, the young woman in question checked her watch often to make sure she didn’t miss her rendezvous with her friends. However, as the discussion progressed, her heart was touched, her conscience awakened, and her determination renewed. When it came, she ignored the repeated sound of the automobile horn summoning her. She remained throughout the evening with her teacher and the other girls in the class. The temptation to detour from God’s approved way had been averted. Satan had been frustrated. The young woman remained after the others had left in order to thank her teacher for the lesson and to let her know how it had helped her avoid what might have been a tragic outcome. A teacher’s prayer had been answered.

I subsequently learned that because she had made her decision not to go with her friends that night—some of the most popular girls and boys at school—the young woman was shunned by them and for many months had no friends at school. They couldn’t accept that she was unwilling to do the things they did. It was an extremely difficult and lonely period for her, but she remained steadfast and eventually gained friends who shared her standards. Now, several years later, she has a temple marriage and four beautiful children. How different her life could have been. Our decisions determine our destiny.

In December 1967, Brother Ed Ka-mauoha was appointed to be the new headmaster at Sauniatu. For years, Sauniatu had been functioning as a school, but when he arrived, the future of Sauniatu was once again in question.
“There were real administrative questions about the efficiency and quality of the school,” he explained. Everyone in Samoa is required to take a standard government education test when they leave high school, and the Sauniatu scores were an average five points below the scores of students from the other Church schools in Samoa. In addition to the low test scores, it was costly to operate the remote school. Many of the students were from very poor families and could not afford to pay more tuition. Enthusiasm among students and teachers was low.
“I felt bad about the school,” he said. “As an administrator, I understood the problems, but I also understood what the tradition of Sauniatu means to the Saints in Samoa. I knew the place was not what it could be because it was not living up to President McKay’s 1921 blessing.”
Ed Kamauoha believed Sauniatu had a prophetic future yet to be fulfilled if each person living there cared. His mind remained restless and his wirey Polynesian body became charged with nervous energy as he began planning to meet the many requirements needed to make the students of Sauniatu self-sufficient and proud and to help the community of Sauniatu reap the promised blessings.
The projects he outlined for the betterment of Sauniatu were big projects. In many people’s minds, they were too big for a handful of teachers and a few dozen school children to handle. Yet Brother Kamauoha felt they could do it.
“Getting everyone to work on big projects is like starting a large machine. You just can’t let it idle; you have to really rev it up and keep it going,” said Brother Kamauoha.
He also felt that the students’ performance in school would improve and the morale among the teachers would also improve if they knew they had some control over their own future. “We had been waiting for others to help us at Sauniatu,” explained Brother Kamauoha. “I tried to teach the people that they had depended too much on outside help and assistance from others. I told them the Lord gives us brains and a pair of hands but they won’t help us unless we use them. And so we started building roads, and we did it by hand.”

I remember clearly my first experience with the sacrament. I had just been invited by the missionaries to attend church for the first time. Unfortunately I didn’t know anything about how the sacrament works or what it symbolizes, so the girls I was sitting with had to explain the whole process while it was happening.
Looking back on this experience has made me realize that it would have been helpful if I had tried to learn a little bit more about the sacrament beforehand on my own, but I was fortunate that the girls I sat with on that first day were more than willing to explain everything to me in the moment. Since then, a lot has changed in my life—including my knowledge of the gospel and the meaning of the sacrament.
There have also been many changes during the past general conferences. When President Russell M. Nelson closed the October 2019 general conference, he revealed some revisions to the questions asked in a temple recommend interview, and as he reiterated question 8, “Do you strive to keep the Sabbath day holy, both at home and at church; attend your meetings; prepare for and worthily partake of the sacrament; and live your life in harmony with the laws and commandments of the gospel?” (emphasis added).
I was struck by the word prepare.
I’ve realized that the sacrament isn’t something you prepare for just moments before the bread and water are passed. You can prepare for the sacrament throughout the week to help you feel the Spirit strongly and a sense of renewal every Sunday.
Since then, I’ve started preparing to take the sacrament throughout the week by:
Studying my scriptures through Come, Follow Me and thinking of ideas I can share with others and in the next Sunday School meeting.
Packing what I need for church on Saturday night for meetings in the morning (the joys of working the night shift!). I make sure I pack my scriptures and a notebook to take notes during sacrament meeting, and I pray to find answers during church about how I can improve myself throughout the next week.
Listening to spiritual music on Sunday morning before I attend sacrament meeting also helps me feel the Spirit and get in the right mindset.
Reading over the hymns we will sing in sacrament meeting and looking up the scriptures they refer to. This helps me fully realize the message and meaning behind the hymns and helps me ponder these things throughout the meeting.
Lastly, thinking about the reason for the sacrament before it’s passed. I remind myself that I need to always remember the “why” of the sacrament and its importance throughout the week—the Savior.
The purpose for the sacrament is to remember Jesus Christ and His atoning sacrifice for us (see Matthew 26:26–28). The sacrament also invites us to renew our baptismal covenant and to deepen our commitment to become more like Him, to remember Him, and to become better disciples. It also allows us to start the next week spiritually refreshed.
I’ve learned so much more about the sacrament since that first day at church. And I now feel so much joy every week as I walk into sacrament meeting, knowing that I am about to remember my Savior’s sacrifice for me and be more diligent in keeping my covenants. Preparing makes a positive difference in the Spirit you feel throughout the meeting. Before the sacrament was in my life, I often felt empty—like something was missing. I never knew that the missing piece of my life was an ordinance that is so simple, but so powerful at the same time. An ordinance that helps me deepen my love for the Savior and appreciate all He does for me.

I want to thank you for the article “Why Am I Running?” in the January 1991 issue. I am a 27-year-old male who is currently serving a prison term. I am here as a direct result of “running.”
As a teenager I became too concerned about what others thought of me. I began to do things that were not socially acceptable. By the time I was an adult my free agency belonged to those I was constantly trying to impress.
I am trying to return to the gospel, but old habits die hard. Please use your agency wisely. The road back is tough, so stay on the straight and narrow path.
K. T.Clallam Bay Corrections Center, Washington

When we arrived in Ethiopia, we found one member of the Church, Brother Harry Hadlock from Seattle, Washington. He was overjoyed to meet two brethren of the priesthood. On Sunday morning, the three of us held a testimony meeting and then, with our priesthood, blessed and passed the sacrament. The Spirit of the Lord was present. Because we had a deep yearning to help our Father’s children who were suffering, we offered a special prayer that rain might come to that drought-stricken area. We felt a deep sense of the importance of our mission. I knew that if we called upon the Lord to bless the land, the elements would be tempered. We prayed, brethren, for rain. During the balance of the time we were in Ethiopia it rained every day wherever we traveled. We were grateful to our Heavenly Father because the rain was a special witness to us that he was aware that his sons, bearing his holy priesthood, were about his business in that part of the world.

Let’s hurry along to Redwood Road. There is a much larger home here where many widows reside. Most are seated in the well-lighted living room. But in her bedroom, alone, is one on whom I must call. She hasn’t spoken a word since a devastating stroke some years ago. But then, who knows what she hears?—so I speak of good times together. There isn’t a flicker of recognition, not a word spoken. In fact, an attendant asks if I am aware that this patient hasn’t uttered a word for years. It made no difference. Not only had I enjoyed my one-sided conversation with her—I had communed with God.

As a new member of the Church, Soren knew little about the Church or its teachings. For the first month, he did not even attend church meetings. Finally, feeling obligated to learn what the gospel was about, he read a pamphlet about the Book of Mormon. From that small pamphlet he gained a testimony that the Book of Mormon truly is the word of God. That realization forever changed the course of Soren Edsberg’s life.

When John Rainer was a young boy in Taos Pueblo, New Mexico, one of his favorite parts of the day was dusk. Like most young Indian children, John would run and play and do chores all day long, with an exuberance typical of those who grow up with space to roam and air to breathe. But at the end of the day, when golden fire filled the horizon, John would pause and listen. He would always hear the song of the flute.
“It was a peaceful, relaxed melody,” John recalls. “The old man would sit near the river half a mile from town and play his tunes. He believed the music would travel with the water. You couldn’t see him, but you could always hear his tunes.” It was a time for rest from the day’s labor, a time of repose and contemplation, a time during which a love for music was born in John’s heart.
John grew up and moved to the city. He lived in a comfortable brick home in a suburb of Orem, Utah, with his wife and children. And every evening, just at dusk, he would take his flute—one he made himself—and play a melody—one he wrote himself—to his family. His neighbors didn’t always see John, but they could usually hear his songs. When they did, the whole world seemed to pause, breathe deeply, then sigh in contentment.
“Playing the flute is my way of sharing something my ancestors shared with me,” John said.

What if I want to be morally clean but have difficulty resisting the temptations that confront me? In otherwords, what can I do to build my moral resistance? While serving as a church leader I had a young man come to me who had difficulty keeping his thoughts clean. He said that unclean thoughts would often pop into his mind and then he would strive to drive them out. I asked him if he had a song he would sing or a scripture he would recall that helped him. He said he did and it helped, but some improper thoughts still came. I pondered for a moment and then an impression came.

I said, "You like to play basketball don't you?"
"Oh, yes!" came the reply, "I love basketball."
"Well, suppose for a moment that at your next game the coach called all the players together just before the tip-off and said, 'Tonight, players, no one is to take a shot. We are going to save all our energy and play the best defensive game that anyone has ever played, but in the process no one will shoot.' What is the best your team could hope to do?"
He looked somewhat puzzled and replied, "Break even, a zero to zero tie."
"That's right," I replied, "and that's exactly what you are doing. You have been playing defense. When some evil thought comes you try to drive it out. That is good, but it is the lesser part of what you ought to be doing. You need to take the offense. For in truth, the best defense is a good offense."

I then asked him if he prayed daily.
"Not always," was the response.
I asked about his daily scripture reading; it was limited. Did he attend all his church meetings regularly--"No," came the answer. His spiritual offense was sporadic at best.

In the spring of 2020 when missionaries around the world were returning to their home countries due to the COVID-19 pandemic, three sister missionaries from the island nation of Kiribati were serving in the Barbados Bridgetown Mission. Sister Manoua Bokai left her home to travel to the missionary training center on Dec. 31, 2018, so she only had a few months left to serve. Sister Tekimatang Auria had been serving for about six months as she started serving on Sep. 10, 2019. Sister Kiakia Barekiau, who had begun her MTC training on Jan. 14, 2020, had just arrived in Barbados on March 16.
Barbados closed due to the pandemic just a day or two after Sister Barekiau arrived. She was supposed to go to the island country of Saint Lucia, but because of the closure she stayed in Barbados. As a brand-new missionary, she and her companion taught people over the phone, by Facebook messenger, by Zoom, and through WhatsApp.
Sister Auria and Sister Bokai were in Saint Lucia when the countries closed, and people were required to stay at home. “We only had a small phone, not a smart phone for a long time,” Sister Auria said. “It was hard to teach people because we could not have a Zoom meeting or any other video chat. We could not see them; we could only talk on the phone.”
In August of 2020, President Alan L. Fisher and Sister Elizabeth H. Fisher, the mission president and his companion, gathered all the missionaries in the Barbados Bridgetown Mission together in Barbados. President and Sister Fisher recalled, “We loved working with these sisters and having the opportunity of becoming very close to them during the pandemic. We believe the Lord wanted them to have this experience, learn these lessons, and have an opportunity to develop relationships with each other and their mission leaders in a way that wouldn’t have happened otherwise. One of the tender mercies we experienced was sharing in the ordinance of the sacrament with them in their apartment. We prayed, sang, and shared scriptures from the Book of Mormon. This repeated connection together brought a bond of love and strength between us and between these sweet missionaries and the Lord. He lifted them and was a constant sustaining influence.”
One of the things Sister Bokai loved best about serving in the Barbados Bridgetown Mission was teaching about the Restoration of the gospel, especially sharing the First Vision. “I know that the Spirit touches the hearts of the people. You can feel when they are receptive and listening carefully. Every time we started to teach about the First Vision, distracting things would happen—phone calls, family needing them, etc.—but Heavenly Father blessed us, and we would get through it. There is power in teaching about the First Vision because, even though I was not there, I know it really happened, I know that God the Father and Jesus Christ truly appeared to Joseph Smith.”
President and Sister Fisher commented, “One of the blessings that evolved for sisters and for us was the power of singing together to bring the Spirit into teaching sessions and into their lives. The sisters sang through Zoom to the volcano-evacuated saints in St. Vincent. They brought them such peace and hope. As we taught with them, and especially each time they recited the account of the First Vision, the Spirit was poured out upon the people they taught, as well as on us and them!”
During this time, the travel departments of both the Caribbean Area, where they were serving, and the Pacific Area, where their home country is located, were trying to figure out a way to get these sisters home. Because the missionaries travelling to the Pacific needed to fly through Fiji to reach their home countries, they needed to wait until Fiji opened its borders, which finally happened in April 2021. Travel was arranged, but because of the eruption of the La Soufrière volcano which sent clouds of ash over Barbados, the flight was cancelled.
Three weeks after the volcano, another way was found. But in order to go on those flights, the sisters needed a specific COVID-19 test record that was not available in Barbados. The decision was made to bring them to the Dominican Republic where they could get that record. They would need to stay in the Dominican Republic for two weeks, and then go on several flights through five different countries to reach their home.
Sister Auria, Sister Barekiau, and Sister Bokai arrived in the Dominican Republic in May 2021 on a chartered flight. They received the COVID-19 records that they needed. All was ready for them to finally make it home, but while they were in the Dominican Republic, Fiji closed its borders again due to cases of COVID-19 increasing.
Their two-week stay turned into a nearly five-month stay. The sisters were reassigned to the Dominican Republic Santo Domingo East Mission. The problem was that they did not know any Spanish. They served in the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic Temple, performing temple ordinances and also helping in the laundry. Sister Barekiau remembered, “When the people in the laundry spoke to us in Spanish, we were able to understand them, and we knew what to do because the Spirit helped us.” Sister Auria said, “Serving in the laundry and doing endowment sessions in the temple were some of the blessings of serving longer.”
They also started the Pathway program during their extended service.
Sister Bokai shared, “Serving longer than 18 months has been a blessing because the promise in Ether 12:27 has been true for me. My weaknesses have become my strengths. By serving longer I can see that more clearly in my life. In the October 2021 general conference, Elder Moisés Villanueva said, ‘In moments of difficulty and trial, there are few things that bring us greater peace and satisfaction than serving our fellow man.’1 I have seen that this is true.”
Even after serving many months longer than they were originally called to serve, they stated, “Our challenge to the youth is to go on a mission no matter your situation or the problems that you are facing in life. It is worth it because the person that serves a mission is the happiest person in the world.”
On Oct. 8, 2021, these sisters left the Dominican Republic to go to Croatia, which is the collecting location for missionaries waiting to return home, where they served in the Adriatic North Mission until March 2022. They did not know each other prior to serving their missions. Now they have formed a unique bond as a trio. They served as companions in three different missions where they served together and sang together.
At the time of the writing of this article (March 2022), Sister Auria and Sister Barekiau are serving in the Fiji Suva Mission (their fourth mission) until they can return home to Kiribati. Sister Auria has been serving for 30 months, and Sister Barekiau has been serving for 26 months. Sister Bokai was released as missionary after serving for more than 38 months. She is living in Fiji with family members.

It was hard to tell if Guillermo had dark brown or medium brown or tan skin, for he was covered from head to toes with dirt. His black hair, which hung in matted clumps over his ears, had been hacked off with a knife in uneven handfuls just above what used to be the collar of his shirt. There was little else left of the shirt except for a few buttons holding rags across his skinny chest. The rag shirt was stuffed into the waist of a pair of torn pants, two or three sizes too large, and all of it was held together by a piece of rope. No shoes. No coat. His black eyes darted back and forth suspiciously as he looked at us, yet he remained in the corner and listened as we talked.
Guillermo. That’s “William” in Spanish. He had chosen the name himself because, as far as he knew, no one else had ever named him. Guillermo was a gamin, a French term used to describe a street orphan. Sometime in his tender childhood, his parents had abandoned him to the street, probably because they were too poor to feed him. So, at age three or four, Guillermo found himself alone, huddling in cold doorways for shelter at night, covering himself with cardboard to keep out the cold night mist. During the day he raided garbage cans or stole apples from street vendors in order to eat. Probably the worst part of all was that he had plenty of competition for these meager luxuries, for many, many gamines roam the city streets. How they survive is a mystery, yet they do—or most of them do—living testaments to the human instinct for survival.
Guillermo ended up being one of the luckier ones, for at age twelve (his own estimate), he came under the protection of a kind store owner. The man let Guillermo sleep in his back room and even paid him a little each week, plus a meal a day, to clean up around the store. Guillermo was a nice boy who never used crude words and never betrayed the trust of the kind old man by stealing from him. He became the favorite of a number of the housewives around the neighborhood. Occasionally he would find an old pair of pants—worn, but not yet ragged—or an old shirt left for him on the back porch of the store. He was never really hungry, and not cold anymore.
Still, he was not like other children who had families and who found time to play. And, of course, he never went to school. The old man was kind to him, but their relationship was always that of employer and employee. So even though he was better off than most gamines, Guillermo was lonely, terribly lonely.
When we knocked on the back door of the little store and introduced ourselves to the old man as missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Guillermo stood by. And when we sat with the store owner to teach him the gospel, Guillermo was permitted to crouch in the far corner and listen. He never asked any questions or made any comments. He just listened.
The old man liked our message and invited us back again and again until we had given all of the discussions. Then he told us he was too old to change and would not be baptized.
We were disappointed that cool evening as we walked down the dusty road away from the store. Suddenly, we heard the soft padding of bare feet come running up behind us. Startled by the sound, we turned to see a very agitated and excited Guillermo.
“Please, Senoritas, I would like to be baptized.” We were stunned and didn’t know what to say. How much did he really understand? Why did he want to be baptized? We told him we would meet with him the next day and would bring along two young men who would ask him some questions to determine if he was ready for baptism.
The next day, the four of us missionaries sat around the dirty street boy, amazed to hear him answer correctly every question put to him. He knew about Joseph Smith; he understood about the plan of salvation, baptism, the Word of Wisdom, the other commandments. We were further surprised, and thrilled, to find that he had borrowed the old man’s copy of the Book of Mormon and had taken it to a neighbor lady, who had read most of it to him in less than two weeks. He said he knew it was all true and wanted to be baptized.
The elders tested him further by insisting he go to church regularly for a month—which he did, coming every Sunday and every Tuesday night for Mutual. And again he surprised us all by coming bathed, with clean hair, and with the best, cleanest old clothes he owned. By the time a month was over, he was begging for baptism.
So one Saturday the elders baptized him in the cold water font of the branch. When he came up out of the water, a gigantic smile broke across his face. He ran to me and threw his dripping arms around my waist, and burst into great sobs.
I asked him why he was crying, and when he finally controlled himself, he looked at me with those black eyes and said, “Now that I have joined His Church, I am a true son of God, am I not?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Don’t you see,” he earnestly pled with me to understand, “I finally know that I have a Father!”
All those years of loneliness and not belonging to anyone had been washed away that day. The gospel of Jesus Christ had brought to a lonely gamin the knowledge of who he was.
We dried our tears and left Guillermo in the church with other members who welcomed him. Then we went down the street to talk to the lady who had read him the Book of Mormon.

During a combined priesthood and Relief Society meeting in 2009, our high priests group leader explained our stake presidency’s desire for every adult to take a family name to the temple within a year. He introduced stake and ward programs to help members achieve that goal. As he concluded, he gave an authoritative promise by virtue of his responsibility for the family history program that if we would try to achieve the stake’s goal, we would succeed.
After the meeting my wife and I discussed the promise and agreed that it could not apply to me; we had already spent 40 years investigating every branch of my family tree. My ancestors were difficult to find, and we had made no significant progress for several years. We believed nothing more could be done. Nevertheless, the group leader’s promise echoed in my mind for the next few days. I decided to take him up on his promise. Staring at my pedigree chart, I tried to think of what I could do.
After three days of careful thought, I felt inspired to look in a specific place for information about one of the end-of-line people on my chart. In less than half a day of research on the Internet, I discovered that another man had researched that family name in an English parish. One of the most recent names he’d located was my end-of-line person. Using his data, I was able to extend my line another five generations—back to 1650—and include the maiden names of several women in my line and the names of several brothers and sisters. My wife and I were stunned and delighted.

This lesson I learned anew some years ago as I received a rather unique and frightening assignment. Folkman D. Brown, then the Director of Mormon Relationships for the Boy Scouts of America, came to my office, having learned that I was about to depart for a lengthy assignment to New Zealand. He told me of his widowed sister, Belva Jones, who had been stricken with terminal cancer, who knew not how to tell her only son—a missionary in that faraway country. Her wish, even her plea, was that he remain in the mission field and serve faithfully. She worried about his reaction; for the missionary, Elder Ryan Jones, had lost his father just a year earlier to the same dread disease.
I accepted the responsibility. Following a missionary meeting held adjacent to the majestically beautiful New Zealand Temple, I met privately with Elder Jones and, as gently as I could, explained the situation of his mother. Naturally there were tears—not all his—but then the handclasp of assurance and the pledge: “Tell my mother I will serve, I will pray, and I will see her again.”
I returned to Salt Lake City just in time to attend a conference of the Lost River Stake at Moore, Idaho. As I sat on the stand with the stake president, my attention was drawn almost instinctively to the east side of the chapel, where the morning sunlight bathed the lone occupant of a front bench. I said to the stake president, “Who is the sister upon whom the sunlight is resting? I feel I must speak to her today.” He replied, “Her name is Belva Jones. She has a missionary son in New Zealand. She is very ill and has requested a blessing.”
Prior to that moment, I had not known where Belva Jones lived. My assignment that weekend could have been to any one of 50 stakes. Yet the Lord, in His own way, had answered the prayer of faith of a concerned mother. We had a wonderful visit together. I reported word for word the reaction and the resolve of her son, Ryan. A blessing was provided, a prayer offered, a witness received. Belva Jones would live to see her son complete his mission. This privilege she enjoyed. Just one month prior to her passing, his mission completed, Ryan returned home.

Almost four decades ago, I was a newly ­commissioned lieutenant in the United States Army assigned to the U.S. Army Ranger School for qualification in what since has become known as “special operations”—long-range reconnaissance and combat patrols, commando raids, and elite infantry tactics. Several weeks of our training took place in the swamplands of Eglin Air Force Base in the western panhandle of Florida. Much of our training was at night in the swamps. I described that experience in an Ensign article as follows:
The swamp was pitch-black. Inky water, cold in the early spring, crept above our waists to our chests, bringing an incessant shiver. Mangrove trees scratched our faces and hands and pulled at our clothing, and submerged logs seemed to throw themselves in our path. An occasional slough opened under our feet, and suddenly we would be over our heads in the fetid water. Sodden clothing and equipment and heavy weapons seemed to weigh a ton, pulling us down into the murky bog.
From somewhere deep in the swamp an alligator bellowed. Deadly water moccasins silently slithered off nearby tree stumps into the water. The blackness of the night and the heaviness of the pungent, stagnant air was like a suffocating blanket. But [we] moved steadily and surely toward our destination, our course clearly pointed by a diminutive device worth at most a few dollars in the marketplace but of immeasurable value to soldiers swallowed up in an alien wilderness—a lensatic compass. . . .
. . . Less than a year later I would find myself leading a platoon of infantry in the jungles and rice paddies of Southeast Asia. My experience in Vietnam would attest that of all the skills taught in Ranger School none was more important than the ability to read—and the confidence to follow—that simple little gadget, the compass. Even on the darkest night its luminous dial reliably pointed the route. No matter how hedged up the way, no matter how dangerous and foreboding the surroundings, the compass faithfully led to safety the soldier wise enough to follow its bearings. [Lance B. Wickman, “Of Compasses and Covenants,” Ensign, June 1996, 37–38]

Christine: As a man and woman get to know one another through continuous dating experiences, qualities and character emerge. As I watched Roger work on his truck one day, I was impressed that he knew some auto mechanics and I was especially awed when I saw how he handled frustration. Because of the auto design on this model a certain area he needed to work on was very difficult to access and therefore it was extremely exasperating. As he made repeated attempts, I could tell he was provoked. His face got red, and his fists clenched, but, he never lost control and he didn't swear. In fact, I think the strongest expletive I've ever heard him say is "rats."

Photograph of tablet by iStockphoto/Thinkstock
One day my companion and I were leaving an apartment building when we ran into a 19-year-old young woman named Grace.
We said hello, introduced ourselves, and asked if we could discuss our message further. Because she’d just met us, Grace wasn’t willing to give us her phone number. But thinking on our feet, we decided to give her a Mormon.org pass-along card and quickly wrote our Facebook profile names on it.
To our surprise, Grace added us on Facebook and began eagerly asking us questions through Facebook Chat about who we were and what we believed. My companion and I turned these first conversations into discussions of the Restoration. We actually ended up teaching almost all of the Preach My Gospel lessons to her through Facebook, which was unusual even for us. Later we also taught her the lessons in person.
After a few weeks, we invited Grace to participate in a Church meetinghouse tour. We felt the Spirit strongly that day as we used the pictures hanging on the stake center’s walls to teach her the gospel. After the tour, Grace gave us her phone number. We continued to maintain daily contact with her through Facebook, texts, and in-person lessons.
Many members of the ward, including the ward mission leader, fellowshipped Grace, helping her feel like she belonged. One member who accompanied us to the meetinghouse tour helped Grace feel comfortable, came to other lessons, and invited her to watch general conference with us in his home.
Shortly after Grace attended Sunday meetings for the first time, my companion and I felt prompted to invite her to be baptized. She said yes! Because of our daily contacts and invitations, she’d gained a testimony of the Book of Mormon and of living prophets for herself, and she chose to be baptized.
I’m grateful for social media and the support of members—both of which made all the difference in Grace’s conversion.