Gospel Story Finder

Something happened to me that I found of great help to me, and it may be of help to you. A memory was replayed in my mind. It was of a hotel ballroom in New Brunswick, New Jersey. We were in the New Jersey District, a single district that covered the whole state.
There was no building, no gym, no stake center, and so we traveled to a hotel ballroom for what must have been a district conference. I was sitting on a folding chair somewhere near the back, next to my mother. I must have been very young because I can remember putting my legs through the back of the chair and sitting aft instead of forward. But then I remember hearing something—a man’s voice from the pulpit. I turned around and looked. I still remember that the speaker was at a rostrum set on wooden risers. There was a tall window behind him. He was the priesthood visitor. I don’t know who he was, but he was tall and bald, and he seemed very old to me.
He must have been talking about the Savior or the Prophet Joseph, or both, because that was all that I remember much of hearing in those days. But as he spoke, I knew that what he said came from God and that it was true, and it burned in my heart. That was before scholars told me how hard it was to know. I just knew of certainty—I knew it was true.
You can have that same confidence, not of yourself, but from God. He lives, and He communicates with His children. This is the Church of Jesus Christ, and He leads it. No assignment in it need ever overwhelm you if you know that and listen for the Master’s voice.
Now I can hear the young deacons saying, “Well, now, that may be fine for you, but surely you don’t think that’s going to help me in my assignment down here in this deacons quorum.” Oh yes, I do. I was a deacons quorum adviser. A boy, the president, presided in the meetings, and I taught the lessons out of the scriptures and out of the manual.
Illustrations by Ben Sowards
I remember one boy in the quorum had to miss a few meetings, and so he sent his brother to the class with a tape recorder. His brother recorded our meeting and took it home. It happened more than once. When the deacon came back, I asked him why. I don’t remember his words, but I remember that it was clear he knew what I knew. God was trying to speak to that deacons quorum. The boy wasn’t anxious to have a tape recording to hear me; he was trying to hear God. He knew where to listen and how to hear.
He’d read the scriptures for us in class, and I knew he knew them and loved them. And so, even when I wasn’t teaching very well, by the power of the Holy Ghost and from knowing the Master’s voice in the scriptures, he could hear what he needed to hear. The memory of that black recorder with its tape turning will always remind me of the scripture which says, “He that hath ears to hear, let him hear” (Matthew 11:15).
I spoke at his funeral just a few years later. He lived about as many years as the Prophet Joseph had lived when he saw God the Father and Jesus Christ in the grove. My deacon hadn’t seen a vision, but he had heard the voice of God through His servants in a deacons quorum. He wanted to hear, he knew how, and he had the faith he could. Like the boy prophet Joseph, he knew the heavens were open.
You and I can take confidence in that assurance. If you and I will study the scriptures and pray and tune our hearts and ears, we will hear the voice of God in the voice of the people that He has sent to teach and guide us and direct us. You and I can take confidence in that assurance for the Church itself. However large the kingdom will grow (and it will fill the earth), you will not ever feel lost or forgotten, and you need never feel overwhelmed. God will call people to care about you and to teach you. And if you will listen and hear the voice of God, the kingdom will roll forth to its appointed place, ready for the coming of the Master.
None of us can see now all the wonders of technology and organization and buildings that God may give us; but you, just you, hearing the voice of God through your teacher and leader, will always be at its heart.
I testify that God loves His children and can tell us what is true. I pray that we all may have ears to hear, that He may guide us.

Jack Frost had painted the windowpanes frosty white early that Saturday morning. So, late in the afternoon before it got dark and chilly, I went out to the garden to see my pumpkins. I grabbed the edge of the big plastic tarp that Dad had thrown over them to keep the frost away, lifted it up, and looked under it. There they were, all fourteen of them.
“Well, Jarom, how are your pumpkins doing?” Dad asked as he came around the corner of the house to look at his potato plants.
“Jack Frost hasn’t nipped them yet,” I said, “but I’d better pick them pretty soon. It’s only a week till Halloween.”
“What are you going to do with fourteen pumpkins?” Dad asked, shaking his head.
“I’m going to make jack-o’-lanterns.”
“Fourteen of them!” he exclaimed, wrinkling his brow. “Isn’t that a lot of jack-o’-lanterns? It takes a lot of work to carve just one. You’ll be carving pumpkins until Thanksgiving.”
I hadn’t thought of that. I scratched my head and peered under the tarp again. I just loved pumpkins. Dad had given me a corner of the family garden and had helped me plant five hills of pumpkins. During the summer, I’d watered and weeded them and had lifted up all the leaves to hunt for bugs. I had squashed every pumpkin-eating bug I could find.
Now I had fourteen of the orangiest, fattest, prettiest pumpkins in the whole town. I only had one problem: What was I going to do with all those pumpkins?
While Dad checked his potatoes, I sat on my very biggest pumpkin and thought. “Maybe we could make pumpkin pie,” I called to Dad.
“We’d be eating pumpkin pie until the Fourth of July,” he grunted.
“We could feed some to my hamster.”
“I don’t think your hamster is too crazy about pumpkins, but even if he is, it would take him a whole year to eat just one.”
Dad went into the house, and I stayed out in my pumpkin patch, thinking. Suddenly I smiled. I knew what I would do.
I jumped up and got my wagon and pulled it to the pumpkin patch. I picked three of my best pumpkins and put them into the wagon. Then I ran into the house for a pencil and some paper.
It was still light as I pulled my wagon down the sidewalk. I went straight to my friend Kirky’s house and pulled my wagon behind some bushes where no one could see me. I scribbled a note: “To Kirky from the Pumpkin Phantom.” Then, making certain that no one was looking, I grabbed one of my pumpkins, left it and the note on Kirky’s front porch, knocked loudly, and ran.
Next I sneaked over to Billy’s house because I knew that he didn’t have a pumpkin. I left him one on his front steps with a note: “To Billy from the Pumpkin Phantom.” And since Suzanne didn’t have her pumpkin yet, either, I knew right where to go next with the last pumpkin in my wagon.
I was having so much fun being the Pumpkin Phantom that I decided to go home and fill my wagon again. I took a pumpkin to Vanessa’s house and one to Cassie’s and three to Stephen (so that he and his two little sisters would each have one). The more pumpkins that I gave away, the better I felt. I hadn’t known that being a “phantom” could be so exciting.
It was starting to get dark when I got back home after making four trips with my wagon. My legs were sore from running, and my arms and back ached from lifting pumpkins, but boy was I happy!
After supper Dad asked, “Jarom, do you want me to help you carve one of your pumpkins tonight?”
My eyes got great big. “I sure do! I’ll go get one.”
I ran outside with a flashlight and looked under the tarp. But there wasn’t a single pumpkin left—I’d given them all away!
“I guess I don’t want a jack-o’-lantern this year,” I told my dad when I went back inside.
“You don’t want a jack-o’-lantern?” he asked. “Then why did you plant all those pumpkins?”
“I decided to be a pumpkin phantom, and I gave them away. I thought that I’d saved one for me, but I guess I hadn’t.”
“You gave all your pumpkins away?”
I nodded.
“All of them?” he asked again.
I nodded again.
The next day in Primary Sister Heaton, my teacher, said that she was going to tell us a story about sharing. Before she could, though, Vanessa raised her hand and said, “Sister Heaton, I know someone who shared.”
“Who?” Sister Heaton asked.
“The Pumpkin Phantom!”
“The Pumpkin Phantom?”
“Yes. Last night he left me the biggest, best pumpkin I’ve ever seen. I can hardly wait to make a jack-o’-lantern.”
“The Pumpkin Phantom came to my house, too,” Suzanne said with a grin.
“And to mine!” Stephen called out.
Pretty soon everyone was grinning and talking about the Pumpkin Phantom. “Well, just who is the Pumpkin Phantom?” Sister Heaton asked.
Everybody looked around, and said, “We don’t know, but he sure likes to share. He must be a very nice phantom.”
I didn’t say anything. I just sat with my arms folded and listened. But I was smiling great big inside. I didn’t even care that I didn’t have my own pumpkin, because I had a secret: I knew who the Pumpkin Phantom was.
As soon as I got home from Primary, I said to my dad, “I want an even bigger pumpkin patch next summer.”
“But Jarom, you had a hard time figuring out what to do with all of your pumpkins this year. Why do you want a bigger patch?”
“Because I’m the Pumpkin Phantom, and I need lots of pumpkins so that everybody in the neighborhood will have one. Besides, being the Pumpkin Phantom is better than having a whole house full of jack-o’-lanterns or a whole kitchen full of pumpkin pies!”

As the Simarróns shared the gospel with Chachi friends and neighbors, however, a serious conflict developed. Some Chachis felt that Virgilio Simarrón’s beliefs made him a heretic and even considered violence against him. Others felt that, as a governor, he should not participate in a new faith that might divide the people. With this concern, they took him to be tried by the communal council. It would be one of the most difficult experiences of Virgilio’s life.
Wilson relates what happened: “The council, in full assembly, told my father, ‘You will remain as our governor if you renounce the Church of Jesus Christ; you must retract.’ My father said, ‘I made a commitment to God, and when a man makes a commitment to God, it is not retractable. I cannot give up the Church. If you think I’m a governor who has divided the Chachi people, then oh my people, choose you this day another one in my place.’ Then I saw the scene of my father crying. The council was in total silence for more than five minutes—nobody said anything. Then someone said, ‘Then Governor, leave.’ Slowly my father stood, so my mom, my sister, and I went down and left the council.”

Back in 2000 we were living in London directing the Study Abroad Program. It was our kids’ first time in the city, so we spent a couple of days walking around the neighborhood and helping them get settled. On one of these walks down a busy street, Amy noticed a bus number that she had been wondering about, and since it was one of the old Routemaster buses with the driver up front and a conductor in the back, she hopped on the back platform to ask the conductor about its route and cost. Satisfied, she hopped back off, and the bus started to drive away. What we hadn’t noticed was that Hansen had followed her onto the bus. And as it drove away, we had a perfect view of his eight-year-old face looking quizzically at us from the back platform. A million things go through a parent’s mind at a time like this, including, “How in the world is he ever going to find his way back when he doesn’t have any money, doesn’t know the city, and has no idea where we live?”

Panicking that she would never be able to find him again, Amy starting yelling, “Jump!” In a panic of what would happen if he jumped off a speeding bus onto a busy street, I started yelling, “Don’t jump!” Caught in that awkward moment of conflicting parental demands, Hansen froze, uncertain what to do. Luckily, an observant businessman grabbed him, stopped him from jumping, and notified the driver to pull over.

In the aftermath of our little scare, we went to a great deal of effort to establish a family safety travel plan. If any of the kids ever got separated from the family, they were to get off at the next bus or Tube stop and wait for the family to catch up.

The old tabernacle in Provo was completed in 1898. It took years of sacrifice and effort to build it. Then, for more than a century, it stood as the ecclesiastical, communal, and cultural heart of Utah Valley, home to hundreds of thousands righteous Latter-day Saints. Blessed and dedicated for a mighty and sacred mission by George Q. Cannon, the tabernacle has received virtually every prophet of God from Lorenzo Snow to Thomas S. Monson to bear powerful testimony of the Savior. Even before it was dedicated, the tabernacle was put to sacred use by the Church, serving as home to General Conference in 1886 and 1887 when the Church was facing challenges with federal polygamy raids—the only time the Church has, since the move west, held its church-wide conference outside of Salt Lake City. This is to say nothing of the thousands of stake conferences held there for nearly a century and a half.

I attended dozens of those conferences myself. Twice a year, for many years, both as a young boy and an adult, I climbed up the old spiral staircases to sit in the expansive balcony and be taught by inspired leaders. It was also the site of other memorable moments, like a regional cub scout essay contest, my seminary graduation, a moving patriotic service, sensational concerts of sacred and secular music, a heartwarming National Day of Prayer event, and more than one funeral of someone I loved and admired deeply. Like thousands of others in the Provo area, I absolutely treasured that building for its historic beauty and looming role in my spiritual and civic development.

Thus it was nothing less than a personal and public tragedy when, during the night of December 16, 2010, the tabernacle caught on fire and was almost destroyed in its entirety. That evening, the tabernacle had been bustling with activity for the final rehearsal for a Christmas concert called Gloria, a musical retelling of the life of the Savior. With the hall filled with flowers, wreaths, and Christmas lights, many of the performers noted how magical everything felt, and how strong the Spirit was. In the days preparing for that moment, the composer, Lex de Azevedo said repeatedly how much he felt “God was supporting the endeavor”[15].

But as the rehearsal proceeded that night, a light fixture left too close to a wooden speaker box in the attic continued to heat the wood until it ignited. Though alarms went off, the slow-smoldering fire tucked up in the attic went unnoticed, and the alarms were dismissed as false[16]. Several other suspicious warnings were investigated through the night, but the fire was not discovered until 2:43 a.m. by a security guard. Within minutes firefighters were on the scene. But it was too late.

With a full concert set in place, as well as its unique spiral staircases, exquisite hand-carved rostrum, scores of historic benches, and an attic chock-full of 130-year-old 2-by-10 trusses, the tabernacle was one gigantic tinderbox. Consequently, once this four-alarm fire got going, it burned so fiercely that arriving crews could not safely battle it from the inside. Instead, the best they could do was fight the flames from outside. Thus, they trained their hoses on the building’s gorgeous and beloved stained-glass windows, blasting them into shards.

By 4:30 a.m. hundreds had gathered at a safe distance, watching in grief. Many were openly weeping. By 8 o’clock, the roof had caved in, and virtually everything on the inside steadily burned into a pile of charred rubble and ashes. Ultimately, all that remained was the historic structure’s brick shell.

Immediately, the community was awash in grief and confusion. I confess, I was too. How could this happen? Wasn’t this a good building, even a great building—dedicated and blessed for protection? Why would the Lord let this happen? And why now? It was Christmas! And a tireless and devoted cast was ready to perform their hearts out there in a musical tribute to the Savior for hundreds of guests. Why on earth would heaven have not protected this divine edifice at this moment of all moments?

It did not make much sense to any of us, including Buddy Richards, the stake president who oversaw the geographic area of Provo’s Tabernacle Square. The morning of the fire, Buddy was among the emotional masses who came to watch and grieve over the tabernacle’s smoldering embers. He was just incredulous. It all just seemed so wrong. With his heart breaking, he walked around the perimeter of the building asking himself, over and over, how could this have happened? And, then, looking through one of the blown-out windows, he saw something that caught his eye and stopped him in his tracks. Resting on a pile of debris was a painting. Around the edges, it was charred to a crisp like every other solitary thing in that building that wasn’t completely incinerated. But what was preserved, traced out almost to a “T,” in seemingly miraculous fashion, was the unburned image of the Savior.

As he sat there, thunderstruck over how miraculously preserved this image of the Savior seemed to be, having rested on a wall that was now nothing but a pile of burnt rubble he felt as if he was being drawn into a conversation with the Lord. Suddenly, in his mind’s eye, he was picturing the Savior addressing him saying, “Buddy, do you know whose house this is?” President Richards then heard himself saying, “Yes, it is Your house.” To which the Lord responded, “Then what business is it of yours if I want to remodel it?”

What President Richards got by impression early on, though only “through a glass, darkly”[17] was something President Thomas S. Monson brought out in big, bold, prophetic relief, eight months later at General Conference:

“Late last year the Provo Tabernacle in Utah County was seriously damaged by a terrible fire. This wonderful building, much beloved by generations of Latter-day Saints, was left with only the exterior walls standing. After careful study, we have decided to rebuild it with full preservation and restoration of the exterior, to become the second temple of the Church in the city of Provo”[18].

Did you hear the audience gasp? I remember the moment so well. I was one of the gaspers. In fact, I was a gasper who quickly dissolved into a bawler. With tears streaming down my cheeks, all of my questions here were fully and finally answered. The tabernacle had not been cast off and ruined forever. No, in a most startling way, it was being transformed into something even greater and more glorious.

Within weeks of President Monson’s announcement, a monumental effort got underway. Other nearby buildings were purchased and demolished. An adjacent underground parking lot and block of city street were acquired. An internal scaffolding was erected and shotcrete applied to shore up the strength of the tenuous brick walls. Most striking of all, the foundation was dug out and cleared away, while the newly shored-up brick walls, weighing roughly seven-million pounds, were, in a feat of engineering genius, suspended on 40-foot-high stilts made of steel without shifting an inch to the left or right. This allowed for a far stronger and more expansive substructure to be put in place—providing new earthquake resistant foundations, two levels of underground flooring, and a massively extended parking lot. Concrete walls were then poured where old wooden wall used to stand. And when a new massive steel beam skeletal structure for the whole building was added to that, a stunning new central tower was added to the roof—something that was part of the old tabernacle when it was first built, but had to later be removed for safety reasons.

Other finishing touches included new grand and spiral staircases that rose far higher and more ornately than anything previously in the tabernacle, new stained glass in beautiful pastels of gold and green, deep woven rugs and dark rich woods, in rooms with vaulted ceilings and soaring gothic arches throughout. On the outside, lush flower gardens, trees, walkways, and a Victorian pavilion with a fountain and gazebo. The picture is one of utter and complete transformation, inside and out.

Consider the building’s new-found reach. In the two weeks preceding the dedication, an estimated 841,000 individuals came to view this spectacular new structure—an audience vastly larger than was set to attend the Christmas concert the fateful night of the fire.

Six years ago, the flames that ravaged the Provo Tabernacle appeared to have ruined—if not completely destroyed forever—one of the loveliest and best things in all of Utah Valley. But just the opposite was true. Those flames were purifying and preparing the tabernacle for something even more extraordinary. Ultimately, the tabernacle was intended for a much grander, even celestial purpose. Well, brothers and sisters, so are you!

Thanks for the idea of sharing a subscription to the New Era. My friends were all delighted to have the subscription. One of my friends is even taking the missionary lessons now and is thinking of joining the Church. I can still remember when he received his first issue, which had a lot about the temples in it. After he had finished reading it, he came running over to my house, with his face glowing, and said “That’s where I want to be married—in the temple!” I’m not a member yet myself. It’s been a two-year wait for me, and I still have to wait another six months. Thanks for this wonderful missionary tool and especially for the article “Every Nonmember a Missionary.” I still remember my next door neighbor saying to me, “Here you are going around telling everybody about the Church, and you’re not even a member yet!” He is now planning to go on a mission when he’s 19. I have been fortunate to have been able to set a good example to many of my friends. As a matter of fact, I now have the opportunity to give a report in my California history class on the Mormon influence in California. It’s not going to be easy to limit myself to historical facts and not try to convert the whole class.
Adriana Lillian BrownMenlo Park, California

Ivanna: I don’t think of the commandments as restrictive or hard. Instead, I see the blessings that come from them, especially the Word of Wisdom. In Ukraine, a lot of teenagers drink alcohol. I work at a horse stable, and when coworkers offer me alcohol, I tell them I don’t drink. This hasn’t made them think any less of me. I stood my ground and didn’t fall into temptation. I know I am not alone. Heavenly Father supports me whenever I have troubles.

One of the most discouraging parts of my mission was the four months I spent in Tulancingo, México. The work was difficult. Day after day my companion and I spent long hours tracting, and no one was interested.
Finally, we found two men who listened to our message. I was excited because I felt these men would be great assets to Tulancingo’s small branch. But when both decided not to accept baptism, I was devastated.
About this time a 12-year-old girl came to Tulancingo to visit a family in the branch. She became interested in the Church and readily accepted the gospel. A short time later her father gave permission for her to be baptized.
But this baptism did little to lessen the disappointment I felt regarding those two men. I had hoped they would help build up the Church in this area. Because the girl was so young and the only member in her family, I wondered if she would remain active. She soon left Tulancingo after her baptism, and I lost contact with her. In fact, I completely forgot about her.
It has been more than 35 years since my mission, and not long ago I unexpectedly received the following letter:
Dear Brother Cooper,
My name is J. Jovita Pérez Acosta. I was baptized on 1 December 1965 in Tulancingo. I always thought I would very much like to thank you for bringing the gospel into my life.
When you taught me the gospel, I was 12 years old and was spending the summer in Tulancingo. I remember clearly the day I heard the history of Joseph Smith. I felt it was true, and that same night I knelt for the first time and prayed as you had taught me. On that occasion I learned how to talk with my Heavenly Father.
My mother was angry with my father because of my baptism, and they sent me to a Catholic boarding school. There were no members of the Church in all the area. I didn’t even have a Book of Mormon. But I continued to pray, and the seed you planted in my heart began to germinate.
One day while analyzing my religious situation, I felt that Heavenly Father was not pleased with me. I was confused. I told Him I wanted to belong to His Church. I asked that He help me be a good daughter to Him. A little while after this, I felt compelled to write to the [LDS] Church school in México City to ask to be enrolled there. I was accepted. It was then that my testimony began to form.
Seven years later my three younger sisters joined the Church, and they also went to live at the Church school. My mother had us attend her church during the summers; but even so, we read the scriptures, and we began to have family home evening. Ten years after my baptism, my mother and my youngest brother were baptized. A year later my father was baptized. We were the first member family in our town and in all the towns roundabout. The nearest meetinghouse was four hours away. My parents would travel every two weeks to go to Church services there.
During this period I became very ill and went to live for some months with my parents. We had family home evening every week. My mother would invite almost everyone around, and about 30 attended.
One day I called the mission home in México City to ask that missionaries be sent, and this was how the first branch was born in all that region. My father was the branch president, and my mother was the Relief Society president. Now there are many branches in the other towns, and they have been formed into two districts.
My youngest sister converted the man who is now her husband, and they both served missions. He is a bishop in Ciudad Juárez, and they have five children. Two of my nephews and a niece have also served missions. My oldest son returned last year from his mission, and my daughter is currently serving in Washington, D.C. My youngest son leaves next month to serve a mission in México.
In all, my parents have 26 grandchildren who are members of the Church. As you can see, one of the little seeds you planted many years ago has been transformed into a tree, and it is giving fruit and producing seeds for new trees. Isn’t it glorious? When my oldest son left for his mission, I told him that all he had to do was plant with love in the vineyard of the Lord. Perhaps he would never see the tree grow and produce fruit, but the Lord would.
The gospel has given me much happiness, and without it, I don’t know what my life would be. I know that Jesus Christ is my Redeemer and that His work will move forward, blessing the families of the earth.
Your sister in the faith,Jovita Pérez
As I read this letter, I was filled with joy. I now realize that perhaps the most important thing I accomplished on my mission was something that had seemed almost insignificant at the time.
Missionaries are rarely aware of all the results of their labors. But if we do all the good we can, without wondering and worrying about the consequences, we will find true joy in sharing the gospel.

When Lindo and Annabelle decided to get married, he was making enough to support only himself. At first her parents, also members of the Church, were hesitant to permit the marriage, he says. “But I promised them that we would do our best to obey the commandments and that the Lord would bless us. They decided to trust me.”

Annabelle had a good job at a medical center. “But the prophet had said that, if possible, the mother should not work outside the home,” he says. “We trusted the counsel of our leaders for her not to work.” They were blessed with a baby boy, Kahivhan—and now Lindo has a good job, and they have a nice apartment.

Early in my service as Church commissioner, I received a call from President Oaks, who invited me to be his companion speaker at an Ensign College devotional. I asked what he wanted me to speak about. He informed me that we would speak together, going back and forth at the podium discussing several difficult topics of the day, including race, prophetic infallibility, and gender.
Then he said, “I would like to make this authentic. So let’s not use a teleprompter. Let’s just go back and forth.”
Knowing the importance of following the prophet, I hesitantly said, “President Oaks, that will probably work for you. But for the sake of the Church, we may want to write out what I say.”
He compromised somewhere in the middle, and the title of that message was “Stand Fast with Love in Proclaiming Truth.”49 A year later, in a worldwide devotional, President Oaks would similarly counsel young adults to remember to teach truth with love.50

It has been very windy here lately--not an uncommon thing in April and May in Rexburg. On Sunday May 4, it was particularly windy, so much so, that a section of the fence in my back yard was blown down. This happened sometime in the afternoon between my telephone chat with my best friend in Utah, and my nap before working on this talk. As I looked out my kitchen window, I thought, "hmm, wouldn't it be nice if those students playing with their dogs came over and put my fence back up for me!" I knew it would be too heavy for me to do by myself, and so I thought, "Well, I guess I'll probably have to call my home teacher to come help me with that, or I could just go out there now and start to work on it and maybe one or two of those young men playing in the yard will come help. Well, it's Sunday. I probably shouldn't do that today, but if I wait the guy who comes to mow the lawn will be upset. The grass will turn yellow under the fence." A bunch of thoughts crossed my mind, and then, without choosing to do anything about it, I sat down to my computer. About an hour or so later, I got up to get myself a drink, and as I looked out my window, low and behold, the fence was already back up! I don't know the students who live behind me, but thank you for that little act of service that was a great example, and a great help to me. They could have waited for someone to ask them to do it, but they just did it! They chose to serve.

Brother Christensen: I have seen the growth of individuals, wards, stakes, and missionaries as students have followed the seminary and institute program. When President Augusto Lim of the Manila Philippines Stake was sustained as stake president, he said he was fearful for the continued existence of his stake, because of the lack of experienced leadership. In talking to him later, he said, “Now I find we have so many who have been through the seminary and institute program who know and can teach the gospel. The seminary and institute program has built leadership in our area.”

One youth Sunday School teacher wondered how to help two young men with autism act for themselves. When she invited class members to share what they were learning, she worried that these two young men might refuse her invitation. But they didn’t. One stood to teach what he had learned and then invited his classmate with autism to help him. When the first began to struggle, his classmate stayed with him and whispered in his ear so that he could feel successful. They were both teaching that day. They were teaching what the Savior taught, but they were also teaching how the Savior taught. When the Savior taught, He acted out of love for the one He was teaching, just as this classmate did for his friend.

One day his aunt, a newly baptized Latter-day Saint, introduced his family to the missionaries. Soon the Liaos joined the Church. “We were active for about a year,” Domingos says. “Then my parents stopped going. I kept on for a while; then I started to play cricket on Sundays. But my conscience kept nagging me that I should be in church.”
It was at this time that Domingos’s grandfather, who lived in Melbourne, suffered a stroke. He wasn’t expected to live. Domingos, 16, felt compelled to pray. “I told Heavenly Father if he would give Grandfather a chance, I would devote my life to the Church. But I didn’t just wait for him to recover. When we returned home, I returned to church. I’ve been taught that if you say something, you should do it.”
Grandpa did get better. And by the time he did, Domingos was going to church, not just to keep a promise, but because he truly believed it was the right thing to do.

“When I was about nine years old, I remember Grandpa sitting in his big overstuffed chair. He allowed me to stand behind him and comb his beautiful hair. I would part it in the middle then comb it back in different ways. Sometimes I would part his hair on the side and try a new style, and I would comb it down over his face in the process. He was very patient and let me comb it until my arms were tired.”

Julia’s heart pounded as she peeked into the empty room. The Primary classroom, with its half circle of folding chairs and dusty chalkboard, looked exactly like hers at home. But Julia’s stomach flip-flopped as she walked through the door. Things might look the same, but Julia knew they weren’t. Today she was a visitor.
Julia sank into the chair farthest from the door. She loved everything about her family’s summer visits to see cousins and grandparents, except for being a visitor in a different ward. Singing Primary songs and learning about the Savior was nice, but she didn’t like sitting by herself and not knowing anyone.
Julia also didn’t like listening to the other kids talk and laugh together while no one even looked at her. To her, it felt like no one cared if she came or not. It was like being invisible—Julia, the amazing invisible visitor!
Julia twirled her long blonde braids and wished she were back home with her own Primary teacher, Sister Johansson, and her best friend, Hanna. “Maybe this time will be different,” she told herself as she adjusted her glasses and smoothed her skirt one more time. “Maybe if I try really hard, I can make it different.”
Julia jumped as the door opened. Three girls stepped into the room, talking excitedly. Two boys followed. Julia took a quick breath and forced her mouth into a smile.
“Hi!” she burst out. Suddenly everyone’s eyes were on her. Julia’s face got hot.
“Uh, hi,” mumbled one of the girls.
“Are you new?” another girl asked.
Julia cleared her throat. “No, I’m just visiting my grandma.”
“Oh.”
Everyone chose a seat. Julia’s smile faded when she realized that each chair was taken except the one next to her. No one said a word to Julia. She stared at her hands. “The amazing invisible visitor strikes again,” she thought. A tear slid down her cheek.
A week later Julia’s heart seemed to float as she hurried down the hallway at church. It was so good to be home! When she walked into her classroom, Hanna was already there.
“Hi, Julia! I’m so glad you’re back!” Hanna said.
Julia sat down next to Hanna. Soon they were laughing and talking. Julia had just started to tell Hanna all about her week with Grandma when a tall, slender girl with reddish-gold hair appeared in the doorway. Julia watched the girl slip into the chair farthest from the door and sit by herself.
“She must be a visitor,” Julia thought. “Boy, am I glad it’s not me this time!” The girl raised her eyes to look around and then stared down at her hands. Julia’s heart twisted as no one said a word to the visitor. “I wish being the visitor didn’t have to be so hard,” she thought. “It should be different!” Last Sunday flashed through her mind for a moment as she remembered being the sad, invisible visitor. She blinked. Wait a minute—she could make it different this time!
Julia stood up. “Hi,” she said with a smile. She crossed the room and sat down in the chair next to the girl. “Are you visiting today?”
The girl looked up with wide eyes, and then her face lit up. “Yes, I’m visiting my aunt. Are you visiting too?”
Julia shook her head. “No, but I know how it is,” she explained. “I’m Julia. What’s your name?”
“Ella.”
“Want to come over and sit with Hanna and me?”
Ella grinned and nodded. As the two girls moved back across the room, Julia felt warm inside. “No invisible visitors allowed!” she thought. “Not if I can help it!”

Karen and her cousin Amy lived more than 1,200 miles apart. Karen knew Amy needed comfort, and while she couldn’t physically be there, the missionaries in Amy’s hometown could! Karen used the referral tool to tell the missionaries in Salt Lake City, Utah, USA, about Amy. “They called me, and I explained Amy’s upbringing, current situation, and that she felt God was mad at her,” Karen says.

Before long, the sister missionaries reached out to Amy. While on the phone with her, they prayed for her. That night, sobbing, Amy called Karen to tell her about the missionaries who prayed for her. “She was so touched by their kindness,” Amy says.

Even though Amy hasn’t started attending church, she has started praying daily to Heavenly Father. Karen doesn’t know what the future holds, but she says, “Amy is coming closer to Christ.”

The following experience shared by Sister Michelle D. Craig, former first counselor in the Young Women's General Presidency teaches us so well about praying to see things that we may not normally see:

“As I pray for the Lord to open my eyes to see things I might not normally see, I often ask myself two questions and pay attention to the impressions that come: What am I doing that I should stop doing? And what I am not doing that I should start doing?

“Some time ago, during the sacrament, I asked myself these questions and was surprised by the impression that came: Stop looking at your phone when you are waiting in lines. Looking at my phone in lines had become almost automatic. I found it a good time to multitask, catch up on email, look at headlines, or scroll through a social media feed. …

“The next morning, I found myself waiting in a line at the store. I pulled out my phone, and then remembered the impression I had received. I put my phone away and looked around. I saw an elderly gentleman in line ahead of me. His cart was empty except for a few cans of cat food. I felt a little awkward but said something really clever like, ‘I can see you have a cat.’ He said that a storm was coming, and he did not want to be caught without cat food. We visited briefly, and then he turned to me and said, ‘You know, I haven’t told anyone this, but today is my birthday.’ My heart melted. I wished him a happy birthday and offered a silent prayer of thanks that I had not been on my phone and missed an opportunity to truly see and connect with another person who needed it.

“With all of my heart, I do not want to be like those in the parable of the good Samaritan. Those who see a need, but then pass by. But too often, I think I am.

“I witness that Jesus Christ loves us and can give us eyes to see. Even when it’s hard, even when we’re tired, even when we’re lonely, and even when the outcomes are not as we hoped, through His grace He will bless us and increase our capacity.

“Through the power of the Holy Ghost, Christ will enable us to see ourselves and see others as He does. With His help, we can discern what is most needful. We can begin to see the hand of the Lord working in and through the ordinary details of our lives. We will see deeply.”

Amber stared up at the movie theater marquee and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. Her stomach twisted this way and that. Why does this have to happen to me now that I’m finally making friends here? she wondered. Trish, Sarah, and Kristin are so popular that I’m lucky they invited a new kid like me.
There were several people ahead of them in the ticket line. Amber knew that she had only a few minutes to make one of the toughest decisions of her twelve-year-old life.
She ran her fingers through her hair and pinched her lips together as she looked around at the girls with her. Their eyes sparkled with excitement.
“Only Trish could have come up with such a great plan!” exclaimed Sarah.
Trish, a tall, thin girl, laughed. “Well, since Bambi and TeenAgent are playing here together, why not take advantage of it?”
“I’m not sure my parents would let me go to a PG-13 movie if I asked them,” said Kristin, shoving her hands down into the back pockets of her jeans.
“But what parent would say no to good old Bambi!” Trish observed with a mischievous giggle. “Bambi—what a bore! It’s OK for five-year-olds, but we’re almost thirteen. Why shouldn’t we go to a PG-13 movie?”
Sarah moved a few steps closer to the ticket office. “It’ll be perfect. We see the other movie, and our parents think we’re at the kid show. Amber, you’re going to love TeenAgent. My older sister saw it, and she said it was great. The only reason it’s rated PG-13 is the bad language and a little bit of violence.”
“But it’s nothing we haven’t already heard at school,” Trish put in. “And what’s the big deal about a little violence? I can handle it, can’t you?” she asked Amber. Turning to the other two girls she continued, “TeenAgent will run longer than Bambi, so we’ll have to really hurry over to the pizza parlor afterward. If we’re still eating when my parents come, we’ll just tell them that the restaurant was really busy and it took a long time to get our pizza.” With a crooked smile, she added, “They’ll believe us.”
Amber’s stomach twisted into another knot as she looked at Trish and thought, Why didn’t you tell me the truth when you invited me? Why are you putting me in this awful—she couldn’t think of a right word for a second—situation. The word triggered a memory in Amber’s troubled mind. “You’re going to be put in situations that will test your spiritual strength.” She could picture Sister Hansen, her last Primary teacher, saying those words. “You may find yourself in situations that demand that you lower your standards. Unless you have a firm testimony of Jesus Christ and His Church, your spiritual strength may give way under peer pressure.” Spiritual strength. Testimony. The words echoed in Amber’s mind.
Sarah was buying her ticket now.
Which is more important to me right now: following our prophet, or my new friends? Amber’s mind raced as she watched Trish step up to buy her ticket. Do I really, truly believe?
“Amber, it’s your turn,” Kristin whispered after she’d bought her own ticket. Trish and Sarah were standing to the side of the ticket booth, watching her.
Stepping up to the booth, Amber said in a confident tone, “One ticket for Bambi, please.”
Sarah gasped. Trish’s look of surprise quickly turned into a smug glare. “You’ve got to be kidding,” she said as Amber joined them. “We’re all going to the other movie. What’s the big deal? Don’t you think you can handle a little blood and bad language?”
“I’d rather see Bambi,” Amber answered in a firm voice.
“Your parents won’t find out that you …” Sarah faltered.
Amber shook her head. “It’s not their decision. It’s mine. And I just don’t want to see the other movie.”
“But what about going for pizza afterward?” asked Kristin, now standing next to Trish.
Amber turned to Kristin. She could see worry in her kind eyes. “Bambi gets out a lot earlier, so I’ll just call my parents to come get me. Maybe we can all go for pizza another—”
“Come on,” Trish interrupted, taking Sarah’s arm. “I guess I made a big mistake inviting her.”
Amber thought she saw a glimmer of understanding in Sarah’s eyes as she was whisked away by Trish. After two or three hurried steps, Trish turned and called, “Come on, Kristin, or we won’t get good seats.”
“I think I’ll go to Bambi, too,” Kristin said, her voice sounding apologetic. Turning to Amber, she added, “If that’s OK with you.”
“Great—just great!” grumbled Trish as she and Sarah disappeared into the theater.
“OK? It’s wonderful! But are you sure? They looked pretty upset,” Amber said.
Kristin shrugged her shoulders. “I’d rather see Bambi, too, but I was afraid to say so. Trish can be pretty persuasive sometimes. Let’s go exchange my ticket.”
Standing in line again, Kristin asked, “Why didn’t you want to go to the other movie? Were you afraid your parents would find out and ground you or something?”
“I’m sure they’d be hurt to know that I lied to them. But even if I had asked to go to a PG-13 movie, they would’ve said it was my decision. Then they would have had faith in me to make the correct choice.” Amber found it a relief to talk about it now. “I just didn’t want to see a movie with bad language and violence in it.”
“Why not?”
“Because our prophet, the leader of our Church, has counseled us not to go to movies that go against the teachings of Jesus Christ.”
“Boy, you must really believe your prophet and your Church,” said Kristin.
“I do, but I didn’t realize how much until today.”
Kristin shook her head a little. “I wish I could be strong like you. My family doesn’t believe in anything, and sometimes I feel so empty.”
All through the movie, Amber thought about Kristin’s words and the look in her eyes when she had said them. As the movie ended and the lights came up, she said, “Kristin, let’s call my parents to come get us. We can go to my house for some of my mom’s famous chocolate chip cookies. You haven’t lived until you’ve tasted them!”
“Do you think it would be OK with your parents?” asked Kristin.
“I’m sure it would. Mom always says, ‘When you have five kids, what’s one more?’ Besides, I’d really like you to meet my family. I have a feeling that we’re going to be good friends.”

It all started with a joke: “You guys should make a commercial. They make millions!”
Joseph Sim of Alberta, Canada, had been chatting with his friend about how to save money for their missions when his friend’s dad joked that they ought to try their skills behind a camera and strike it rich.
The idea stuck, if only for the adventure factor. They began working together to create a fake commercial even though they didn’t expect fame or fortune to knock on their door anytime soon. The two friends started a YouTube channel and began uploading funny videos that were all about their quest of finding a way to make a commercial.
Things kind of snowballed from there.
While they were living it up creating the short videos, Joseph realized quickly how much he loved the art. He wanted to do more. “I had found my passion for filmmaking and started an LDS film group with my friends,” he said.
Those first videos from the LDS film group were goofy and funny shorts about Mormon culture, boasting such titles as “Stuff Mormons Say.”
After the new videos began gaining an audience Joseph decided to step up his game. He launched a web series about an ambitious young filmmaker looking for his break. These new comedy videos started getting more attention than ever before—so much attention, in fact, that the web series caught the eye of a major Canadian restaurant chain who wanted to partner with Joseph.
They contacted Joseph and said they wanted to advertise their product through the storyline. Joseph couldn’t believe his luck. “In my mind, this was the chance, the break,” he said. “I knew film production was where I wanted to end up.”
The restaurant chain liked his material so much they offered to re-shoot the existing four episodes he’d already finished. That meant better cameras and equipment, a budget, the works. Fame and fortune came a-knockin’ after all.
But then came the catch.
“They wanted to change the material,” Joseph said. “They wanted to taint the humor with sexual references and immoral situations.”
Joseph began feeling uneasy as soon as they started telling him their vision of reshaping his web series into something other than the clean material he’d created. They had a specific bar-and-grill type audience in mind and wanted the videos to appeal to that group. “Are you with us?” they asked.
Joseph’s head was spinning. “They had everything I thought I wanted,” he said. “But then I was reminded of a scripture, 3 Nephi 13:24: ‘No man can serve two masters; for either he will hate the one and love the other, or else he will hold to the one and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and Mammon.’ I knew there was no middle path. This was a simple choice.”
A simple choice, maybe, but not easy in the moment. “I felt panicked, worried, and scared I’d be left with regret,” he said. “But when I did in fact decline their offer, I felt total reassurance that I had made the right choice.”
They parted ways. The deal was off.
Fast-forward a couple years since that big decision. Joseph Sim is now Elder Sim of the England Leeds Mission. He still hopes to pursue film in the future, but he doesn’t regret in the slightest having turned down the offer.
“At the time I’m pretty sure I thought the earth itself would shatter in two,” he says. “But with a bit of hindsight, I’m fairly confident I simply stood in front of something all of us have faced: the crossroads of the world and the gospel. I’m also confident that this crossroads is a daily thing, not some milestone event in our lives. We’re constantly making the decision between convenience and covenants.”
Even though the web video deal didn’t go through, Elder Sim still learned a ton from his time behind the camera. A lot of which helps him as a missionary.
“I’ve noticed that a major key to success in filmmaking and missionary work is creativity, anything that makes us unique,” he said. “We spend so much time worrying about what other people will think and trying to be someone else that the world ends up missing out on us altogether.”
No matter who you are, your life’s a story in the making. Make sure you tell a good one.