Gospel Story Finder

I am Raja Munusamy of Chennai, Tamil Nadu. This is my testimony. Before joining this church, my family and I belonged to another religion. In August 2014, I had a cardiac arrest and was hospitalized for few days. Post the discharge I rested for 20 days from my work, and during that time I was introduced to sister missionaries, Sister Shelly Arora and Sister Fernandez. They visited our family regularly and prayed for us to receive comfort and for me to recover soon.
I also felt the Spirit and peace of mind during their course of teaching about Heavenly Father and His son Jesus Christ, but soon I was thinking that they were planning to convert us. Thinking so I requested them not to come back to teach the gospel. Nevertheless, they were so valiant in the gospel. They didn’t want my family to lose the blessings. They constantly came to us. One time I felt the Spirit was strong when they asked me to pray and “ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true” (Moroni 10:4). That night we prayed as a family and went to bed.
Nearing midnight I suddenly woke up from my bed and asked my wife, “Are the missionaries teaching correct principles?” She replied that they were teaching correct principles and added more strength to it by affirming that our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ are living. This answer made me think, and I had faith. The next morning, I asked her what she said last night. She replied that she didn’t know because she was in a deep sleep. Then I came to know this was the answer to our prayers that we received through the Holy Ghost.
That day we decided to join the church. On the 21 September 2014 we were baptized as a family: my wife, Usha Raja; son, Siddharth Raja; and daughter, Sangamitra Raja. My faith and character made my mother Kanaga Munusamy decide to be baptized on 7th December 2014.

For Pele Mika Ah Lam of Samoa, there’s another important consideration about time that she lives by: “I make the most of it wherever I am.”
Pele grew up in a village where families—including her own—live off the land. Running water and electricity are never a given, and the homes are simple and beautiful. Education is not easy to pay for. “Our whole family helps support each other with education costs,” Pele says. “It’s the Samoan way.”
After working hard and getting top marks in school, Pele was accepted to attend the National University of Samoa. She chose to study accounting, mathematics, and computing. She also made room in her schedule for institute classes.
Along the way, Pele participated in another activity that would change her life in the near future, though she didn’t realize it at the time. For fun, every Friday evening she met with other Church members attending the university to discuss the gospel and learn new skills. These activities varied from week to week with one exception: on the last Friday of each month, they had a standing tradition of learning how to cook a different meal.
“I paid close attention,” Pele says. “I didn’t want to waste a chance to learn something new.”
That decision would yield big dividends in the future.
The cost of a university education can be a major obstacle to nearly anyone. For Pele, when her funding ran out, she had to leave school. She had worked hard, however, and learned all she could while there—including how to cook many different meals.
As a wife and as a mother of young children, she thought hard about how she might use what she had learned to help support her family. Throughout her life, Pele has been taught to believe in God and to work hard.
“I decided to start my own business,” she says. “I now run a barbecue and salad stand, cooking food that I learned how to make while going through school!”
Because of her business success, Pele makes enough money to take care of her immediate family, as well as help care for her parents and siblings.
“Our family believes that ‘faith without works is dead’ [James 2:20],” she says. “We have faith in God and believe that He will help us in every way. But we have to do our part.”
Pele still lives life on “island time.” She rises and retires with the sun and embraces the simple, peaceful Samoan lifestyle. And she understands and lives the following truth: “Time flies on wings of lightning; we cannot call it back.”1
Because Pele is trying to make the most of the time she has, God has prospered her and her family, and they have found joy even in the midst of challenges. She has a strong testimony, a successful business, and a bright future.
“We are very blessed,” she says.

Friends. Why can’t we all be friends? Today I was walking about Winter Quarters with Mariah Jewett and Leticia Harwood. Oh, how I have wanted to be Mariah’s friend! She is pretty and clever, and she plans dances for which her father plays the fiddle. I love to dance. She promised to invite me to the next one.
While walking, we saw a family arrive in an overflowing open wagon. I love to see more Saints joining us. Tucked in among the household goods was a girl who looked to be about our age. “How exciting! Let’s go welcome her,” I said.
“Wait,” Mariah said. “Don’t go near her. She’s probably got vermin. Look at her dress. Did you ever see anything so ugly?”
I was anxious about the vermin, so I stared impolitely. Her dress wasn’t ugly, only very plain. Just then the girl saw us watching, and she smiled shyly. Was she feeling as I had felt when we finally joined the other Saints? Was she heartsick at losing friends, and hoping to find new ones?
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Let’s go be friendly.”
“Hazel!” Mariah’s voice stopped me. “If you mingle with that riffraff, I shall be forced to exclude you from my list of associates.”
I am ashamed that I hesitated, thinking of having fun with Mariah at the dance. Then I remembered the great and spacious building in the Book of Mormon, and I knew where I wanted to be.
“So be it, Mariah,” I said, and I left her. Even in the midst of the Saints, life has trials.

Let me share with you one of my favorite and true love stories. I learned about the story very late in its development. One night I went with my husband to a company dinner party. I sat next to an older man who was there with his wife. She had suffered a stroke, so he would lean over to cut her meat and help her with her food. His manner was very tender and caring. As he finished the meal, I said to him, “You are so good to your wife.”

His reply: “Why shouldn’t I be? I love her.” Then he told me about their courtship and their life together. “The first time I saw her,” he said, “was at a party in Canada. She was giving a reading. She had long golden curls and wore a beautiful white eyelet dress with a pretty blue satin sash. I was so impressed by her that I told my mother that that was the woman I was going to marry. Mother laughingly indulged me. I went on my mission, and when I came home she was engaged to another. I was asked to take a special assignment by the bishop, and when I protested he told me that if I would always put the work of the Lord first I would find that the Lord would always take care of me. I made the long trek to Salt Lake City. When I came home, she had broken her engagement. We started to date, and then we married.”

His wife rarely accompanied him in public after that dinner. It wasn’t long until her condition worsened, and she was completely bedridden and virtually unable to speak. He was a General Authority and went out on his regular conference assignments to visit and counsel the Saints. He would always come home and tell her all about the conference. One day as he finished, he teased, “If you are not going to speak back to me, then I am not going to tell about my experiences. You must not love me anymore.” Tears welled up in her eyes, and with great effort she found enough strength to form the words, “I do love you.” It was difficult and extremely slow, but with great effort she got the words out. He decided he would never again treat their love lightly, for their love went beyond even her crippling physical impairment.

At the funeral of this special woman, Zina Card Brown, every speaker commented on her love both for her sweetheart, President Hugh B. Brown. President Marion G. Romney said, “Wherever she was she was a loving lady.” President N. Eldon Tanner declared that President Brown was so successful because of her love. President Kimball said that the love of President and Sister Brown was such that they would soon be together again everlastingly. Her love pulled them toward immortality—a beginning of eternity.

Suddenly, the cars arrived, and the hall of the stake house was crowded with boys in straw hats covered with cookies, and girls in neon yellow, green, and orange skirts with big bows holding giant candy bars as hats. And just as quickly, they gathered in a classroom for one more run-through of their song—“Buy Me Chocolate,” which helps explain the cookies and candy bars.
Then another group walked by, all dressed in black and white with red-checkered napkins. They were humming something that sounded vaguely operatic but had tongue-twisting lyrics. Another group had swatches of cloth with an African print. They were going over some steps in a dance.
The cultural hall of the Salt Lake Hunter Stake was filled wall to wall with families from nine wards, all waiting to see each ward’s performance in the Young Women and Young Men Choral Festival. Every ward had two songs to perform: one serious song and one fun song from another country that could include some dance steps. The wards chose from religious songs that have been printed in the New Era.
As each well-rehearsed ward came on stage, the energy began to build. Everyone was ready to sing with volume and enthusiasm. But when the Mapusaga (Samoan) Ward came on (they were the ones with the chocolate song), the Caribbean rhythm had everyone moving. After that, there was no stopping them. Each ward put everything they had into their performances before an appreciative audience.
What was the best thing about holding a choral festival? “The practices were fun,” said Ashley Auva‘a of the Mapusaga Ward, “especially when we got into it. The best part was being with friends and family and dressing up and dancing and having fun.”
Kiyana Aiono said, “We did our costumes together for a Young Women activity.” Ashley added, “They look like fabric, but they’re really plastic tablecloths, so they were inexpensive. And they looked great on stage.”
Vini Purcell said, “It was fun to get to know a song from a different country.”
The teens in the Hunter 18th Ward felt the same way. They really liked learning a song from another culture. Their song had African origins. Kori Coombs said, “When I heard it I thought it was a great song. I liked the beat. Then we added some choreography, and we were grooving.”
They also really liked their serious song. Jaynie Baker said, “I like the lyrics that say, ‘Our trust remains in Thee.’ It was a good song.”
Working together during practices, it seems, was everyone’s favorite part of the festival. The Hunter 25th Ward had a song with complicated words all about pasta. The Young Women leader worked out some actions to help everybody remember the words. Laura Buckner confesses, “I thought it was the worst song in the world at first, but it ended up being fun. And yes, every time we have pasta for dinner, I just start singing it.”
Their serious song left a similar impression. Eric Manwill said, “Every day I catch myself singing ‘Behold, the Field Is White’ in my head”—a good choice for a young man preparing for a mission.
The printed program identified which Personal Progress value experiences or Duty to God requirements participation in the festival helped fulfill. Singing in a program even fills a requirement for the music merit badge.
Why have a choral festival? The youth in the Hunter stake now know it means some fun times at practices and an even better time at the performance. And the audience agreed.

Damián looked through his backpack to see that he had what he needed. Church clothes? Check. Shoes? Check. Book of Mormon? Check. He zipped up his backpack, put it over his shoulder, and headed for the door.
“Mamá!” Damián called. “I’m going to Abuela and Abuelo’s!”
Mamá was folding towels. “Be sure to help your grandparents.” She stopped to give Damián a big hug. “I know you like to go to church with them. Have a nice time tomorrow.”
“I will!” said Damián. But I wish you would come with me, he thought.
Damián walked to the bus stop. Every Saturday, he took the bus across his town in Ecuador to Abuela and Abuelo’s house. He stayed the night with them. Then he went to church with them the next day.
On Sunday morning, Damián got dressed for church. He buttoned his shirt. He put on his shoes. Then he walked to church with Abuela and Abuelo.
Damián liked church. He liked to sing the songs and take the sacrament. He liked to see his friends too. But he wished the rest of his family was with him.
That afternoon, Damián, Abuela, and Abuelo walked over to Brother and Sister Ruiz’s house. They were going to have home evening together. Abuela brought a dish of flan for dessert.
The lesson was about Jesus. Damián colored a picture of Jesus while he listened to the lesson. “Jesus understands everything we feel,” Brother Ruiz said. “Even when we feel sad.”
Damián looked at his picture of Jesus. It made him happy that Jesus knew how he felt.
After the closing prayer, Abuela said, “I brought flan. Who wants some?”
“Me!” Damián said. The creamy, sweet dessert was Damián’s favorite! And Abuela made the best flan.
After home evening, Abuela walked with Damián to the bus stop so he could go home. Damián looked down at the ground.
“Is something wrong?” Abuela asked.
Damián frowned. “I wish the rest of my family came to church with us.”
“Me too,” Abuela said. She gave Damián a hug. “But your family loves you very much. And so do Abuelo and I and many others!”
The bus pulled up. Damián sat by the window and waved to Abuela as the bus drove away.
Damián thought about what Abuela had said. He thought about Mamá and his brother and sister. He knew they loved him so much. Then he thought about his Primary teacher. And the Ruiz family. And Abuela and Abuelo. They all loved him too.
Most of all, Damián knew Heavenly Father and Jesus loved him. And that made him feel not so lonely anymore

Born on May 16, 1952, in Bungoma, Kenya, to Nathan and Lenah Sitati, Elder Sitati was 34 when a business associate invited him, his wife, Gladys Nangoni, and their five children to attend church in his home. The family had become disillusioned with organized religion but felt something special with this small group of Latter-day Saints. So they returned week after week. Six months later, in 1986, the family joined the Church.

Somewhere near your home there is a vacant corner lot. Although adjoining yards may be well tended, a vacant corner lot somehow is always full of weeds.

There is a footpath across it, a bicycle trail, and ordinarily it is a collecting place for junk. First someone threw a few lawn clippings there. They would not hurt anything. Someone added a few sticks and limbs from a nearby yard. Then came a few papers and a plastic bag, and finally some tin cans and old bottles were included.

And there it was—a junkyard.

The neighbors did not intend it to be that. But little contributions from here and there made it so.

This corner lot is like, so very much like, the minds of many of us. We leave our minds vacant and empty and open to trespass by anyone. Whatever is dumped there we keep.

We would not consciously permit anyone to dump junk into our minds, not old cans and bottles. But after lawn clippings and papers, the other things just don’t seem all that much worse.

Our minds can become veritable junk heaps with dirty, cast-off ideas that accumulate there little by little.

Years ago I put up some signs in my mind. They are very clearly printed and simply read: “No trespassing.” “No dumping allowed.” On occasions it has been necessary to show them very plainly to others.

I do not want anything coming into my mind that does not have some useful purpose or some value that makes it worth keeping. I have enough trouble keeping the weeds down that sprout there on their own without permitting someone else to clutter my mind with things that do not edify.

I’ve hauled a few of these away in my lifetime. Occasionally I’ve tossed these thoughts back over the fence where they came from, when it could be done in a friendly manner.

I’ve had to evict some thoughts a hundred times before they would stay out. I have never been successful until I have put something edifying in their place.

I do not want my mind to be a dumping place for shabby ideas or thoughts, for disappointments, bitterness, envy, shame, hatred, worry, grief, or jealousy.

If you are fretting over such things, it’s time to clean the yard. Get rid of all that junk! Get rid of it!

Put up a “no trespassing” sign, a “no dumping” sign, and take control of yourself. Don’t keep anything that will not edify you.

The first thing a doctor does with a wound is to clean it out. He gets rid of all foreign matter and drains off infection—however much it hurts.

Once you do that spiritually, you will have a different perspective. You will have much less to worry about. It is easy to get all mixed up about worry.

Somewhere there is a message in the protest of a man who said: “You can’t tell me worry doesn’t help. The things I worry about never happen.”

Many years ago I was taught a lesson by a man I admired very much. He was as saintly a man as I have ever known. He was steady and serene, with a deep spiritual strength that many drew upon.

He knew just how to minister to others who were suffering. On a number of occasions I was present when he gave blessings to those who were sick or otherwise afflicted.

His life had been a life of service, both in the Church and in the community.

He had presided over one of the missions of the Church and looked forward to the annual missionary reunion. When he was older he was not able to drive at night, and I offered to take him to the reunions.

This modest gesture was repaid a thousandfold.

On one occasion when we were alone and the spirit was right, he gave me a lesson for my life from an experience in his. Although I thought I had known him, he told me things I would not have supposed.

He grew up in a little community. Somehow in his youth he had a desire to make something of himself and struggled successfully to get an education.

He married a lovely young woman, and presently everything in his life was just right. He was well employed, with a bright future. They were deeply in love, and she was expecting their first child.

The night the baby was to be born there were complications. The only doctor was somewhere in the countryside tending to the sick. They were not able to find him. After many hours of labor the condition of the mother-to-be became desperate.

Finally the doctor arrived. He sensed the emergency, acted quickly, and soon had things in order. The baby was born and the crisis, it appeared, was over.

Some days later the young mother died from the very infection that the doctor had been treating at the other home that night.

My friend’s world was shattered. Everything was not right now; everything was all wrong. He had lost his wife, his sweetheart. He had no way to take care of a tiny baby and at once tend to his work.

As the weeks wore on his grief festered. “That doctor should not be allowed to practice,” he would say. “He brought that infection to my wife; if he had been careful she would be alive today.” He thought of little else, and in his bitterness he became threatening.

Then one night a knock came at his door. A little youngster said, simply, “Daddy wants you to come over. He wants to talk to you.”

“Daddy” was the stake president. A grieving, heartbroken young man went to see his spiritual leader. This spiritual shepherd had been watching his flock and had something to say to him.

The counsel from this wise servant was simply: “John, leave it alone. Nothing you do about it will bring her back. Anything you do will make it worse. John, leave it alone.”

My friend told me then that this had been his trial, his Gethsemane.

How could he leave it alone? Right was right! A terrible wrong had been committed, and somebody must pay for it.

He struggled in agony to get hold of himself. It did not happen at once. Finally he determined that whatever else the issues were, he should be obedient.

Obedience is a powerful spiritual medicine. It comes close to being a cure-all.

He determined to follow the counsel of that wise spiritual leader. He would leave it alone.

Then he told me, “I was an old man before I finally understood. It was not until I was an old man that I could finally see a poor country doctor—overworked, underpaid, run ragged from patient to patient, with little proper medicine, no hospital, few instruments. He struggled to save lives, and succeeded for the most part.

“He had come in a moment of crisis when two lives hung in the balance and had acted without delay.

“I was an old man,” he repeated, “before finally I understood. I would have ruined my life,” he said, “and the lives of others.”

Many times he had thanked the Lord on his knees for a wise spiritual leader who counseled simply, “John, leave it alone.”

And that is my counsel to you. If you have festering sores, a grudge, some bitterness, disappointment, or jealousy, get hold of yourself. You may not be able to control things out there with others, but you can control things here, inside of you.

I say, therefore: John, leave it alone. Mary, leave it alone.

You may need a transfusion of spiritual strength to be able to do this. Then just ask for it. We call that prayer. Prayer is powerful, spiritual medicine. The instructions for its use are found in the scriptures.

One of our sacred hymns carries this message:
Ere you left your room this morning,
Did you think to pray? …
When your soul was full of sorrow,
Balm of Gilead did you borrow
At the gates of day?
O how praying rests the weary!
Prayer will change the night to day;
So when life gets dark and dreary,
Don’t forget to pray.
(Hymns, no. 31.)

All of us carry excess baggage around from time to time, but the wisest ones among us don’t carry it for very long. They get rid of it.

Some of it you have to get rid of without really solving the problem. Some things that ought to be put in order are not put in order because you can’t control them.

Often, however, the things we carry are petty, even stupid. If you are still upset after all these years because Aunt Clara didn’t come to your wedding reception, why don’t you grow up? Forget it.

If you brood constantly over some past mistake, settle it—look ahead.

If the bishop didn’t call you right—or release you right—forget it.

If you resent someone for something he has done—or failed to do—forget it.

We call that forgiveness. It is powerful, spiritual medicine. The instructions for its use are found in the scriptures.

I repeat: John, leave it alone. Mary, leave it alone. Purge and cleanse and soothe your soul and your heart and your mind.

It will then be as though a cloudy, dirty film has been erased from the world around you; and though the problem may remain, the sun will come out. The beam will have been lifted from your eyes. There will come a peace that surpasseth understanding.

A great significant message of the gospel of Jesus Christ is exemplified by the title given to Him: the Prince of Peace. If we follow Him, we can have that individually and collectively.

He has said: “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.” (John 14:27.)

If you, my brother or sister, are troubled, there is at hand, not just in Gilead, a soothing, healing balm.

Consider this:

“If ye shall ask any thing in my name, I will do it.

“If ye love me, keep my commandments.

“And I will pray the Father, and he shall give you another Comforter, that he may abide with you forever;

“Even the Spirit of truth; whom the world cannot receive, because it seeth him not, neither knoweth him: but ye know him; for he dwelleth with you, and shall be in you.

“I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.” (John 14:14–18.)

I bear witness of Him who is the Great Comforter and as one authorized to bear that witness testify that He lives. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Lorenzo Snow was one of the few early Church leaders who had an opportunity for formal college training. Young Lorenzo attended Oberlin College, a Presbyterian college with a national reputation for its progressiveness. It was one of the first American colleges to admit young women equally with young men. In 1830, a group of prominent young men who had banded together to oppose slavery moved as a group to Oberlin. In 1836, they persuaded Charles Finney, a prominent minister, to come to Oberlin as professor of theology. All of this happened about the time Lorenzo Snow attended school there.
Lorenzo went to Oberlin, “full of worldly aspirations, with bright prospects and means to gratify my ambition in acquiring a liberal college education.” Coming from a wealthy family, he had many friends and relatives who watched eagerly for him to achieve high honors in life. One of his acquaintances, William McKinley, later became president of the United States. Lorenzo was expected, as were all respectable young men of his day, to develop a certain degree of piety and concern for religious matters. Yet, as he observed happenings around the campus, he wrote to his sister, Eliza, “If there is nothing better than is to be found here at Oberlin College, goodbye to all religion.”
Eliza, always close to her brother, had worried about him because of his interest in military affairs. Born in 1814, at the end of America’s “second war of independence” and during the Napoleonic era, Lorenzo had been attracted by the glamour of a soldier’s life. Eliza had always worried that her brother’s life would be cut short on some foreign battlefield. Her mind, however, had been turned to religious matters. She, along with her mother and sister, had joined the Church and moved to Kirtland, Ohio, while Lorenzo was at Oberlin. Sensing that he, too, might find satisfaction in the gospel, Eliza watched for an opportunity to bring Lorenzo to Kirtland, where he might come to know the Prophet Joseph Smith and be influenced by him.
Lorenzo had met Joseph Smith briefly in 1831 in Hiram, Ohio, and felt that the Prophet was “honest and sincere.” At that time, he said, “A light arose in my understanding which has never been extinguished.” Later, while studying at Oberlin, Lorenzo met David W. Patten, an Apostle, and discussed the gospel further with him. As a result, he began to argue in defense of the Church—and fell out of favor with students and professors at the college.
In the early days of American education, every respectable scholar was required to learn Hebrew and Greek. In 1836, Joseph Smith and other Church leaders in Kirtland, Ohio, had organized the School of the Prophets and had employed a Hebrew scholar, Dr. Joshua Seixas, to teach there. Lorenzo had just completed his study of classical languages at Oberlin but had not as yet mastered Hebrew; so Eliza invited her younger brother to come to Kirtland and study Hebrew. He accepted. Lorenzo probably never dreamed what a change would be effected in his life by his journey to Kirtland.
In Kirtland, Lorenzo was deeply impressed by Joseph Smith, Sr., the Patriarch of the Church and father of the Prophet. Still wrestling with his pride and worldly ambitions, Lorenzo found himself caught in a spiritual struggle. He listened to the Prophet as he spoke on occasion, “filled with the Holy Ghost, speaking as with the voice of an archangel and filled with the power of God.” The Prophet’s face lightened until it appeared as “the whiteness of the driven snow.”
Lorenzo’s soul responded—but his mind held back. What would it mean to his friends and relatives who were anticipating a brilliant future for him if he were to “disappoint those expectations and join the poor, ignorant, despised ‘Mormons,’” as they were then regarded?
Father Smith was sensitive to the problems of young Lorenzo and advised him on one occasion, “Don’t worry, take it calmly and the Lord will show you the truth of this great latter-day work, and you will want to be baptized.” This comment startled the young man, but as he continued to seek the Lord, the Patriarch’s promise was fulfilled. Lorenzo was baptized in 1836, at the age of twenty-two. Yet he still felt incomplete. He desired to have all doubt removed; he wanted a greater confirmation of the Spirit than he had previously received.

Moroni Rubio was only 16 when he earned the number one ranking among sprinters in Mexico, after breaking records in the 100- and 200-meter sprints. That same year, 2002, he took first place in the 100 meters at the Central American Junior Championships and was named athlete of the year in the state of Yucatán.
His dreams are pinned on his feet, which are expected to carry him all the way to the 2008 Summer Olympics in Beijing, China. But even if, for some reason, his feet don’t take him to the Olympics, they will have already accomplished a great work.
His feet have put his unique name in the spotlight, bringing him numerous missionary opportunities. Because of Moroni’s success, he’s been on television a number of times—each time with his name right there on the screen.
“I’m asked about my name a lot,” says Moroni, a priest in the Mérida México Lakín Stake. “It’s a great opportunity to talk about the gospel. And when I race, the members watching always know I’m a member too—by my name. I think it’s something they’re proud of.”
His coaches have always told him he has a beautiful stride. But for Moroni, having “beautiful feet” is just as important—remembering Isaiah’s words about missionaries: “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings” (Isa. 52:7).

When I went to Russia as a volunteer English teacher, I knew very little Russian. But as I lived among the Russian people, I began to have the desire to serve them and share the gospel with them. So I started working harder to learn the language.
I started by reading a children’s version of the Book of Mormon in Russian. Armed with a Russian/English dictionary, I struggled through a chapter a day, looking up nearly every word. Then I taught myself to pray in Russian, feeling foolish as the foreign words stumbled off my tongue. Finally, I started learning to bear my testimony. To practice, I would write it in Russian in my journal. It didn’t take long for me to decide that it was hard to learn Russian.
Nearly three months into my stay in Ufa, Russia, another English teacher and I planned a trip to a faraway city called Saratov. We were met at the train station by a wonderful Latter-day Saint family who opened their hearts and their home to us. Our time there was soon over, and we were once again on the train, ready for the 20-hour train ride back to Ufa.
We shared our small compartment with two businessmen who made us a little nervous. They were extremely polite though, so we soon felt safe. When we had left Saratov, the family we had stayed with had explained the importance of being an example: “Don’t forget that everyone is watching you. Everyone.” They gave us a few missionary pamphlets and challenged us to give them away before we got home.
Dubiously, I eyed the two men across from us. I sighed and decided they probably wouldn’t be interested.
But when I got out my scriptures to read, the men were curious and started asking questions. We gave them the pamphlets, which they read.
Later on the trip I started writing in my journal. The men asked why I wasn’t writing in Russian, so I showed them that I often did. The pages I happened to show them contained my testimony. They asked to read it, and I willingly obliged. They also eagerly started reading the Russian copy of the Book of Mormon I gave to them. As they asked questions, I felt as if the room would burst from the Spirit that filled it. One of the men asked if I could feel in my heart “the fire” that was in his and asked if I knew what it was. In my broken Russian I explained it was the Holy Ghost.
I had him read 3 Nephi 11. As we read of the Savior’s ministry among the people on the American continent, tears came to his eyes. He stopped reading and quietly asked, “Does Jesus Christ love me like He loved those people?”
With tears in my eyes I answered, “Yes, He knows you, and He loves you. That is why He wants you to know the truth about His gospel.” He looked at me for another moment and then dropped his eyes to read further. When we arrived in Ufa, we gave him the missionaries’ phone number.
It took a special 20-hour train ride to teach me that I don’t need to be on a full-time mission to serve the Lord and share the gospel. I don’t know if the little seeds that were planted that night have grown. But I do know that miracles occurred. I was converted, even if those men were not.

One Friday night in December 2008, after a Christmas shopping trip with two of his friends, Chris was killed when the car he was riding in slid on some ice and crashed into a truck. News of the accident spread quickly and seemed to affect the whole town. The next day, hundreds of (mostly non-LDS) teens gathered at the stake center, seeking comfort. On Monday those same young people also crowded into the seminary building.
Faced with so many grieving teens, Brother Scott simply told them the truth—that Heavenly Father has a plan, that death is part of that plan, and that Christ’s Atonement makes it possible to return to our Heavenly Father. He taught them that the work of bringing souls to Christ continues even in the spirit world and that perhaps Chris was now doing that work.
Liz Shimbashi, 17, remembers that time well. “Lots of people came to the seminary building after the accident. It was hard at school, but then people would come here, and they realized, ‘Hey, seminary is a good place.’ So we invited them to return, and lots of them did.”
For many of the non-LDS teens, the need to be comforted grew into a desire to know more. And the seminary students, who had already been enthusiastic about sharing the gospel, now did it with a more serious purpose and deeper understanding.
“The biggest reason people came was because they saw how much Beans loved people, and through that they saw his testimony,” recalls Rachel Bennett, 16. “I think they wanted to know what he knew.”
Luke Nelson, 16, says, “Beans’s death made me notice how other people didn’t know what we know and that we’re so comforted because of what we know about the Atonement. I want to share that with everybody so they can be comforted and be peaceful and happy.”
“People wanted to know the answers to questions like ‘Is he going to heaven?’ So they came to seminary to learn just because of his example,” says Megan Fajnor, 17.

Opportunities for Christian acts of service do not always come at convenient times. Approximately two or three years ago I was in southern California. I had reorganized a stake. Just as I was getting ready to go out to the airport where I could relax, a woman approached me. She was in her mature years and she said, “Elder Featherstone, are you going back to Salt Lake City today?” I said, “Yes.” She continued, “Are you going on that four o’clock flight?” I responded that I was. Then she said, “Would you mind doing a favor for me?” I quickly thought about the schedule I had just been through, and the flesh was begging for a little break. I assumed she wanted me to hand carry something to her relatives. I never check baggage unless I absolutely have to. I wondered if I would have to check what it was I assumed she wanted me to bring back. I thought about waiting at the baggage claim for the item; then I wondered where it would need to be delivered. Only a moment’s pondering and as always, the spirit thrust aside all empty excuses and responded as a service-oriented leader should.
I said, “I will be glad to help in whatever way possible.” Then the woman said, “My grandson Phillip has been down here with me for a couple of weeks. How would you like to baby-sit him home to Salt Lake City? He is two-and-a-half years old. His mother will be waiting for him at the airport.” We arranged to meet at the Los Angeles Airport, where the grandmother introduced me to Phillip. Just before we boarded the plane she said, “Here is an envelope. Will you wait until you are on the plane to open it?” I found out why she made that request later.
Phillip and I boarded the plane.
I reached into my pocket and opened the letter from the grandmother. It went something like this:
“Dear Elder Featherstone, Thank you for taking Phillip back to Salt Lake City and baby-sitting him for us. We appreciate it. His mother will be there at the airport to meet you; but if she is not there, then here is what you do.”
Then she had written, “The reason I did not dare have you open the letter before you were on board the plane is that I did not have enough courage to ask you to do another favor for us. Phillip’s brother Ricky is in the University of Utah Hospital. He has had constant seizures, many in one day. The doctors do not know what else to do. They have done all they know, and he still has the problem. Do you think you could possibly find time to go by the hospital and give him a blessing?”
When we arrived in Salt Lake City, there was no one to meet us. We walked the length of the airport terminal. Still no one recognized Phillip. We went down the escalator, past the baggage claim, and out to the street. I have done some unusual things in our marriage, but I wondered what my wife would say when I came home from a stake conference visit and brought a two-and-a-half-year-old boy with me.
I looked around and stood with Phillip for a moment, and then his mother arrived driving a car and stopped by us. She had been delayed in heavy traffic coming to the airport. The sweet mother was very kind, and she loaded a happy Phillip and all his luggage into the car.
A short while later I was standing in one of the pediatric wards at the University of Utah Hospital. There were about six children in cribs. An attendant was mopping the floor, and then he left the room. I was all alone in the hospital room with these six beautiful children.
I found out which was Ricky’s bed and went over to him. I said, “My name is Vaughn Featherstone. Do you know who I just left?” He said, “No,” and I said, “I came back from Los Angeles today, and I brought your brother Phillip home. I told him I was coming here to see you.” Ricky was only about four, but tears came to his eyes. He missed his little brother.
Then I said to him, “Ricky, I am a friend of President Spencer W. Kimball, and he loves you. President Kimball is a prophet. Your grandmother asked me if I would give you a blessing. Do you know what it means when someone lays his hands on your head and gives you a blessing?” He said, “Yes.” And then I said, “Ricky, do you believe in Jesus?” He said, “Yes.” “Do you know that Jesus loves you? Do you know that Jesus can heal you?” He answered, “Yes.” Then I asked, “Would you like me to give you a blessing so you can be healed?” “Yes,” he said.
I laid my hands upon his head and gave Ricky a blessing. An interesting thing happened in the little pediatric ward. The other children stopped playing or crying and seemed to listen.
When I finished the blessing I reached in my pocket and pulled out a beautifully polished rock with my name on it that someone had given me. I gave it to Ricky, so that when his mother came she would know that I had been there.
Two years later I was in the Kingsport Tennessee Stake and a sweet young mother came up to me after conference. She told me it was her mother that had asked me to baby-sit Phillip and bless Ricky and then she said, “Have you ever heard of the results of your blessing?” I told her I had not. Then she shared with me the great miracle, “Ricky has not had another seizure since you gave him the blessing.”
It was not convenient to take Phillip home, nor was it convenient for me to go to the University of Utah Medical Center; but it was what Jesus would have done. Our service must always lead us to ask, “What would Jesus do?”

Each year we have a family vacation at Bear Lake. It is an exciting week of getting acquainted with grandchildren. For the past few years I have listened to their opportunities and challenges. They have let me know of the increased pressures of being in the world but not of the world. Movies, television, Internet, designer clothes, extreme fashions, Sabbath-breaking activities, et cetera, escalate the magnitude of their temptations. Moreover, peer pressures force difficult decisions about whether to follow the crowd or stand up for the principles taught by converted and committed parents and the Church.
This year I decided to be a little more aggressive in counseling my grandchildren. I wanted to provide them with a framework to resist temptations and thrive in today’s complex world. Our vacation at the lake extends for four days, so I decided to purchase a loose-leaf binder for each of them and include a topic for discussion for each day. Each insert included some scripture references and quotes that were intended to start fruitful discussions between the generations.
On the first day, there was not much interest in discussions, but the momentum seemed to increase each day. The experiment had enough success that I would like to play grandfather to each of you young people listening today to see if we can stimulate some thoughtful discussions in your homes with your parents.

Life was rough for Viktor Russo. As a boy he was scrawny. Other boys beat him up. Out of resentment, he made a mistake. He joined a gang when he was 15. “I wanted the others to be afraid of me,” he says, looking back.

And that’s what started to happen. He became one of the “bandits,” as he calls them. But before he got in too deep, he discovered the Church. His aunt, a Latter-day Saint, invited Viktor and his mother to attend Sunday meetings.

“Right from the opening prayer there were tears in my eyes,” Viktor explains. “They didn’t just recite words. They spoke with their Father in Heaven. I felt a great love overpowering me, an understanding that I also have a Father in Heaven who loves me.” Viktor was so impressed that he continued to attend. And he began discussions with the missionaries.

“I had always wanted to know if there really is a God,” he says. “So I prayed, ‘Please tell me if what I am learning is true.’ The same powerful feeling I had during sacrament meeting surrounded me again.”

He was particularly impressed as he learned about the priesthood. “I felt this love among the men, something I had never felt in the gang. Then during one of the missionary discussions I remember thinking, ‘I can’t be in a gang and serve God, too.’ From then on, I tried not to meet with my old associates. I tried to be only with good people.”

And what happened was remarkable.

“I was amazed. Some of my former ‘friends’ teased and taunted me, but most of them just said, ‘All right then, go. We’ll leave you alone.’” Enemies didn’t retaliate. True friends took an interest in his new religion. Some of them even met with the missionaries, but Viktor is the only one so far to be baptized.

“I had a lot to repent of first,” he acknowledges. “But I knew it was the right thing to do.”

Today Viktor is 17. He’s been a Latter-day Saint for almost two years. He spends his time with other Aaronic Priesthood holders, helps with the sacrament, and goes home teaching. He looks forward to a full-time mission and foresees the day when there will be a temple in Ukraine. Day after day you’ll find him with the elders when they’re teaching. “I like to share my testimony of Jesus Christ,” he says. “I like to tell people they need to believe in Him.”

It is well before 5 A.M. in the Tennessee hills when Tre (call him “Tray”) Pennington, 17, and his grandfather bump along an old dirt road in their pickup. There are no signs to point the way to the Duck River, no landmarks that would stand out to someone new. Mostly there are trees, thick, green, and heavy. It’s only where someone’s cleared out space for a farm or a home that you get any extended view.
Grandpa (call him ’Pa) slows the truck at a clearing and pulls in next to some trees. He doesn’t have to say a word. Tre knows it’s on foot from here. They scramble down a steep bank and pull their boat out of the underbrush, from the same place where they’ve tied it up every day for years. It’s a shallow boat, square on both ends.
They check to make sure there’s gas for the motor; they lift in the paddles and load a few plastic buckets on board. Then, for a few minutes, they wait.
It isn’t that there needs to be more light, although the sun is yet to crest over the hill. It isn’t a question of when the catfish will bite, because the trot lines ’Pa baited with grasshoppers yesterday have been in the water all night long. It isn’t even a question of sneaking a moment of rest before the work begins, because both the young man and his grandfather are eager to be on the river.
It is, quite simply, a moment of reverence, a pause to appreciate nature, to take in the beauty of a morning at its birth.
Finally it is ’Pa who whispers.
“Let’s go,” he says.
Tre responds with a nod. The boat glides into the mild current.
Soon they reach the lines. ’Pa holds the boat steady while Tre lifts each fish, flopping and slimy, out of the water. He brings them in one at a time, almost like taking laundry off a clothesline. Some fish, quite small, are set free. On the big ones, Tre guesses how many pounds.
“This one’ll go for five or six, won’t it Grandaddy?”
“More like four or five,” ’Pa responds.
Ask what kind of fish are in the river, and Grandpa will explain. “Lots of cats,” he says. “Blue. Yeller. Channel. Other fish, too. Perch, Bass, Carp. But you don’t take them often.”
This day when the four lines are cleared, the catch totals fifty catfish and one carp.
Tre does most of what little talking is done. He tells about the time ’Pa got knocked out of the boat by a tree limb and lost his hat. He teases Grandpa about the nickname Grandma gave him.
“She calls him a pelican,” he says, “because he could eat fish three times a day.”
Then there’s silence again, not the awkward silence of people who don’t know what to say, but the silence of men who know each other well.
“I wonder if we’ll see anything today,” Tre finally says as the boat turns for home. Often it’s deer, sometimes a beaver, once in a while a blue heron. Today they see a turtle.
Back home the catfish are cleaned and skinned, dipped in corn meal and fried. “What we don’t eat, we put in the freezer,” Tre explains. “We can trade it for beef.” The carp will be pressure cooked and bottled, then stored on the shelf like salmon. ’Pa can remember times during World War II when canned carp helped keep the family alive.

In one of our quorum meetings, Elder Oaks expressed a strong opinion about a course of action that he believed should be pursued. The reasons he articulated were convincing, and his knowledge about the issue was extensive. His arguments in favor of the action were compelling.
As we counseled together, a member of the Twelve with considerably less seniority expressed agreement with the basic course of action but registered a reservation about the proposed timing. Elder Oaks could have countered the concern with a response such as “I believe I have more experience with this matter than you do.” But he did not. With no hint of defensiveness or indignation, Elder Oaks asked his quorum member, “Would you please help me understand your reservation about the timing?”
After listening intently to his apostolic associate, Elder Oaks pondered for a moment and then said, “The point you have made is important. I had not considered fully the timing implications of this action in the way you have, and I am persuaded that the proposal should be reworked based on what we have learned in this discussion.”
Elder Oaks listened to and learned from his fellow quorum member and then walked in the meekness of the Lord’s Spirit (see D&C 19:23) to accomplish the desired outcome. For Dallin H. Oaks, the issue is never about what he wants; it is always about what the Lord wants and about following His ways.

Exactly 20 years ago last fall I stood on the famous white cliffs of Dover overlooking the English Channel, the very channel which 20 years before that ran as the only barrier between Hitler and England’s fall. In 1962 my mission was concluding, and I was concerned. My future seemed very dim and difficult. My parents were then serving a mission also, which meant I was going home to live I-did-not-quite-know-where and to pay my way I-did-not-quite-know-how. I had completed only one year of college, and I had no idea what to major in or where to seek my career. I knew I needed three more years for a baccalaureate degree and had the vague awareness that graduate school of some kind inevitably loomed up behind that.
I knew tuitions were high and jobs were scarce. And I knew there was an alarmingly wider war spreading in Southeast Asia, which could require my military service. I hoped to marry but wondered when—or if—that could be, at least under all these circumstances. My educational hopes seemed like a never-ending path into the unknown, and I had hardly begun.
So before heading home I stood one last time on the cliffs of the country I had come to love so much.
This royal throne of kings, this sceptered isle, …
This fortress built by Nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war.
(William Shakespeare, Richard II, act 2, sc. 1, lines 40, 43–44)
And there I read again,
“We have before us many, many long months of struggle and of suffering. … What is our aim? … Victory—victory at all costs; victory in spite of all terror; victory, however long and hard the road may be. …
“Conquer we must; as conquer we shall. … We shall never surrender.”
Blood? Toil? Tears? Sweat? Well, I figured I had as much of these as anyone, so I headed home to try. I was, in the parlance of the day, determined to give it “my best shot,” however feeble that might prove to be. I ask you to do the same.

There’s a great story told to me by the father of the young woman who was involved in it. I promised I’d share it with women across the Church when it was appropriate.
A three-year-old had wandered off on an adventure, shedding his clothing as he went. When he realized he was lost as well as cold, he knocked at the home of this young woman. She saw a little boy standing on the step; he was wearing only soiled underwear and was crying his heart out. She took him in, and while they waited for the police to find his mother, she wrapped him in a blanket and held him on her lap and sang songs to him. She made him clown faces on home-dipped ice cream cones and drew pictures with him so he could surprise his mother. She made him feel marvelous.
When at last the boy’s mother arrived, he started for the front door. Then suddenly he stopped, maybe remembering what a special time he had had with the young woman.
“Hey!” he asked, “Are you Heavenly Father’s wife?”
The young woman was startled—and sobered. At last she replied, “No, but I am his daughter.”

He takes advantage of trips to do missionary work, trying to fulfill his father’s challenge of giving away a Book of Mormon every time he travels.
Ed took advantage of a track opportunity to place a Book of Mormon in some of the most prominent hands in the world. He and fellow LDS runner Farley Gerber were competing in the World University Games in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. They were excited to see that Prince Charles and Lady Diana were there as dignitaries, and even more excited to learn that the royal couple would be greeting the athletes individually. Ed and Farley decided it wouldn’t hurt to present them with a copy of the Book of Mormon, so they wrote their testimonies in one and presented it to the prince when it was their turn to shake his hand.
“He was very cordial about the whole thing,” Ed recalls. “He said, ‘Oh, you chaps are Mormons, are you? So that’s what keeps you going.’ When he walked off, he tucked the Book of Mormon in the crook of his arm, and seeing him carrying it, if you didn’t know who he was you might have thought he was a representative of the Church,” Ed recalled.