Gospel Story Finder

Jill squeezed her eyes shut, then popped them open again. Tree shadows moved across the unfamiliar wallpaper. She wished that morning would come so that she could get the first day at her new school behind her. How she longed to be back at Three Forks! There everyone knew her and she had good friends. But her father’s new job had taken them out of Montana’s January blizzards to the gray curtains of rain in Seattle, Washington.
If only I could find a magic ring, like the little girl in the fairy tale! Jill thought. Maybe then my wish would come true. She let herself drift back to her dream of deep grass rolling in the wind.
Awake once more, Jill saw that it was morning. She looked down at her hand—no magic ring.
“Jill,” her mother called, “time to get up! French toast!”
Her favorite breakfast. Mom was trying to help. Jill put on her dark blue skirt and white sweater, then pulled a sock over her thin, twisted foot and shriveled leg. Taking her crutch, she swung herself to the stairway and expertly two-stepped her way down.
“You look very nice this morning,” her mother greeted her. “And see what Great-Aunt Laura sent you. It’s a ‘schoolwarming’ present.”
By the side of Jill’s plate lay a gold-colored thimble. “Mom! It’s a magic thimble!” She slipped it onto the middle finger of her right hand. It fit perfectly.
“It may not be magic, Jill, but it’s a nice gift from your great-aunt. Now, drink your orange juice and eat your breakfast while it’s still warm.”
“OK, Mom, but I’m going to take the thimble with me, just in case.” If it is a magic thimble, she thought, I’ll have at least one wish come true.
At school the principal, Mr. Pearson, told Jill, “Your teacher is Mrs. Rhodes. I’ll take you up to her class.”
Jill followed Mr. Pearson upstairs to her classroom. All eyes turned toward her when she and Mr. Pearson went in. Blood rushed to her face and neck. This was the moment she dreaded most—people looking at her and staring at her brace and crutch.
A slender young woman came forward, and Mr. Pearson said, “This is Jill Oldham.”
“I’m Mrs. Rhodes, Jill. We’re glad to have you with us. You can sit at this desk here.” She pointed to an empty desk in the front row.
Morning classes began with math. Although she was good at it, the butterflies came back again as she heard the teacher and the class talking about “sets.” What are they, anyway? she wondered.
Jill slumped down in her seat, avoiding her teacher’s eyes. Kathy, the dark-haired girl next to her, had her hand in the air constantly, and she snapped her pencil back and forth between her thumb and forefinger. Suddenly Kathy’s pencil slipped out of her hand and landed on the floor, its point broken off. Mrs. Rhodes frowned. Jill hesitated, then offered her pencil box to her classmate. Kathy flashed a pleased smile as she picked out a sharpened pencil.
Next came social studies. Jill pricked up her ears at mention of the Lewis and Clark expedition. When Mrs. Rhodes asked if anyone could name the three rivers that came together to form the Missouri River, Jill put up her hand.
“Jill?”
“The Madison, Gallatin, and Jefferson rivers.”
“That’s correct. I understand that you moved here from Montana. Is that how you knew?”
“Yes. Three Forks, Montana, is near where our family lived. And, besides, my dad named our three cats after those rivers!”
Mrs. Rhodes smiled, her classmates giggled, and Jill joined in. Then a bell sounded. Recess! The other kids would rush out to the playground, but what would she do? At her old school, she and her best friend used recess to do projects and share secrets. But she didn’t have a best friend—any friends, for that matter—here. She took her crutch and made her way to the end of the recess line.
“Kathy will you be hostess for Jill today?” Mrs. Rhodes asked. “Show her where the lavatories and the cafeteria are.”
“Yes, Mrs. Rhodes.” Kathy replied.
Jill felt her face redden. “You go ahead of me, Kathy,” Jill said. “It takes me longer to go downstairs.”
“Oh, I’ll stay with you. I don’t mind. I hurt my leg last year when I chased our dog over a ditch, and I had to be on crutches for a while. I know how it is.”
As Jill made her way down the stairs, Kathy said admiringly, “You sure know how to handle yourself. You’re twice as fast as I was.”
“Well, I’ve had enough practice.” Jill smiled ruefully.
On the playground the girls first sat behind the baseball safety fence and watched their classmates play one-up. Then Jill said, “C’mon. Let’s swing. I like to pump high. It makes me feel good.”
Kathy said, “I like to pump high too. But I didn’t know you could do that.”
“I can do lots of things,” said Jill. “I can swim and ride a horse and play the piano.”
“Say, where do you live?” Kathy asked on their way back to class. When Jill told Kathy, her classmate exclaimed, “Hey, we ride the same bus! Only I go four blocks farther. I’m glad you came to our school! I’m still mad at one of the kids on the bus. He called me ‘peg leg’ when I was on crutches. He’d better not say anything to you, or I’ll hit him on the head with my lunch bucket, and he’ll have jelly sandwiches hanging from his ears!”
Jill laughed. Putting her hand into her pocket, she discovered her great-aunt’s gift. I found something better than a magic thimble, she thought. I found a friend!

On your mark, get set, go!
And the winner is …
… Nathan!
You get to go to the Provincial Track Meet! You’ll race against the fastest kids in British Columbia.
No way! I can’t wait.
Later that week …
Your coach just sent over the schedule for the meet.
Oh no … the meet is on Sunday!
Should I go? What if this is my only chance? I might not make it again next year.
Sorry, Coach. I don’t do races on Sunday. I want to keep the Sabbath day holy.
I’m glad I put Christ first. I know I made the right choice.

President Hinckley’s words inspired one teen to stop using illegal drugs.
“Not too long ago I was deeply entrenched in the underground rave scene. With my involvement in this not-so-wholesome activity came abuse of a drug known as ecstasy. My life got to the point where I was rolling every weekend and spending all my money on illegal drugs. It wasn’t until the prophet spoke out against illicit drug use to the youth of the Church that I realized I was in big trouble. Listening to his counsel to be clean, however, helped motivate me and give me courage to stop using drugs.”

May I impose upon you for a moment to express appreciation for something that happened to me some time ago, years ago. I was suffering from an ulcer condition that was becoming worse and worse. We had been touring a mission; my wife, Joan, and I were impressed the next morning that we should get home as quickly as possible, although we had planned to stay for some other meetings.

On the way across the country, we were sitting in the forward section of the airplane. Some of our Church members were in the next section. As we approached a certain point en route, someone laid his hand upon my head. I looked up; I could see no one. That happened again before we arrived home, again with the same experience. Who it was, by what means or what medium, I may never know, except I knew that I was receiving a blessing that I came a few hours later to know I needed most desperately.

As soon as we arrived home, my wife very anxiously called the doctor. It was now about 11 o’clock at night. He called me to come to the telephone, and he asked me how I was; and I said, “Well, I am very tired. I think I will be all right.” But shortly thereafter, there came massive hemorrhages which, had they occurred while we were in flight, I wouldn’t be here today talking about it.

I know that there are powers divine that reach out when all other help is not available. We see that manifest down in the countries we speak of as the underprivileged countries where there is little medical aid and perhaps no hospitals. If you want to hear of great miracles among these humble people with simple faith, you will see it among them when they are left to themselves. Yes, I know that there are such powers.

June 7. Billy’s mother called me and asked if I wanted to come over and have dinner with them tonight. Billy was too shy to ask, she said, and wanted her to ask me. (Mom and Dad said it would be fine.) She also said that Billy can’t stop talking about me, that the past few weeks he’s been happier than she can ever remember. “He thinks the world of you,” she said, and she thanked me for being so good to him.
I could tell that she was crying, because her voice started breaking up. I told her that it was easy to like Billy because he was so good. I didn’t tell her, but I had been starting to feel happier inside myself than I had in a long time, and I was already happy. Dad says, “When we open our hearts to others, like Jesus did, we feel a whole different kind of joy.”

Last summer a group of young women from Alpine, Utah, decided that they would become “more fit for the kingdom.” They determined to focus on the temple by walking from the Draper Utah Temple to the Salt Lake Temple, a total distance of 22 miles (35 km), just as one of the pioneers, John Rowe Moyle, had done. Brother Moyle was a stonemason who was called by the prophet, Brigham Young, to work on the Salt Lake Temple. Each week he walked the distance of 22 miles from his home to the temple. One of his jobs was to carve the words “Holiness to the Lord” on the east side of the Salt Lake Temple. It was not easy and he had many obstacles to overcome. At one point, he was kicked in the leg by one of his cows. Because it would not heal, he had to have this leg amputated. But that did not stop him from his commitment to the prophet and to work on the temple. He carved a wooden leg, and after many weeks he again walked the 22-mile distance to the temple to do the work he had committed to do.

From the back patio of my home in Hawaii, I could see the outdoor basketball court in the corner of the playground of Laie Elementary School. Lengthwise, the rough asphalt court was regulation size with standard ten-foot baskets at each end. Two shorter courts, each with lower eight-foot baskets, ran across its width.
Most afternoons, players of all ages, sizes, and colors jammed the court. But they didn’t play on the regulation baskets. They played on the eight-footers. With the shorter court and the lower standards, their fast breaks often ended in twisting two-handed slam dunks.
I wondered why so many kids would choose the lower hoops over the regulation ones, and this reason stood out: Who wouldn’t prefer a slam dunk over a jump shot?
I have to admit that I’ve played on that same court a few times myself, driving around my ten-year-old son to swoop down on the low basket with a rim-rattling dunk. Jonathan would be duly impressed by my leaping ability. And for a fleeting moment playing above the rim made me feel a little like Shaquille O’Neal or Patrick Ewing.
It was a good feeling.
But then we’d move to the ten-foot hoops, and I became a grounded bird; the rim seemed miles over my head, far, far out of range. All my shots would be off, ricocheting from the rim in weird angles. I’d have to play on the regular baskets for quite a while to get my shooting eye back. But no matter how much I played on the regulation hoops, I never did feel like an NBA giant. I just felt like a regular guy, hoping a combination of luck, wind currents, and my aim would guide the ball through the hoop.
Even though it was a blast skying over the eight-foot baskets to stuff in shots or snatch rebounds right off the rim, playing on the lower standards always hurt my ability to play on the standard baskets. Eventually, I wised up. Whenever Jonathan managed to get me to shoot around with him at the school court, I ignored the lower baskets, knowing that even though they might be fun, in the long run, they wouldn’t do my meager basketball skills a bit of good.

A young mother wrote to me: “Sometimes I wonder if I make a difference in my children’s lives. Especially as a single mother working two jobs to make ends meet, I sometimes come home to confusion, but I never give up hope.

“My children and I were watching a television broadcast of general conference, and you were speaking about prayer. My son made the statement, ‘Mother, you’ve already taught us that.’ I said, ‘What do you mean?’ And he replied, ‘Well, you’ve taught us to pray and showed us how, but the other night I came to your room to ask something and found you on your knees praying to Heavenly Father. If He’s important to you, He’ll be important to me.’” The letter concluded, “I guess you never know what kind of influence you’ll be until a child observes you doing yourself what you have tried to teach him to do.” What a magnificent lesson a child learned from his mother.

In 2021, the service-mission programme started in the UK. This led me to look at serving again. I am now two months into my service mission—it is the best decision I have ever made. I was set apart at the same time as my younger brother, Elder Joseph Peedle, who is serving in Helsinki, Finland. It was amazing to be set apart on the same day! During my preparation for starting my mission, I learnt a lot about being patient and how things are done in the Lord’s timing.
My service mission has saved me. It has given me purpose and focus. I felt lost for a long time and this mission ‘found’ me. I love the gospel and I love our Saviour and our Heavenly Father. Trust in the Lord, everything will work out!

After crossing the Arkansas River on September 16, the new battalion commander, Lieutenant A. J. Smith, sent most of the women and children to the Mexican village of Pueblo (in present-day Colorado) for the winter. The soldiers were upset because they had been promised that their families could travel with them to California. But it was a wise decision because the battalion marched at a rapid pace with little time to rest. Just a month later, a group of sick men and women were also sent to Pueblo.
The weary soldiers trudged into Santa Fe, New Mexico, on October 9, 1846. Colonel Philip St. George Cooke became their new commander, with orders to blaze a wagon trail from Santa Fe to California. The work wore heavily on the battalion, and in November 1846, a third group of fifty-five weakened and tired soldiers turned back for Pueblo.

After learning about the new Fulfilling My Duty to God booklet in a fireside last year, Aleks Miller—deacons quorum president of a ward in the Vancouver British Columbia Stake—was eager to get started. He and his father set up a schedule to meet each Sunday to work on a section of the booklet together.
“My dad and I, every week, sit down and look through a section of the book,” says Aleks. “We start with a prayer, and then we learn the stuff and read the scriptures. We answer the questions in the section and then write down how we can implement what we’ve learned.” Aleks often shares with his mother what he and his father are working on. “I talked with my mom about the sacrament and the meaning of the sacrament prayers and wrote down some ideas about how I, as a deacon, could help make the sacrament more meaningful for her.”
After only a few weeks of these Duty-to-God-with-Dad meetings, Aleks noticed it was making a difference in his life. “It makes me feel really good,” he says. Sitting down with his father is not always the first thing Aleks wants to do on a Sunday afternoon, “but once we start learning and reading together, I’m a lot happier and I feel better about doing it.”
Aleks has set new goals and is gaining a greater understanding of the gospel as he studies and learns with his father. “One of the sections in Fulfilling My Duty to God suggested we study five topics in For the Strength of Youth and then write down a goal for each one so that you can do better,” explains Aleks. “I chose honesty. So one of my goals was to let my parents know when I do something wrong instead of just keeping it to myself.”
Another topic Aleks chose was education. “My goal was to go an entire month in school with no messing around in class and finishing all my work so I wouldn’t have any homework. It’s going pretty well, and now I have a lot of extra time.”
Now Aleks is encouraging all the deacons in his quorum to work on fulfilling their duty to God. And he offers the same advice to any other young men who are thinking about opening their booklets and getting down to work: “Just do it,” he says. “If you can’t seem to get started on your own, do it like I do and ask your dad to do it with you.”

In general conference those long years ago, as I related this account, I mentioned that I had lost track of Mrs. Patton but that I wanted to once more answer her question “Will Arthur live again?”
And now, my brothers and sisters, I share with you the rest of this account. I delivered my message on April 6, 1969. Again, I had little or no hope that Mrs. Patton would actually hear the talk. I had no reason to think she would listen to general conference. As I have mentioned, she was not a member of the Church. And then I learned that something akin to a miracle had taken place. Having no idea whatsoever who would be speaking at conference or what subjects they might speak about, Latter-day Saint neighbors of Mrs. Terese Patton in California, where she had moved, invited her to their home to listen to a session of conference with them. She accepted their invitation and thus was listening to the very session where I directed my remarks to her personally.
During the first week of May 1969, to my astonishment and joy, I received a letter postmarked Pomona, California, and dated April 29, 1969. It was from Mrs. Terese Patton. I share with you a part of that letter:
“Dear Tommy,
“I hope you don’t mind my calling you Tommy, as I always think of you that way. I don’t know how to thank you for the comforting talk you gave.
“Arthur was 15 years old when he enlisted in the navy. He was killed one month before his 19th birthday on July 5, 1944.
“It was wonderful of you to think of us. I don’t know how to thank you for your comforting words, both when Arthur died and again in your talk. I have had many questions over the years, and you have answered them. I am now at peace concerning Arthur. … God bless and keep you always.
“Love,
“Terese Patton”15
My brothers and sisters, I do not believe it was a coincidence that I was impressed to give that particular message at the April 1969 general conference. Nor do I believe it was a coincidence that Mrs. Terese Patton was invited by neighbors to join them in their home for that particular session of conference. I am certain our Heavenly Father was mindful of her needs and wanted her to hear the comforting truths of the gospel.

The COVID-19 pandemic has been one of the many trials and challenges that God’s children have confronted throughout the history of the world. At the beginning of this year, my beloved family and I lived through some dark days. The pandemic and other causes brought death and pain to our family through the passing of some dear loved ones. Despite medical attention, fasting, and prayer, during the course of five weeks my brother Charly, my sister Susy, and my brother-in-law Jimmy crossed to the other side of the veil.
At times I have wondered why the Savior cried when He saw Mary anguished by the death of her brother, Lazarus, even though He knew that He had the power to raise Lazarus and that very soon He would use this power to rescue His friend from death. I am amazed by the Savior’s compassion and empathy for Mary; He understood the indescribable pain that Mary felt at the death of her brother, Lazarus.
We feel that same intense pain when we experience the temporary separation from our loved ones. The Savior has perfect compassion for us. He doesn’t fault us for our shortsightedness nor for being limited in visualizing our eternal journey. Rather, He has compassion for our sadness and suffering.
Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, want us to have joy. President Russell M. Nelson has taught: “The joy we feel has little to do with the circumstances of our lives and everything to do with the focus of our lives. When the focus of our lives is on God’s plan of salvation, … we can feel joy regardless of what is happening?—or not happening?—in our lives.”
When I was a young missionary, I remember when a marvelous missionary that I had come to admire received some devastating news. His mother and his younger brother had passed away in a tragic accident. The mission president offered this elder the option to return home for the funeral. However, after speaking with his father on the phone, this missionary decided to stay and finish his mission.
A short time later, when we were serving in the same zone, my companion and I received an emergency call; some thieves had stolen the bicycle belonging to this same missionary and had injured him with a knife. He and his companion had to walk to the nearest hospital, where my companion and I met up with them. On the way to the hospital, I was grieving for this missionary. I imagined that his spirits would be low and that surely, after this traumatic experience, he would now want to return home.
However, when we arrived at the hospital, I saw this missionary lying in his bed, waiting to be taken into surgery—and he was smiling. I thought, “How could he be smiling at a time like this?” While he was recuperating in the hospital, he enthusiastically handed out pamphlets and copies of the Book of Mormon to the doctors, nurses, and other patients. Even with these trials, he did not want to go home. Rather, he served until the last day of his mission with faith, energy, strength, and enthusiasm.
At the beginning of the Book of Mormon, Nephi states, “Having seen many afflictions in the course of my days, nevertheless, having been highly favored of the Lord in all my days.”
I think of the many trials that Nephi experienced, many of which are included in his writing. His trials help us understand that we all have our dark days. One of these trials occurred when Nephi was commanded to return to Jerusalem to obtain the brass plates that Laban had in his possession. Some of Nephi’s brothers were men of little faith, and they even beat Nephi with a stick. Nephi experienced another trial when he broke his bow and could not obtain food for his family. Later, when Nephi was commanded to build a ship, his brothers mocked him and refused to help him. Despite these and many other trials during the course of his life, Nephi always recognized the goodness of God.
As his family was crossing the ocean on the way to the promised land, some of Nephi’s family “began to make themselves merry,” speak harshly, and forget that it was the Lord’s power that had preserved them. When Nephi chastised them, they became offended and bound him with cords so that he was unable to move. The Book of Mormon states that his brethren “did treat [him] with much harshness”; his wrists and ankles “were much swollen, and great was the soreness.” Nephi was grieved with the hardness of his brothers’ hearts and at times felt overcome with sorrow. “Nevertheless,” he declared, “I did look unto my God, and I did praise him all the day long; and I did not murmur against the Lord because of mine afflictions.”
My dear brothers and sisters, how do we react to our afflictions? Do we murmur before the Lord because of them? Or, like Nephi and my former missionary friend, do we feel thankful in word, thought, and deed because we are more focused on our blessings than on our problems?
Our Savior, Jesus Christ, gave us the example during His earthly ministry. In moments of difficulty and trial, there are few things that bring us greater peace and satisfaction than serving our fellow man. The book of Matthew recounts what happened when the Savior learned that His cousin John the Baptist had been beheaded by King Herod to please the daughter of Herodias:
“And his disciples came, and took up the body, and buried it, and went and told Jesus.
“When Jesus heard of it, he departed thence by ship into a desert place apart: and when the people had heard thereof, they followed him on foot out of the cities.
“And Jesus went forth, and saw a great multitude, and was moved with compassion toward them, and he healed their sick.
“And when it was evening, his disciples came to him, saying, This is a desert place, and the time is now past; send the multitude away, that they may go into the villages, and buy themselves victuals.
“But Jesus said unto them, They need not depart; give ye them to eat.”
Jesus Christ showed us that during times of trial and adversity, we can recognize the difficulties of others. Moved with compassion, we can reach out and lift them. And as we do so, we are also lifted by our Christlike service. President Gordon B. Hinckley stated: “The best antidote I know for worry is work. The best medicine for despair is service. The best cure for weariness is the challenge of helping someone who is even more tired.”
In this, the Church of Jesus Christ, I have had many opportunities to minister and serve my fellow man. It is at those times when I feel that Heavenly Father lightens my burdens. President Russell M. Nelson is the prophet of God on the earth; he is a great example of how we should minister to others during difficult trials. I unite my testimony with those of many other Saints that God is our loving Heavenly Father. I have felt His infinite love during my dark days. Our Savior, Jesus Christ, understands our pains and our afflictions. He wants to ease our burdens and comfort us. We must follow His example by serving and ministering to those with even greater burdens than our own. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

On a recent Saturday, I invited my friend Mandy to come with me to a Primary activity. She had never been to our church before, and she had a good time. She met new friends, and we learned about traffic safety and the eleventh article of faith.

After the activity, we went bike riding in our neighborhood. When we rode around the back of the nearby apartment complex, we saw an elderly woman lying on the ground at the foot of the stairs. Her hand was cut, and she wasn’t moving! It looked like she had fallen while going up the stairs to a second-story apartment. We raced our bikes back to my house to get my mom and dad.

“Dad! Mom! A woman fell, and she’s not moving! And there’s blood!”

My parents ran to help, and Mandy and I rode our bikes. When we all got back to her, the woman—Mrs. Sumner—could speak but was a little confused. We introduced ourselves and made sure that she hadn’t broken any bones. Then my mom and my dad helped her to stand up and climb the stairs to her apartment. She said that she would call the doctor about her hand.

Mom told us later that it was a good thing that we were out riding our bikes and saw Mrs. Sumner and went for help, or she might have lain there for a long time. Mrs. Sumner is eighty-five years old. She lives alone, and sometimes has trouble getting around.

The next day my dad and I went to see how she was doing, and later Mandy and I took her some apples that we had picked.

Now Mrs. Sumner is our friend, and she has invited us to visit whenever we want. Sometimes she gives us cookies, and once she gave us each a little ceramic angel she had made. She told Mandy and me that we are her “little angels.”

In our family home evening, we talked about the Good Samaritan and how Jesus Christ wants us to help our neighbors when they are in trouble. I am glad that Mandy and I could be Good Samaritans, especially because now we have a new friend!

When I was 20, the missionaries baptized my girlfriend and her family. The missionaries taught me too. After I read the Book of Mormon, I received a testimony and was baptized. When I was 23, my girlfriend, Walkyria, and I were married. Several years later, we traveled to the Los Angeles California Temple to be sealed together. We couldn’t afford to take our children with us, so they were sealed to us when the first temple in Brazil, the São Paulo temple, opened.

When my wife and I visited Salt Lake City recently, we needed to find an ATM on the street. While we were looking around, we heard a voice from a parked car behind us say, “Are you looking for something? Can I help you?” The man, who introduced himself as Mike, added with a smile that it feels probably weird for a stranger to yell at us from a car, but in Utah we might not be surprised by that. He asked where we are from and when he learned that we are from Prague, his eyes lit up. He had recently spoken to a friend of his who was having trouble getting information about her ancestors from the Czech Republic, so he immediately wondered if there was anything we could do to help. We replied that we would be happy to send him contacts of brothers and sisters who were doing genealogy in our country. He thanked us, we said goodbye and he got into his car. As we were leaving, we noticed that Mike had gotten out of the car again and was coming back to us. This time, however, the happy smile was replaced by emotion.
With tears in his eyes, he told us how grateful he was for our brief encounter and that he felt urged to get out of the car. He had been trying unsuccessfully to help his friend with genealogy in Bohemia for a long time, and because of her advanced age, she was losing hope of finding her ancestors in Bohemia. Mike too was about to give up, but the previous day when he visited the temple he felt that the solution would come - and it came through us. And so he wanted to share with us the joy and gratitude he felt at another testimony of how wonderfully God‘s guidance works in our lives.
Our encounter with Mike is an example of how the Spirit works. Mike made an effort to listen to the promptings of the Holy Spirit and through his willingness to help complete strangers, he subsequently received not only help for his friend, but we all received another testimony of how God, through the Spirit, gives us answers and brings solutions. Yes, it was a small thing, but it is from such small and tiny things that the great mosaic of spiritual knowledge in our lives is made.

It was June of 1987 and I was visiting a friend for one week in a city 600 km from where I lived. When Sunday arrived, I told him that perhaps I’d not go to his ward but to a different one. The fact is that I was planning to secretly watch a very important soccer game on TV (a Sunday practice that I have since abandoned long ago) that would take place in the exact same time of his ward’s Sunday block. I did promise him that I would go to church in some other unit at a different time, but to no avail. He exercised his agency and persisted in convincing me to do the right thing. I ended up going to church with him and his family.
Now at that very same moment, on the other side of that very same city, a young woman—also a member of my friend’s ward—was similarly confronted with an important decision to make. She was ready to leave for church with her parents when her dear aunt and family unexpectedly arrived at her home to visit and stay for several days. For a moment, she felt like she needed to stay home and give proper attention to those relatives while the rest of the family went to church. However, a thought came to her mind: “Your relatives know of your faith, they’ll be fine staying in your home for some hours until you come back. Be a good example and honor the Sabbath day and everything will be fine”. That’s what she did.
When I arrived at my friend’s ward some minutes before sacrament meeting—and began talking with some young men of my age group—I saw from a distance this gorgeous green-eyed girl passing by and asked them: “Who is she?!?!” They told me to forget about her as every returned missionary in that stake was after her and I’d have no chance at all.
However, all of the sudden, this beautiful girl approaches and boldly asks me, in front of all:
Girl: “Can I ask you something: Are you married?”
Me: “No!” (because I want to marry you, I thought.)
Girl: “There’s a new mall in town, would you like to visit it with me tomorrow?”
Me: “Of course!!”
Girl: “And by the way, sacrament meeting will start momentarily, shall we sit together?”
Me: “Of course!!”
Me (turning to the awestruck guys around me): “If you will excuse me.”
I went into the chapel with her.
It was the same girl who was confronted with the decision of staying home with her unexpected visitors or coming to church that Sunday.
We married in the temple 10 months later. If both of us that day had not followed the promptings to go to church—regardless of our particular situations that day—we possibly wouldn’t ever have met.

As I sat at my desk, pondering the events of the upcoming day, I caught a glimpse of the early sun trying to pierce the dark clouds. My eyes focused on a nearby calendar in the corner of the room. It was the first day of October, and I had been on the England Manchester Mission staff for nearly five months. I could not believe how quickly the time had passed.
My thoughts were interrupted as I gazed at the morning mail heaped upon my desk, just waiting to be sent to eager missionaries. I quickly sorted through the letters and found several addressed to the mission. I carefully tore open each envelope, expecting to find referrals, bills, or notices.
The last envelope, however, contained a letter and a return envelope. Puzzled, I read the letter.
“Dear Sir,“My name is Ian Holden, and I will soon be 16 years old. I am writing to you after reading the New Era magazine.
“Last Thursday, I went to Halingden Library, as I often do after school. I went into the reference/periodical room, where I usually read magazines, newspapers, or use the reference books. On looking through the magazines, I noticed one I had not seen before, the June 1976 edition of the New Era.
“After reading through the magazine and finding it very interesting, I decided to further my knowledge of the Latter-day Saints by asking my Religious Education teacher if I could borrow any books that she might have on the Mormons. The result was my reading a critical booklet. Although the booklet was very critical, I was still deeply attracted to finding out more.
“Therefore, I must ask you to help me find my ‘new era’ in life. Please could you send me further details of the Latter-day Saints. I know that my parents would not mind me becoming a Mormon.
“Please reply soon.
“Yours Thankfully,”Ian Holden
My head pounded with excitement as I shared the letter with the rest of the office staff. I immediately looked up the missionaries in Ian’s area. He lived in an area assigned to the zone leaders in one of the Preston zones. The zone leaders happened to be coming in that very morning for supplies.
When the zone leaders, Elders Brown and Johnston, arrived, I rushed them into my office and let them have the news. They were also very excited and said they would drop by the following evening and try to meet with Ian.
Meanwhile, I quickly sat down to the typewriter and composed a short note to Ian, telling him that the missionaries would be coming by. I added a few brief words on how his letter had touched me, and ended with my testimony. I popped it in the letterbox right before the morning mail was collected.
Four days had not passed when I received a letter from Ian. He said that Elders Brown and Johnston had come by, and he expressed some of his inner feelings concerning Joseph Smith and his gratitude for the missionaries who brought this message.
He also recounted a little opposition that he was going through in gaining a strong witness of the truth. It was evident that he was studying the message out very deeply and sincerely in his mind. He had become a little depressed and expressed his feelings of doubt. I wasn’t too worried because many investigators experience feelings of doubt before a real testimony is gained.
I quickly jotted another brief note to Ian, trying to motivate and comfort him. I also sent an inspiring poem that my mother had sent me.
I kept in close contact with Elder Brown and Elder Johnston as I was anxious to hear of Ian’s progression. They assured me things were fine.
Another week passed, and I received yet another letter. This letter was full of excitement. Ian openly expressed how he had felt as he received his answer. His letter radiated gratitude for the gospel and what it was already doing for him.
He said, “I know that Satan will try harder, but now I have a stronger armour. My armour of faith is growing. In contrast to last week, which was one of depression, I have experienced great happiness. Today, for the first time in many years, I almost cried with happiness.” He also expressed another very special thought—he hoped to serve a mission. My head burned within me as I tucked the treasured letter in my desk drawer.
Ian’s next letter contained the exciting news of his upcoming baptism on the 26th of October. He said, “When the elders gave me the challenge, my eyes quickly filled with tears and I found it hard to give a reply.” He also mentioned that he had the highest respect for all missionaries, and he was looking forward to the day when he would be a missionary himself.
Weeks have passed, and Ian continues to write to me and share with me his growing experiences as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Many people throughout the world are waiting to discover this “new era,” the gospel of Jesus Christ, as was this curious young man, Ian Holden.
Elder Mark E. ChristensenEngland Manchester Mission

My name is Nene Quame Nyame S. I’m 14 years old, and I live in Ghana.
When I first went to senior high school, there was one thing I struggled with: when a new subject was introduced, I would find it difficult to understand. One evening I prayed to Heavenly Father to help me understand and overcome that challenge. I had faith, and I was able to understand better. Since then, prayer and faith have been on my to-do list in school and everywhere I go. Being in a boys school is challenging because of some of the immoral things students do. When that happens, the words of my parents come to my mind: “Don’t do something that will drive the Holy Ghost away.” I am grateful to my mum, who always reminds me to listen to the Holy Ghost. When we do what is right, God blesses us.
Nene Quame Nyame S., 14, Ghana.

One winter evening when I was about five or six years old, my father took me for a walk downtown. This was during the depression, when jobs were few and many homeless, hungry people were on the streets. My father and I were looking at all the store windows as we walked, and soon we found ourselves standing in front of the window of a sporting goods store. It was full of bright things that would catch every boy’s fancy—things like fishing lures and pocketknives for whittling.
A shabbily dressed boy was standing near us, looking longingly into the window. I didn’t pay much attention to him, but my father went over and spoke with him briefly, then put his hand on his shoulder and led him inside the store. I watched as he took the boy to a showcase of pocketknives, told him to pick one out, then paid the shopkeeper for the knife.
I didn’t get a pocketknife that day, but I did get a lesson. At the time, I felt let down, as a little boy would feel when the gift he thinks is his goes to someone else. But as my father and I walked away from the store, he said, “You have me. He doesn’t have anybody.” Later I realized how generous and how sensitive to the needs of others my father was.