Gospel Story Finder

First, an experience from my childhood.

What is there about a tree that makes a young person crave to climb it? I guess even we older people want to climb, but the yearning is rarely powerful enough to get us up into the branches. All I can remember about the last time I climbed a tree is how long it took to get the sap off of my hands. Children don't worry about sap.

When I was a boy, we lived near a large tract of trees, including evergreens in various stages of development. One of our climbing games required two boys to a tree. For this we sought out springy young pine trees. We chose each tree with great care. It had to be not too big and not too small, with just the right amount of spring. The first boy up the tree went as high as he could with the other boy following. As the second came close to the top, their combined weight would cause the tree to bend slowly downward, bending farther and farther, until the upper trunk had dipped its occupants down to a safe distance from the ground. Their four feet dangling a short way above Mother Earth, the boys prepared to drop from the tree.

With synchronicity usually reserved for a far more sophisticated setting, the two boys, acting as one, released their grip on the sappy limbs. The well-torqued trunk sprang like an unloaded catapult back to upright dignity. The boys dropped to the ground with hardly a thud, their reward the cheers of admiring peers, each of whom judged the feat a 10. What fun we had! Find another perfect tree and go for it again.

In one particularly exciting bout, the smallest of our crew started up a young pine. He had to be matched with the heaviest boy in order to create a combined weight adequate to bend the tree. Sure enough, they moved toward the top and the tree bowed to their wishes. All was going well. The tree lowered to a proper height, hands let go, and the tree sprang up. But this time only two feet hit the ground. The heavy boy had let go before the light one was ready. Our little buddy nearly cracked like a whip as he shot up with the treetop. The snap of the tree shook him loose, and down he tumbled through the branches. The result was two broken arms and a stern parental lecture, and our tandem tree climbing had to be put on hold for a while.

Now, what did we learn from that? The older we get, the more obvious it is to us that we should stay out of trees. A person can get hurt! But we sure do a lot of other things without thinking too much about the consequences. We may not be scaling pines, but we introduce plenty of risk into our lives. We drive too fast; we go too far into debt; we eat too much junk food; we take on too much stress. Most of us, in one way or another, are way out on a limb, never figuring that something will go wrong. None of us young tree climbers ever thought about the possibility of broken arms, either. Our friend learned the lesson the hard way. So, the principle: Never climb higher than you're willing to fall. Applying this principle will give you wisdom and good judgment.

Now there has been added another element. It began some years ago when drought in Africa brought hunger and death to uncounted numbers. Members of the Church were invited to contribute to a great humanitarian effort to meet the needs of those terribly impoverished people. Your contributions were numerous and generous. The work has continued because there are other serious needs in many places. The outreach of this aid has become a miracle. Millions of pounds of food, medical supplies, blankets, tents, clothing, and other materials have staved off famine and desolation in various parts of the world. Wells have been dug, crops have been planted, lives have been saved. Let me give you an example.
Neil Darlington is a chemical engineer who worked for a large industrial company in Ghana. Eventually, he retired.
He and his wife were then called as a missionary couple. They were sent to Ghana. Brother Darlington says, “In areas of famine, disease, and social unrest, we were there as representatives of the Church, extending a helping hand to the destitute, the hungry, the distressed.”
In small villages they drilled new wells and repaired old ones. Those of us who have fresh, clean water in abundance can scarcely appreciate the circumstances of those who are without.
Can you picture this couple, devoted Latter-day Saint missionaries? They drill into the dry earth. Their drill reaches the water table below, and the miracle liquid comes to the surface and spills over the dry and thirsty soil. There is rejoicing. There are tears. There is now water to drink, water with which to wash, water to grow crops. There is nothing more treasured in a dry land than water. How absolutely beautiful is water pouring from a new well.
On one occasion, when the tribal chiefs and the elders of the village gathered to thank them, Brother Darlington asked the chief if he and Sister Darlington could sing a song for them. They looked into the eyes of the dark-skinned men and women before them and sang “I Am a Child of God” as an expression of their common brotherhood.
This one couple, through their efforts, have provided water for an estimated 190,000 people in remote villages and refugee camps. Contemplate, if you will, the miracle of this accomplishment.

A few months ago, my beloved Ruth, Elder Holland and his sweet Patty, and I accompanied a group into the fascinating old city of Jerusalem to look for the door with the name of Hyde carved on it. The enchanting smells of the open containers of spices and the sounds of men selling their wares were exhilarating. As we entered St. Saviour’s Monastery, looking for the door, we entered into old passageways surrounded by stone walls. We were told that some parts of the walls went back to the time of the Crusaders. On one wall hung an assortment of ancient rusted keys. Some of these keys were huge. All were larger than the keys we use today. Many of them were very ornate. Many of the doors the keys were made to open no longer exist, or if they do, the keys and the locks would be too rusty to open them.

Becky came to the dinner table and sat down quietly. No one noticed that she was not trying to get her fair share right along with her three older brothers. No one really gave Becky a second thought until she spoke. “Mom, I want to wear a dress to school tomorrow.”
The noise and dinnertime confusion came to an abrupt stop. The silence was so complete Becky could hear the waves pounding on the shore of Dease Lake. Her brothers were staring at her, stunned. What’s wrong with her? was written on everyone’s face.
Becky’s cheeks turned the color of her red hair. “Well, what’s wrong with wearing a dress?” she demanded glaring back. “You act as though I just asked Mom to cut off my legs!”
“You have to admit, Becky,” her mother said, “that this comes as a bit of a surprise. I was under the impression that you had forgotten you were a girl.”
Becky ignored that comment because it hit home all right. She was the president of the Dease Lake Stampeders and proud of it. Sheila, Becky’s best friend, had suggested the name in honor of Becky’s grandfather, who had fired their imagination with tales of the Yukon gold rush. He was one of the first settlers at Dease Lake, an isolated community in northern British Columbia. The girls thought Grandpa Dease was about the neatest man around.
Becky could do most things as well or better than any boy in their small one-room school. She could ski with ease or climb the tall pines surrounding the school yard. With three older brothers, Becky had had lots of encouragement. She was happiest when she and her handpicked pals were outdoors pretending to be explorers or gold miners. All the girls except Liselotte wanted to be in the club and even some of the boys.
Becky remembered the first time she had seen Liselotte walk timidly into the strange schoolroom. She was dressed in the latest style with a pretty pinafore over a frilly blouse. Her large eyes were framed by a cascade of dark curls. Becky wondered if the girl were actually dumb enough to curl her hair every night.
Liselotte never talked much because she was French Canadian and her English wasn’t very good. But Becky and her gang talked plenty. “Did you see that dress?” asked Sheila during recess, making a face.
“Yeah,” replied Becky, “she’s going to freeze this winter when it’s thirty degrees below zero if she doesn’t get countrified and start dressing right.” She looked approvingly at Sheila’s jeans and boots that matched her own.
And so, for Liselotte’s own good, Becky and the club members set to work trying to countrify her. They threw snowballs at her, sat on her, and tried to stuff her curls into a toque. They put her lunch box up in the highest pine tree so she would have to climb for it. Becky wasn’t really mean, she just figured Liselotte didn’t know what fun she was missing.
Liselotte had borne all of this quietly and with good humor, but she did not convert and seemed incapable of comprehending Becky’s good intentions. As for the lunch box, she asked one of Becky’s brothers to get it down for her. He did so willingly because all of the older boys were in love with Liselotte. That was OK with Becky, they were all welcome to her.
Anyone who would rather sit inside reading during recess instead of working on a snow fort was hopeless. Hopeless or not, over the winter Becky had slowly begun to admire Liselotte, who took the girls’ rather rough treatment good-naturedly, even laughing at herself with them. She never once went to the teacher to tattle or complain. Yet there was always a sort of sadness in Liselotte’s eyes that wasn’t quite disguised by her apparent sunny nature. But even that had not been enough for Becky to actually befriend the lonely girl. She had her own reputation to think of and her duties as president of the Dease Lake Stampeders. What would her gang think if she were overly friendly to someone who wore skirts!
Eventually Becky gave up on Liselotte and forgot about her as much as one could do in a one-room school. Once in a while, though, she would glimpse the small doll-like face peering out at them through the schoolhouse windows.
Then one day Becky realized that Liselotte wasn’t in school and hadn’t been for several days.
Later she asked Mrs. Parmenter who looked at Becky rather accusingly. “She is home and very sick,” she reported. “In fact, I rather doubt that she will be back.”
Becky, who had scarcely been sick in her whole life, could not imagine anyone being sick for more than a day or two. What does she mean Liselotte may not be back? Becky wondered. Is she going to die?
The rest of the day Becky couldn’t keep her eyes off the empty desk. The lonely chair seemed to accuse her, much like Mrs. Parmenter’s expression had when she asked about Liselotte. It tugged at her conscience, If I had taken more of an interest in Liselotte, the others would have too, Becky told herself. But she never wanted to do the same things we wanted to do. Still, quietly nagging thoughts wouldn’t go away. And added to them, Becky had to admit to herself, was a persistent wish that she were more like Liselotte. At least I’d like to be friends, she thought wistfully.
By the time Becky returned home from school, she had made a decision.
After dinner, Becky slipped up to her room. Her mother, sensing something was bothering her daughter, followed her to ask, “Is anything wrong, dear?”
“Yes,” she answered, “Liselotte is really sick and Mrs. Parmenter says she probably won’t be coming back to school.”
“Do you mean the little French girl? I am sorry to hear that.”
Becky turned toward the closet. “Mom, I’m going to wear a dress to school tomorrow so that I can visit her on the way home.”
Mom wondered what wearing a dress had to do with visiting Liselotte, but she knew her daughter well enough to keep such questions to herself.
The next morning, Becky felt uncomfortable when she put the dress on. “It’s going to be a rough day,” she sighed. But she did want to be more like Liselotte, and she hoped the dress would prove her sincerity.
She purposely waited until the last minute to join her brothers in the bus line. When Joey saw her, he said, “Say, you don’t look half bad in that dress today. Why don’t you wear one to school more often?”
She had not expected that and quickly looked to see if he were teasing. She could always tell if he were by the twinkle in his eyes, but her oldest brother’s face had a look of genuine sincerity. Maybe the day won’t go too bad after all, she decided.
Once at school, however, Becky was afraid she would face the worst ordeal. Sheila rushed up as soon as she got off the bus. “Hey!” she exclaimed in surprise. “Why on earth are you wearing a dress?”
“Mom is mending my jeans,” was Becky’s quick answer.
That was true enough, but Sheila wasn’t fooled. “You could have worn another pair.”
Nothing to do but tell the truth, Becky decided, and face the wisecracks that are sure to come. “I’m going to visit Liselotte after school. I don’t even know if I’ll be allowed in the house without a dress on.”
“Oh,” said Sheila, “I wish you’d told me. We could have gone together.”
“That’s great, Sheila,” Becky said, “Maybe we can go together again on Friday.”
The school day finally ended and Becky walked to the large Dalphond home located on a hill overlooking the brilliant blue of Dease Lake. It wasn’t far, which was good, because she was beginning to get cold feet. What will I say to Liselotte? she worried.
Walking up to the door, Becky knocked and half hoped no one would be home. But she soon heard light footsteps coming toward her on the other side. The door was opened by a petite, pretty woman who looked much like Liselotte. “Hello,” she said and smiled. “You must be here to visit Liselotte.”
Becky stepped in while Liselotte’s mother continued to talk in a thick French accent, not waiting for answers. “Lise is up in her room and will be delighted to see you. I’ll show you the way.” Mrs. Dalphond led the way upstairs. “Here we are,” she said, “and I’ll let you surprise her.” She patted Becky on the back and left her staring at the door.
Becky knocked and Liselotte’s soft voice said, “Entrez (enter).”
Cautiously Becky opened the door. Liselotte was sitting in bed with an enormous book in her lap. “Hi,” said Becky.
“Hello!” Liselotte said with a smile. “Why, you are wearing a dress, Becky. It’s nice of you but I think I like the jeans better.” Her huge eyes sparkled and Becky realized with a jolt that Liselotte was the only one all day who had teased her about wearing a dress. “I would prefer jeans, too,” Liselotte continued, “but Papa says we must dress civilized, even though we are in the wilderness. He is so … old-fashioned, is that the word?” She looked at Becky for confirmation.
Becky laughed. “That’s it,” she said. “What are you reading?” She bent over to look at the book. She was surprised to see that it was an illustrated encyclopedia of wild animals. “I didn’t know you were interested in wild animals.”
“Oh, yes!” Liselotte hopped out of bed. “Look at my wild animal collection.” She opened a little cupboard door and there, row upon row, were miniature wood carvings of wild animals.
Becky went over to examine them. She picked up a grizzly bear and ran her finger over the glowing, smooth wood. “I’ve never seen anything like this before!” she said, awed by the collection.
“My brother in Montreal carves wood for a living. He made them for me,” Lisolotte explained. Suddenly Liselotte began to cough and was forced to sit on her bed. Becky held her breath. Liselotte caught the expression on her face and gasped in between spells, “It’s OK. I have asthma. It will pass.”
“What causes asthma?” Becky asked.
Liselotte caught her breath. “This attack is due to all the pollen in the air at springtime. When I lived in Montreal it was far worse from the pollution. That is why we moved to Dease Lake.”
That reminded Becky of what Mrs. Parmenter had said. “Liselotte, aren’t you coming back to school?”
Liselotte looked at Becky with a puzzled expression. “Of course I’m coming back.”
“But I thought … Mrs. Parmenter said …” Becky stuttered.
“Oh, I know!” laughed Liselotte. “My father was almost transferred from his government job here, and you know how rumors get started. Mrs. Parmenter must have heard we were leaving.”
Becky knew well enough how rumors ran rampant in the small community. But before she had time to think about that she looked at her watch and said, “I have to run, Liselotte, but I’ll be back if I may. Get better soon, OK?” Becky waved at her new friend and hurried out of the room. As she took the steps two at a time she couldn’t believe how fast her hour with Liselotte had gone. And I was afraid I wouldn’t find anything to talk about, she thought in wonderment. But, oh, I’m so glad she’s staying in Dease Lake. She’ll be a great member of our club!

Since joining the church, I have forged and strengthened my relationships with both friends and family. Prior to my baptism I had not spoken with my family for a number of years, but through understanding the gospel and the atonement of Jesus Christ, I realised that if I was to repair relations with my family I needed to make the first move. I went to them full of apologies and with a sincere intention to mend my relationship. I am happy to say that now the relationship with my mum and my dad has never been stronger.

If we applied that advice in today’s social climate, would it work? Imagine using it on a personal interactive basis. Let’s say I boarded a plane, sat next to a fellow traveler, and declared: “Hi, I’m Scott Swofford. What do you know about me? Would you like to know more?” I am pretty sure a call button would be pressed and I would be relocated, if not removed from the plane.

The most authentic way to enter a gospel discussion is to first seek to understand. I have experimented with the following approach when seated on a plane: “Good morning. I like those shoes.” The dialogue is now underway on a positive note.

Eventually it gets us to “Is this flight outbound or returning home for you?”

Inevitably they will ask me where home is, and I am lucky in that admitting I’m from Utah is like setting a timer on a predictable response. Three, two, one: “Are you Mormon?”

Now, I could launch into my memorized first discussion, but it is in Japanese, so instead I usually reply, “Yes. And you?” I then pay genuine attention to a lot of information about this new friend—their thoughts on faith, their struggles, and their current frame of mind. Then I am ready for the Spirit to direct the next move.

If you’re retired and wondering what to do with those extra years, there’s a world out there of excitement. I think of Talmage Nielsen here in Salt Lake City, a retired doctor, and his wife, who served missions in both South America and in Frankfurt, Germany, helping us there with medical problems, as well as assisting with medical problems in Russia. After being home long enough to kiss the grandchildren hello and good-bye, they were then called to serve in Hawaii, where he was director of the visitors’ center. I know the great time, experience, and blessings that they have had serving together in these three missions.
When I talked with him recently, I said, “Now what are you going to do with the rest of your life?”
And he said, “Well, I’m 72.”
And I said, “You’re 72? Well, I have 20 years on you! And when I think of what has happened to me in the last 20 years, Talmage, think of what you can still do as you go out into the world.”

It’s been just over a year now since my parents and I joined the Church, and it hasn’t been easy.
We were taught by two of the finest missionaries and gained a strong testimony. But when we decided to be baptized, people told us we would be lost and end up in hell. We were told we were no good. We received a great deal of persecution.
I lost all the friends I had at my old church, which I’d been attending for 11 years. I had done a lot of baby-sitting and when I changed churches, the people who I used to baby-sit for told me that I would never watch their children again, that I was a bad influence, and that they never wanted me in their home again. They said if I ever worked in a day-care center where their children were, they’d take them out.
That all hurt me very badly. I was harassed at school, and when I came home, there would be pamphlets in my mailbox and phone calls and people pushing their way into my home. My father even received death threats, saying that if we went through with the baptism, he would die.
The death threats almost postponed our baptism. When he received one the day we were to be baptized, he nearly canceled the baptism. But we went through with it.
And you know what? I’m really glad we did.
I told my mom that I didn’t care if I lost all my friends. Yes, it hurt a great deal, but I knew that Jesus Christ had died for my sins. He had been beaten, spit on, and stabbed, and had had thorns put on his head. My troubles didn’t seem so bad in comparison.
I still get criticism about joining the Church, but Jesus Christ has helped me pull through. I have my baby-sitting jobs back, and Dad has not received any more death threats. I have found truly beautiful new friends in my ward, where there is a great deal of love, friendship, and caring. I would go through all the hardships again and face even more. I thank Heavenly Father so very much for bringing me into the true Church.

Fifteen days before the start of each general conference, our family hangs up our sign announcing the beginning of “Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner?” Then we add the latest pictures of our prophets, seers, and revelators from the previous conference edition of the Church magazines.
I prepare by researching the prophet we will welcome that night. Sometimes I find objects around the house to represent a few things I found out, and I put them on a plate. During dinner, as I tell stories about each item, everyone tries to guess who it is. Other times, I tell a story or two that the prophet shared during the previous general conference.
I am amazed at the things my children remember about our beloved prophets and apostles, and I know this simple game has increased my love and knowledge of these great men also.

Several months ago I read about a storm that hit the island of Vanuatu. It destroyed many homes and killed at least six people. When I read that, I remembered visiting little homes on Vanuatu. I could picture the people huddled in homes during the storm.
Then I pictured the bishop and the Relief Society president giving the people who had lost their homes comfort, blankets, food to eat, and water to drink. They would be using fast offerings to help those in need.
So I didn’t wait for Sunday. I took a fast offering to my bishop that morning. That money might help someone in my neighborhood, but it could also go to help people in Vanuatu.

One Sunday my granddaughter Diana, who is four years old, was sitting next to her father at church. Diana sat reverently, enjoying the comfort of her father’s arm holding her close to him. However, when the bishop stood up and announced the sacrament hymn, Diana gently lifted her father’s arm from her shoulder and placed it in his lap. Then she sat up straight and folded her arms. She looked over at her father and encouraged him to do the same.
Diana’s message to her father was perfectly clear. She was telling him to turn his complete attention to the Savior.

As the winter afternoon sun slid behind the expansive snow-covered ski hill, the freezing mountain air sharply bit our cheeks and noses, acting almost like a stern usher instructing us to find our cars and trucks in the ski resort parking lot. There in our comfortable cars, heaters would soon warm cold fingers and toes. The sound of the frozen snow crunching with each step we took confirmed that this was extreme cold.
Our family had enjoyed a fun-filled day on the ski slopes, which was now coming to a frosty close. Arriving at the car, I reached in my coat pocket for the keys and then another pocket and another. “Where are the keys?” Everyone was anxiously waiting on the keys! The car battery was charged, and all the systems—including the heater—were ready to go, but without the keys, locked doors would deny entrance; without the keys, the engine would not provide power to the vehicle.
At the time, our primary focus was on how we were going to get into the car and get warm, but I couldn’t help but think—even then—there just might be a lesson here. Without keys, this wonderful miracle of engineering was little more than plastic and metal. Even though the car had great potential, without keys, it could not perform its intended function.
Let’s now end where we began, stranded in the frigid parking lot asking, “Where are the keys?” By the way, later that evening I did miraculously find the keys that had fallen out of my pocket on the mountain. The Lord has shown us that He will not leave us standing in the bitter cold without keys or authority to lead us safely home to Him.

The Primary children in the English-speaking branch in Bangkok, Thailand, had heard about their brothers and sisters in the Issan region of Thailand. They knew that they were very poor and that they had very few clothes to wear. In fact, they learned that the only change of clothing these children had was their school uniform, which they wore to school every day. They did not have any special clothes for Sunday.
Encouraged to begin to serve their fellowman in any way they could, the Primary children in Bangkok began a project to share what clothing they could spare with the children in the Issan region. They brought the clothing they wanted to donate to Primary, where the leaders made sure everything was clean, pressed, and mended. Clothing for about twenty children was then placed in plastic bags and tagged to show the size and age of the boy or girl who would receive it.
After missionaries serving in the region distributed the parcels of love, they reported some wonderful stories of gratitude:
Uthaiwan Arkomkong, age three, lives with her father and mother in a small room at the side of an equipment yard where her father works as a mechanic. Normally very shy, little Uthaiwan laughed and danced around the room when she put on the yellow ruffled dress that was in her package.
In the Srisaket Branch, two eight-year-old girls received dresses on the very day they were to be interviewed for baptism. They were happy to have their pictures taken in their new dresses on this special day.
When a pair of shoes was put aside by a teenager because they “squeezed her toes,” they were taken to Sister Pongsuwan, mother of three young daughters. “Do you want to be Cinderella?” asked Brother Dang as he knelt before her and slipped the shoes on her tiny feet. The shoes fit perfectly. Sister Pongsuwan danced and twirled with happiness, telling everyone that she had never had a pair of shoes before!
The love of the Primary children in Bangkok for their young brothers and sisters in the Issan region was returned many times with bright smiles and warm “thank yous” as gifts of the heart were exchanged—children to children.

“You’re up early,” Mom said as she walked into the kitchen. It was the day of the trade fair, and I had gotten up a little earlier than usual to make sure I was ready to go.
“I’m just checking my ornaments,” I said. I opened a paper sack on the table and counted my handmade Christmas wreath ornaments. I had been working on them for a month, ever since Mrs. Moore announced that we would have a trade fair to practice what we had learned about supply and demand and bartering. I hoped my ornaments would be a hit with my classmates!
When I arrived at school, my classmates had boxes and bags of their trade items. I looked around the room as they set out their goods: Suzelle had woven pot holders, Mark had made key chains out of hemp cord and silver charms, and Kylie had hammered together some bark to make boxes.
“I can’t wait to start trading,” I said to Jason, who was setting out some of the colorful balls he had made from balloons filled with sand. “Everyone brought really cool stuff to trade.”
“Yeah, except for Lucas,” Jason said.
I looked at Lucas’s desk. He was setting out a few rocks that were different colors. It looked like he had gotten some rocks from his yard and drawn on them with markers.
“Think anyone will trade with him?” I asked quietly.
“No!” Jason laughed. And he was right. I noticed that Kylie’s boxes were gone right away. My ornaments were pretty popular too. About halfway through the trade fair I only had two ornaments left.
I also saw that no one had traded with Lucas for any of his rocks. It seemed like he was trying to shrink or just disappear. I felt bad for him, but what could I do?
“He should have put more effort into it,” I thought. “If he had set aside more time to get ready for the trade fair, he wouldn’t have this problem.” But I kept watching Lucas, hoping someone would trade with him.
It wasn’t long before Mrs. Moore said, “All right, everyone. Five more minutes to finish your trading.”
Lucas’s shoulders slumped. I knew he was feeling terrible. I also knew what I had to do.
“Lucas,” I said, “I’d like to swap one of my ornaments for two of your rocks. Would you like to trade?”
Lucas smiled a little and let me pick out two rocks. I handed him one of my wreath ornaments.
As we cleaned up the trade fair, I was sad that no one else had traded with Lucas. But I felt good because I had tried to include Lucas, and I had made him smile. It felt so good that I wanted to make him smile again. Maybe we could play basketball at lunch or hang out after school.
I smiled too as I looked at the rocks on my desk. They had started to look kind of nice to me.

Young women of the Sunnyside Ward, Pretoria South Africa Stake, got the chance to show what their program is all about when they put together their first annual “Young Women’s Expo!”

Each girl involved contributed to booths that represented different areas of the Young Women program. They had a temple marriage display, a Young Women Values display, a beauty booth, a flower market, and even a “Cafe de Paris,” which featured pastries the young women had made.

Entertainment was also on the agenda. They did a jazz dance and modeled clothes. “It took a great deal of preparation, but it was worth it all,” noted Mia Maid Janina Groenewald.

“We even enjoyed every minute of the preparation,” added Laurel Debbie Iten.

Theany Reath from Cambodia was forced as a child to witness the massacres of her people. Terrified and traumatized by this horror of torture and genocide, she burned incense nightly to her favorite Buddhist god. When peace finally came to her country and the LDS missionaries arrived, she was attracted to the Church. But she was warned by friends and family not to join this foreign cult or she would be damned in the deepest hell or reincarnated into the most loathsome creature on earth.

Wrapped about by fear, she trembled at the admonition of the missionaries to pray. She was conditioned to believe in many gods and many demons both mysterious and terrible. How could she approach the god of the missionaries? How could she obey the admonition to “come forth,” as it were?

Theany described her first attempt to address deity—not in the language of prayer that the missionaries had taught her but in the only language she could muster. Her prayer was simply a question: “Are . . . you the god of all the gods?” As she has testified, in that moment she was engulfed with profound feelings of warmth and love—deep and personal sensations of a loving Heavenly Father. Her surprise was exceeded only by her joy. She had “come forth,” and Heavenly Father had freed her from the graveclothes of every present fear and insecurity and from the visions of horror from her past. Theany later served in the Sacramento California Mission and is now studying on our campus.

There was a point in my life when I was so emotionally hurt that it affected every other aspect of my life. I couldn’t focus on classes or homework, my relationship with my roommates was strained, and I was constantly on the verge of tears. More than anything, I was having a hard time forgiving the person who had caused me hurt in the first place—and even madder that I was having a hard time forgiving.
Finally, I decided I was done being sad and angry. I no longer wanted to carry that burden. I pleaded with Heavenly Father to help me forgive. Before I knew it, the pain was bearable. It wasn’t gone, but I could bear it. Through this experience I learned that the Savior’s Atonement does not just allow us to repent; it also helps us heal. When I approached Heavenly Father with my burdens, in humility and with a sincere heart, He helped me carry the hurt, pain, and heartache I held.
Dani Lauricella, California, USA

One day last year, my friend invited me to his house to have a tea party with him and his sisters. I thought they would have pretend tea at their party. Instead, they offered me real tea with honey. I remembered a story I had read about President David O. McKay. Once when he visited the queen of the Netherlands, the queen offered him tea. He politely refused it. I knew that if tea isn’t good for a prophet, it isn’t good for me.

Recently I observed such a mighty change in a man whom I first met about 10 years ago. He had come to a stake conference at which his son was sustained as a member of the new stake presidency. This father was not a member of the Church. After his son had been set apart, I put my arms around this father and praised him for having such a wonderful son. Then I boldly declared: “The day will come when you will want to have this son sealed to you and your wife in a holy temple. And when that day comes, I would be honored to perform that sealing for you.”

During the subsequent decade, I did not see this man. Six weeks ago he and his wife came to my office. He greeted me warmly and recounted how startled he was with my earlier invitation. He didn’t do much about it until later, when his hearing began to fail. Then he awakened to the realization that his body was changing and that his time on earth was indeed limited. In due course he ultimately lost his hearing. At the same time, he became converted and joined the Church.

During our visit he summarized his total transformation: “I had to lose my hearing before I could heed the great importance of your message. Then I realized how much I wanted my loved ones to be sealed to me. I am now worthy and prepared. Will you please perform that sealing?”7 This I did with a deep sense of gratitude to God.

Photographs by Christina Smith
Caroline M. from Tennessee, USA, loves to spread joy. “I like it when people are happy,” she says. “My purpose in life is to help people know how much Jesus loves them. My purpose here on earth is to spread hope, happiness, and love.”
“My purpose in life is to help people know how much Jesus loves them. My purpose here on earth is to spread hope, happiness, and love.”
Caroline enjoys learning the gospel of Jesus Christ, living what she learns, and sharing the gospel with others. She knows the gospel brings great joy because she has experienced it for herself.
Caroline finds joy in the gospel of Jesus Christ because “it brings so much love to everyone.” She says: “I follow Jesus Christ by being obedient. He is the source of peace and happiness and love—that is who Jesus Christ is to me. He died for us and paid for our sins so that we can be like Him.”
Seminary is one way Caroline has been able to learn the gospel, and it’s been a good experience for her. “I love early morning seminary. I’m a morning person.” The students come to her house since her mom is the seminary teacher. “Not a lot of people are members of the Church where I live. But a few members go to my high school and come to seminary with me.”
“I love early morning seminary. I’m a morning person.”
She’s enjoyed studying the Old Testament in seminary this year. One of her favorite stories is the account of the Creation in the book of Genesis. “I love reading about the Creation because it shows Jesus created this world for me. It makes me really happy to think that He did that for me.”
Living the gospel also brings Caroline great joy. She loves Jesus Christ and wants to follow Him, which helped her to understand the importance of being baptized. “I knew I needed to obey God’s commandments, that I needed to make covenants with Him and follow the right path.”
By being baptized, she knew she’d be following the right path—the path Jesus showed us. For her, being baptized “felt so amazing.” Through her desire to make and keep covenants and her desire to serve others and bring them joy, she shows she wants to follow Jesus Christ.
Another way that Caroline experiences the joy of the gospel often is through Church activities. She loves going to Young Women classes and activities because of the happiness she finds there. “The Young Women make me smile and laugh.”
She also enjoys going to Young Women camp. “When I’m at Young Women camp, everyone is around me and I can feel the Spirit. It reminds me of when I was baptized.”
Caroline also experiences the joy of the gospel in her everyday life. “Every time I play the piano or the guitar, every time I ask God to help someone, whenever I’m lonely, whenever I’m listening to uplifting music—that all shows me that the Savior loves me because I can hear Him.”
When Caroline was at Young Women camp, she bore testimony of the fact that she is a daughter of God, that He has a purpose for her in this life, and that her purpose is to bring joy and love to others. “A lot of people told me how much they loved my testimony.”
One special thing about this particular testimony was that everyone could clearly hear her and understand what she was saying. This made Caroline happy since that is not always the case. Caroline has Down syndrome, and she says it’s common for people to have a hard time understanding everything a person with Down syndrome says.
The Spirit was strong as she bore her testimony, and afterward many people said that hearing Caroline’s testimony was one of the most sacred experiences of their lives. She knew the Spirit clearly confirmed the truth of what she was saying.
Caroline has learned for herself that serving others brings joy! The Holy Ghost has helped her to feel the joy of the gospel and the joy of following Jesus Christ, and she wants others to experience that same feeling. By spreading happiness and love to others, she brings the Spirit into their lives. And by sharing what brings her joy, she invites them to come unto Christ.