Gospel Story Finder

Born 30 November 1874 at Oxfordshire, England, young Winston was the son of Lord Randolph Churchill and Jennie Jerome, a beautiful American woman. He longed for attention from his parents, whom he dearly loved, but Lord and Lady Randolph were caught up in political and social responsibilities and spent little time with their son. Consequently his nurse, Mrs. Everest, whom he affectionately called “Woom,” was the one whom he grew to love as a mother.

During his early life, Woom was the only person who gave Winston any real love. When she visited him at Harrow, he walked hand-in-hand with her, despite the ridicule of his schoolmates. Years later, one of his classmates wrote that it was one of the greatest acts of courage and compassion that he had ever seen. Winston wrote and visited Woom often, and he kept a picture of her on his desk until he died.

Our son did this long ago on a family trip. We had traveled many miles to see a beautiful castle. By the time we finally arrived, one of our younger daughters was tired and cross. She refused to get out of the car to take the short hike to the site we had come so far to see. Most of us felt impatient with her. But with gentleness our 14-year-old son lifted her on his back and carried her to the castle. That tense moment was softened by his quiet expression of love. That now lives in each of our memories more than the view of the castle.

I may not have met him physically, but spiritually I feel I have. Whenever I read his inspired messages, I imagine him talking to me one-to-one with his hand on my shoulder. A First Presidency Message entitled “Life’s Obligations” (see Ensign, Feb. 1999, 2) helped me understand that although income is important, I do not need to be a multimillionaire to be happy. This message has brought me inner peace and satisfaction.
Encouraged also by the prophet’s counsel in that same message not to waste the great days of preparation for my future work, I decided to enroll in a computer engineering training college for one year. I was undertaking my one year of National Youth Service in Nigeria and resolved to use my time judiciously. At the end of the program, I knew how to repair and install computer systems. Now my first successful appointment after my year of service is based on my added knowledge of computer systems.

Providing that environment can sometimes tax one’s preparation. I recall vividly the time when one of our children, then a first-grader, came bursting into the kitchen to tell me of a new word he had just learned. It was a hard and adult word, but he was so proudly spelling and pronouncing it. Yet, when he spelled it one letter was wrong. As I look back, I am not sure why I did not correct him. Perhaps I thought it wouldn’t matter for the moment. He went from the kitchen to where his father was studying and told him his new word. His father explained the error and corrected it.

Our son came back to me and asked, “Mother, why didn’t you tell me it was wrong?” I didn’t have a very good answer that day, but I had a good lesson. I learned how much it does matter, and that children depend upon mothers to tell them what is wrong—what is wrong and right about words, about life, and about the world with which they are trying to cope. I think it is not possible for a mother to be overtrained for her role.

It was turning out to be the worst Christmas Eve a missionary could have. All three of our baptisms scheduled for Christmas day had just fallen through. Instead of the “white” Christmas my companion and I were hoping for, it was going to be just another hot day in Chile.
To top it off, our Christmas Eve dinner invitation was cancelled. Chileans hold their big celebration on Christmas Eve, so it was like missing out on Christmas dinner.
As my companion and I walked dejectedly past the small, fenced-in chapel, the branch president stopped us and asked where we were spending Christmas Eve. We told him we had no plans. He then invited us to his home that evening for dinner.
That night we went to the branch president’s house, a small structure covered with a tin roof. At the table, my companion and I were invited to sit in the chairs usually reserved for the branch president and his wife. They graciously shared their meal with us. It must have been a sacrifice for them to feed two hungry missionaries, especially with only a few hours’ notice. Then this kind family gave my companion and me each a wonderful gift of a white handkerchief.
We didn’t get our “white” Christmas with lots of baptisms. Instead, we learned from a young, humble branch president that it is, indeed, “more blessed to give than to receive” (Acts 20:35).
Lester Dimit served in the Chile Santiago South Mission; he is a member of the Reedville Ward, Cedar Mill Oregon Stake.

After a few weeks of hard proselyting, my patience was wearing thin and I began to get angry at very small things. During a particularly discouraging day, I briefly scanned the pages of the March 1992 issue of the New Era. My eyes were drawn to the article “Flunked.” After finishing the story, I felt much better. I had been touched by the Spirit and the anger I was feeling was gone. That article has become a source of personal strength for me as I continue to share the gospel daily.
Elder Kevin HillChile Vina del Mar Mission

A few months ago I was having trouble keeping the commandments. One morning as I was reading my scriptures, I read 1 Nephi 10:18: “And the way is prepared for all men from the foundation of the world, if it so be that they repent and come unto him.”
That verse gave me the courage I needed to speak to my bishop. Because of my example one of my closest friends, who also was struggling, spoke to her bishop, as well. Then we were able to go to the temple to do baptisms for the dead.
I know that our Heavenly Father loves us and that His Son Jesus Christ atoned for our sins. I’m grateful for this knowledge.

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.

The Provo Utah Sharon East Stake often goes camping or holds outdoor activities for part of its youth conference. But last year, the youth stayed in town and helped in the revitalization project of one of the pioneer neighborhoods in Provo.

Mark Stringham, 16, was on the youth planning committee. They were tossing around the idea of doing a service-oriented project. One of their leaders is involved in city government. He said there was a neighborhood that needed some help. Mark said, “The minute he said it, everybody’s mind just went, Boom. That’s what we need to do.”

The teens worked with an organization already involved in helping the residents improve their land and keep their homes in good repair. To make the project even more enjoyable, the stake invited the teens who live in the neighborhood to come to their youth conference. The young people didn’t know each other because they attended different high schools, so giving service together also became a time to gain new friends.

Brendan Wright, 17, said, “The theme of our youth conference was by helping others you can raise yourself. When you get here, it just explodes. It’s fun. You get to know people. You take pride in what you’re doing. This is my little section of the house. I’m going to paint it the best I can.”

The group not only painted houses, they helped cut down the high, dry weeds running along the railroad tracks. One spark from a passing train could start a fire, and the growth was so tall and dry, it could have caused major problems if it spread to nearby homes. Looking a little like they had been rolling in haystacks, because of the bits of dry grass sticking to their clothes and hair, one group had the weedeaters going full blast. Then passing motorists began to stop and tell them it looked good and how much they appreciated them helping out. The word was spreading with the good works.

Giving service is like dropping stones in a pond of water. From one small act, the ripples start to spread. One act of service creates ripples of hope and encouragement that spread through neighborhoods, communities, and towns.

The ripples are not just on the outside. The teens who made themselves get up early and participate found out that being of service did something for them as well. There is satisfaction in working hard, in joining your friends involved in good works, in making something better. Now if it were only a little easier to get out of bed.

Call the mayor’s office or city government. Ask if there is a person who coordinates volunteer efforts, and set up a meeting with them to come up with ideas.
Create a planning committee. Include both young people and leaders.
Identify everyone that needs to be contacted and what permissions will be required.
Select a day and time. Make sure there are no major conflicts with other church or school activities. Make sure everyone receives notification of the event at least two or three weeks in advance.
Plan in some fun breaks in the work schedule.
Make realistic plans. Make sure you can finish what you start.
Enjoy the good feelings that go with being of service.

I will never forget the day I decided to go on a mission. My mother and I were the first in our family to join the Church. The missionaries came to our home and taught us many great things that we didn’t know before: about the Lord’s true Church, prophets, the priesthood, and how it was restored again after a great apostasy. Their teachings and invitation to come and see how the Church was organized made us feel the Spirit as we had never felt before. Eventually my mother and I decided to join the Church.
We were so happy, every Sunday attending sacrament meeting and seeing the love the members of the Church showed us. My mom and I waited for my father who was working in Dubai to come and be baptized, and my brother was studying in Vijayawada where there is no Church. Fortunately, a home group was started in Vijayawada and missionaries from Rajahmundry went there and taught him. I baptized him. The day came that my father arrived from his work the missionaries met him, taught him, and invited him to be baptized, but he had an issue with the Word of Wisdom. Finally, he overcame it with the help of the missionaries and he also joined the Church. My brother baptized him. Now all four members in our family have joined the Church and have seen many miracles in our lives.
I was baptized when I was 18 years old and I never thought about serving a mission. Missionaries and members of the Church use to ask me about it whenever we met. I used to say, “I will think about it, let me finish my studies.” I finished my studies. The members continued to ask, “When are you going to serve a mission?” I would answer, “Let me make some money then I will think about it.” Every time, I used to give excuses for not serving a mission.
One day I sat on the rooftop, thinking about what I should do, wondering why God had given me challenges. Just one thought came into my mind: “Go on a mission.” A few days later I watched general conference with lots of questions. The main one was about my mission. I was waiting for the answers, when I heard President Dieter F. Uchtdorf say, “Those who love and serve God and fellowmen and humbly and actively participate in His work will see wondrous things happen in their lives and in the lives of those they love”1. I felt very strongly that it was the perfect answer from Him that I needed. The next moment I spoke to my mom. She did not want me to serve a mission. She had said many times, “I can’t live two years without you.” That day I thought she might say no, but she said, “I am happy to send you on a mission.”
I submitted my papers and waited for my call letter for almost one year. Meanwhile I went on exchanges with missionaries and learned a lot from them. This preparation helped me to gain a strong testimony to never give up on my mission and taught me how important it is to serve the Lord. Eventually the wait was over. The call letter came. When I opened it and saw that I was called to serve in the India New Delhi Mission, I was shocked. I read the letter again and saw at the bottom, “your purpose will be to invite others to come unto Christ.” I felt joy and happiness. I was prepared to leave my home, family, and friends.
There is no other place I would rather be than in the India New Delhi Mission where I have come to know who I am and why God sent me here. Because of Jesus Christ, I have the power to deal with the burdens, obstacles, and temptations. He had delivered me from physical and spiritual danger. The mission field is like a washing machine where we, like a dirty cloth, can be put in it, to be twisted, spun and knocked around and come out brighter, cleaner and better than before.
The Lord demands our whole soul on the sacrificial altar. That is the price we must pay, and when we do, we become instruments in his hands. We are all answerable to Him in this life, and in the next, we will be held accountable when we are called before Him to make our report. When that time comes, I will stand before Him to give an account of my stewardship. I pray that I may be able to do so without embarrassment, apology, or excuse. I am not perfect, I do have my weaknesses, but I can say that I have tried to do what the Lord would have me do as his servant disciple.

The tardy bell rang just as I ran through the front door of the seminary building. Quickly, I slid into my seat, the third desk back on the first row, expecting another ordinary day in fifth period and not the memorable experience I was about to have.
“I’d like to welcome you all here today,” our teacher began. He said that every day, but we all knew he meant what he said. He was affectionately known as Brother C., and it was his genuine concern for each of his students that made this class of impatient ninth graders put aside their important conversations and daydreams to listen to him.
“Today we’re going to do something a little different,” he said. “I’ve prepared a special lesson centered around a concept President Kimball taught, and it starts with a very important question.
This should be a good change, I thought. I wonder what this important question is.
“Okay. Here is the question. What is the most important word?”
I sat up with a start. I knew someone was going to say boys, girls or something else ninth graders think about. I heard Brother C. call on someone.
“Kathy, what do you think is the most important word?” he asked.
“Um … um … boys!” she said, as the entire class became swallowed in laughter. Someone had to say that.
“All right, quiet down,” Brother C. said. “Let’s be serious.” Slowly, Tony raised his hand and said he thought families was an important word.
“That’s a good answer. Any other ideas?” questioned Brother C., as he sat down on the corner of his desk. “Let’s hear some response.”
David said, “I think love is the most important word because if we all love each other, then we’re happy.”
I liked his answer, and I was fascinated by the question. The class hour sped by as people were called on to tell what they thought the most important word was. Each time an answer was given, Brother C.’s kind voice said, “That’s a good answer, but it’s not the word I’m looking for.”
We went through what seemed like a thousand words: love, family, scriptures, prayer, faith, Christ, priesthood, prophet, resurrection, temple, and eternity. I began to wonder if there was really an answer. Finally, Brother C. looked at the clock.
“You’ve all given wonderful answers,” he said. “But the word I was looking for encompasses all of the beautiful words you’ve mentioned. The most important word is remember.”
“If you remember,” he said, “you won’t forget to pray. You won’t forget to serve or love. You will remember to read the scriptures. You will not forget your family and friends. You will remember to obey the prophet. You’ll keep in your heart the knowledge that Jesus Christ sacrificed his life for us, and you will love him as he loves you. You will remember why you came to this earth. And you will remember you are sons and daughters of God. You can return home to him if you remember to keep his commandments and live your lives the way he has asked.”
Then he bore his testimony and told us how much he loved us. We knew he did. I felt his love for me when I saw the twinkling smile in his eyes as he came over and shook my hand. I knew he loved me when he asked, “Will you remember?”
I almost told him yes, but just then the bell rang—but I remembered.
Most of the things I learned in seminary haven’t remained as vivid in my mind and heart as that lesson. But that lesson, and that day, I did not forget.
When temptations came, I remembered to get on my knees and pray. When I was discouraged and felt alone, I remembered that families can be forever. And no matter what crisis came, I remembered. I knew my Father in Heaven was near, and I knew he loved me.
But more important than anything else, I remembered who I was and why I was on earth. It kept me trying when I wanted to give up, and it helped me remember things like giving, learning, scriptures, and love.
Now, when I think of those important gospel truths which have become so precious to me, I also remember that day I ran in late to seminary. I am grateful for a caring, loving seminary teacher, and in my mind I see the twinkling smile in his eye as he shakes my hand. I hear him ask me if I remember, and I do. Will you?

Less than three months after she was married, she was hospitalized for a thrombosis in her right leg, and, after several months in the hospital, her leg was in such a bad condition that the doctor determined that the only option to avoid further complications was to amputate it. At that moment, she felt desperate: “I was anguished, not because of myself, but because I felt it was unfair for my husband that when he was newly married, he had to go through having his wife in that situation.”

Asking the doctor for a day to think before the surgery, she wondered what they could do to find out if that was really the Lord’s will. She claims that something told her that she “had forgotten some things,” and she was inspired to ask her husband and her father to call some members of the Church to do a collective fast.

She was greatly surprised to see that many members joined this fast, and what surprised her even more was that she could see that the Lord performed a miracle. The next day, the doctor could not believe the great change in her condition, reversing his decision to do the surgery and allowing her to have her leg today, with no sign of the state it was in at that time.

We were assigned to a small branch of about sixty members, most of whom were inactive. On our first Sunday there, Ben and the branch president were the only two in priesthood meeting. Fourteen attended Sunday School and sacrament meeting. Nevertheless, it was a thrill to see my husband once again able to bless the sacrament and give an opening prayer.
We began our labors by seeking out all of the members the branch had records for and trying to stimulate a desire in them to become active. This was not easy. They were scattered in many directions living on country roads that had no identifying signs or names. Some of the members had been out of touch with the Church for many years. Each Sunday morning we watched anxiously for those we had contacted, but we were successful in getting only a few out.
The branch president was discouraged and recommended that the branch be closed. We knew that if this happened, all those who were inactive would be lost and the gospel would cease to be spread in that area. The bishop under whose direction the branch was operating called a meeting and announced that there were two alternatives: to close the branch, or to sustain Ben as branch president and give it another try. Ben was sustained and set apart.
This was a most humbling experience for us. With so many obstacles in the way, there was only one course to take: to rely completely on our Heavenly Father for help and guidance and work with all the strength we could muster. Night after night, Ben asked the Lord for strength, wisdom, and direction, often praying in the quiet chapel next to the two rooms where we lived and held classes on Sunday.
One night he came back from the chapel and said, “I think I have the answer. It is through the young people that the branch will grow.”
It was at this point that things began to happen. We taught the gospel to a thirteen-year-old girl whom we baptized. She brought her nonmember friends. I feel sure she was sent to us. We organized the youth programs, and served refreshments at every meeting in a recreation center we set up in the back yard. We used the missionary discussions for lessons.
Then the Lord sent us a family of new converts—an active father and mother with three children—who moved into the area. This gave us another child for Primary and two teenagers to add to the MIA. It also gave me a counselor (I was Relief Society president), and Ben now had a counselor to assist him. The new family’s sixteen-year-old son was unresponsive to the gospel message and hadn’t been baptized, but the young elders worked with him and soon he, too, joined the Church. Then we had a priest to bless the sacrament.
When we organized a genealogy class, particularly for a group of nonmembers in town who were doing genealogy as a hobby, we asked Heavenly Father for help in finding a teacher. He sent us another family; the wife was a genealogy expert. She agreed to teach the class every Tuesday night. She was also an excellent pianist and an expert in arts and crafts, which was a big asset to the branch. Her husband became the Sunday School president, and we had another child for Primary.
Through this family we heard of a young couple who had become curious about the Church. They were teaching a Sunday School class in another church and had heard so much negative commentary about the Mormons that they were curious. We drove the young elders to their home to give them the missionary lessons while we worked with another family. Both families became active members of the branch, giving us a Sunday School teacher, a branch clerk, a teacher for the Relief Society, and another child for Primary.
In our search for families, this story is typical. For several months we had been searching and praying to find a Latter-day Saint family we had heard lived somewhere in our town. One morning my husband had a sudden inspiration to ask a man who worked for the town water supply department if he knew anyone by that name. “Sure, I know him,” the man said, and told us where the “missing” member worked. Ben found the man and learned that he had joined the Church several years before but had been inactive for the past four years. His wife and three children were attending another church. When we invited him to come to church, he was reluctant because he smoked and liked to drink. But Ben did not give up. He contacted him several times at his work and assured him that we would love him even if he did smoke and drink. We visited his family and got the eight-year-old and the thirteen-year-old to join us at church. Soon this man stopped smoking and drinking, and his family attended all our meetings faithfully. His two children were baptized. Several months later he was ordained an elder and became the teacher of the investigator class.
As these experiences continued, the little branch grew. By the end of the year, all the auxiliaries were fully organized and attendance at Sunday School and sacrament meeting averaged about fifty. By the following May, the building was full to the point of overflowing and we were looking for a new place to meet and for land on which to build a chapel.
There were more baptisms, more new families moved into the area, and more members were activated. In June the branch was made an independent branch, and land had been selected for the chapel. The first man the Lord sent to us those many months before became the branch president.
We stayed in this area for another two months, and then it was time for us to move on to a new location. This was a heartbreaking day. We had found great joy in our service there, and those brothers and sisters and children had become like family to us. The heartwarming telephone calls and letters we still receive from time to time are a constant source of joy to us.
One of the choice blessings we gained from our mission was the ability to love all kinds of people, no matter who they are or how distressing their situation.
One day we got a call from a woman who was an alcoholic. She had joined the Church in her early married years and had been active as a Sunday School teacher. But when we found her she was lying sick in a tiny two-room trailer home.
After we took her to the hospital, we assumed the task of cleaning up the trailer, where she and her two boys, ages eleven and fifteen, had been living in unbelievable conditions. As I stood washing dishes in the midst of empty whisky bottles, beer cans, and dirty clothes, with the sun beating down on the tin roof and sweat running down my face, with roaches crawling on my legs, and with an almost unbearable stench permeating the air—somehow it didn’t seem to matter that much. One of God’s children needed help. Over and over again, the scripture came to me: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” (Matt. 25:40.)
We worked with this woman for the next ten months, and the boys started coming to their Church meetings. Each time we would visit, she would put her arms around me and tell me how much she loved me.
In our second location, we were again assigned to work with the many inactive families in the branch. In the remaining four months of our mission, we were able to visit about sixty-five of these families, some of them several times. We were only able to activate about ten families, but we made many friends and had many heartwarming experiences. We hoped to have sown seeds that would eventually sprout and grow.
Three baptisms the night before we left brought our mission to a beautiful close. These were children of part-member families, and teaching them the gospel was one of the greatest spiritual experiences of our mission. During the lessons the children seemed to hang on every word with wide-eyed wonder, and I felt as though we were surrounded by angels. There was a large crowd at the baptism, and again the Spirit was very strong in our midst. Afterwards there was a time of tears, embracing, and good-byes.
It is remarkable and marvelous how the Lord is able to work through human beings as weak and simple as my husband and me to accomplish his purposes. Ben often said to people, “I don’t do much. My wife has to do most of the talking.” But this was not so. In spite of his handicaps, he had very special talents and qualifications that were needed for our work. It was his patience, long-suffering, and persistence, his selflessness and generosity, his faith, his ability to reach the down-and-out and backsliding, that made it possible for the Lord to work through him and pull us through the difficult parts of our mission.
As we reflected on our mission, we came to an important and surprising realization: that every experience of our lives, even the seemingly ordinary things, seemed to have been part of the preparation for our mission. Ben’s many years of experience in working with the youth in Scouting, MIA, and Sunday School paid off greatly. His experience in organizing and directing men at work helped him. His ability as a handyman was also very useful. Little children loved and idolized him because he loved them dearly and could relate to them.
As it was with Ben, so it was with me. Almost every experience I had had in my life seemed to be a preparation for the work I needed to do on my mission. Bits of wisdom tucked away even in childhood, my experience in music and drama, secretarial work, and nursing, my training in psychology and work in a mental hospital, my homemaking skills, my years through the Depression, my seminary work, my experience with raising a large family, my positions in the Church—all proved to be useful. It was amazing how the Spirit of the Lord opened to my use many of my most hidden resources.
All in all, our eighteen months in the mission field was a glorious experience. The blessings we received and the answers to our prayers—both for help in our personal lives and in the lives of those we sought to reach—are too numerous to relate. The Lord was with us every step of the way and every hour of the day. The love and experiences we shared with those kind and loving people gave us some of the most beautiful moments in our lives. The sweet relationship we had with the young elders is also a treasured memory. Our wonderful zone conferences each month, which gave us such spiritual uplift and inspiration, are unforgettable moments.
To those couples who are timid and feel inadequate or incapable of a mission, I would say this: If we could do it, you can too. Don’t be reluctant or afraid. If you are willing, and if you trust in the Lord, he will give you the needed strength.

The sacrament is an ordinance that helps us stay on the path, and worthily partaking is evidence that we are keeping the covenants associated with all the other ordinances. A few years ago, while my wife, Anita, and I were serving in the Arkansas Little Rock Mission, I went out to teach with two young missionaries. During the lesson, the good brother we were teaching said, “I have been to your church; why do you have to eat bread and drink water every Sunday? In our church, we do it twice a year, on Easter and Christmas, and that is very meaningful.”

We shared with him that we are commanded to “meet together oft to partake of bread and wine” (Moroni 6:6; see also D&C 20:75). We read out loud Matthew 26 and 3 Nephi 18. He responded that he still did not see the necessity.

We then shared the following comparison: “Imagine you are involved in a very serious car accident. You have been injured and are unconscious. Someone runs by, seeing that you are unconscious, and dials the emergency number, 911. You are attended to and regain consciousness.”

We asked this brother, “When you are able to recognize your surroundings, what questions will you have?”

He said, “I will want to know how I got there and who found me. I will want to thank him every day because he saved my life.”

We shared with this good brother how the Savior saved our lives and how we need to thank Him every day, every day, every day!

We then asked, “Knowing that He gave His life for you and us, how often do you want to eat the bread and drink the water as emblems of His body and blood?”

He said, “I get it, I get it. But one more thing. Your church is not lively like ours.”

To that we responded, “What would you do if the Savior Jesus Christ walked through your door?”

He said, “Immediately, I would go down to my knees.”

We asked, “Isn’t that what you feel when you walk into Latter-day Saint chapels—reverence for the Savior?”

He said, “I get it, I get it, I get it!”

He showed up at church that Easter Sunday and kept returning.

Some of the best ambassadors for the Church were those who shared their talents as performers. I remember one incident in Bulgaria in 1991 when Brigham Young University’s Lamanite Generation (now named Living Legends) came to Sofia. These singers and dancers performed in a large cultural center before some 5,000 people—including a large number of children. Many influential people were there; in fact, the minister of health was sitting next to me.
At the end of the group’s traditional numbers, in a spontaneous expression of love for the performers, the children rushed the stage. And with them was the minister of health. He was out of his seat and on the stage before I could even get out of mine.
As the children approached the performers, the Lamanite Generation began to sing “I Am a Child of God.” The Bulgarians had never heard the song, but it had such an effect that everyone stopped and reverently sat down, filling the stage.
That and similar experiences have convinced me that the Spirit knows no borders. It needs no visa to cross borders and touch hearts. The Lord was at work long before the Church was able to send missionaries back into the countries of Eastern Europe.

Brother Connell was a recent convert to the Church and was called to be the teachers quorum adviser. I was fourteen and a new member of the quorum. I was called as the president, even though I was having a great deal of trouble learning to control my temper.
The young men of the ward went on a cave exploration trip to a cave in Indiana, about two hundred miles from home. This trip was taken in the cool of October. I became very angry over a situation and said I was going to walk home. I started out on my long journey. After I had walked a short distance, all the cars in our party went past me and did not even slow down. My jaw dropped and I thought, “Oh, no, they’re leaving me.” Then I turned around and saw Brother Connell following me. I felt ashamed and embarrassed. I stopped and waited for him to catch up. He told me he would not let me walk home alone and would join me. We walked for about five miles. Brother Connell helped me understand my feelings and straighten them out. By prior arrangement, one of the cars returned and picked us up. This was the beginning of a great friendship between Brother Connell and me. During the time that Brother Connell was my adviser, he helped me to control my temper and use my energy in constructive ways. He had me come and help him put a new roof on his house. He has had me babysit his children. Brother Connell has helped me learn more about the gospel and how to care about other people.

At school I have a teacher who has the kind of personality that might scare someone from sharing opposing views on a subject. One day we got on the topic of LDS missionaries. I knew I could have answered his questions, but I felt like I shouldn’t. So I said just enough to satisfy him for the time being.
For the next few weeks I couldn’t stop thinking about our conversation. Finally, a thought came to me that I should give him a Book of Mormon with a few highlighted phrases about missionary work. The thought scared me, but it persisted. I knew it was a prompting I had to follow.
About two months later, I had the Book of Mormon ready. All day long I felt like the book was burning a hole in my backpack. The three seconds it took for me to hand it to him as I left for winter break was the scariest moment of my life.
On the first day back, I passed his classroom but was scared to go in. Then I heard him call for me, and he gave me a card. I read it in the hallway. He wrote that he had studied “at length” the passages I had marked, and he was beginning to see some reasons behind my faith.
I get excited sharing the gospel now, and I am even more excited to serve my Heavenly Father on a mission soon.

During a recent multistake dance I attended as a chaperone, I decided to make friends with another chaperone. I learned that we had met briefly before, that she lived in a different stake, and that we had friends in common. I also learned she was from Rochester, New York, USA, where her family had lived for many years.
I told my new friend, Sara, that my mom was born and raised in Rochester. Sara asked for my mother’s maiden name. I insisted there was no way she’d know her. My mother was not a member of the Church back then.
I explained that Mom had joined the Church her freshman year while attending college in Missouri. In high school, she had had a high school teacher she respected. He was always kind to her and was a great example of the Savior’s love.
My mother found out he was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. When she left for college, she wanted to learn more about his religion.
“My dad was an English teacher in Rochester for 35 years,” Sara said. “What high school did your mom attend?”
I quickly texted my mom, asking what school she attended and the name of the teacher who had influenced her to seek out the Church.
“Eastridge High, David Anderson,” she replied.
Sara’s father was David Anderson!
We enjoyed a special moment as my mother explained the wonderful things life had brought her since she joined the Church—a temple wedding, missionary service by four of her eight children and many of her grandchildren, and numerous other blessings.
When Sara shared my mother’s story with her father the next day, he wept with gratitude. He had joined the Church after getting married and had wanted to serve a mission himself, but he was a widower who had lost two wives. Hearing my mother’s story helped him feel that he truly had a wonderful life.
My family is grateful for Mr. Anderson, the covenant-keeping high school teacher whose example inspired an 18-year-old girl to seek truth and change her life and the life of generations to come.
With the gospel of Jesus Christ, life can be wonderful for all those willing to follow the Savior and honor their covenants.

Elder John Taylor was called as a missionary to England. He left his family in Iowa and traveled with Elder Wilford Woodruff.
John’s wife: Please, John, find my brother and teach him the gospel! We will miss you!
When he and the other missionaries arrived in England, Elder Taylor went to the home of his wife’s brother, George Cannon, in Liverpool. George’s wife, Ann, answered the door.
John: Hello, I am John Taylor, the husband of George’s sister, Leonora.
Ann: Welcome to our home, John. George isn’t home now, but he will be later this evening.
John: I would like to return to visit with George and the rest of your family.
Ann: George, there goes a man of God. He is come to bring salvation to your father’s house.
Elder Taylor returned to their home and taught the entire family the gospel.
George: John, welcome!
John: Thank you. I have a message of the restored Church of Jesus Christ to share with you and your family.
Elder Taylor soon had to leave for a different city, but the Cannon family continued to study the gospel. George could not put the Book of Mormon down.
Later, Elder Taylor returned to Liverpool and finished teaching them.
John: This book is the work of God, for no wicked man could write such a book as this. And no good man could write it unless it was true and he was commanded of God to do so.
George and Ann Cannon were baptized a month from the day of John’s first visit. A few months later, three of the Cannon children were baptized, too.
The Cannon family immigrated to America. Their oldest son, George Q. Cannon, later became an Apostle and was a counselor to four Presidents of the Church.

Sometimes we are unwise and even cruel in our unwillingness to accept change in others. I recently learned of a man who raised his family and pursued his professional life in a small country town. He was not without his problems but was a good man with a great heart who loved the Lord and the gospel. Mistakes, even small ones, are not soon forgotten in some neighborhoods, however; and he never seemed to be “allowed” to grow, blossom, develop, and change into what he could become.

As a missionary serving overseas, he had made a remarkable contribution. The mission president said he had done more to bridge the cultural gap between the two countries than any other adult American was able to do. Yet when his mission was over, he returned to the small town; and without malice or evil intent but with the insistent burden of memory, his neighbors did not invite him or let him be the man he had become, but rather seemed quite prepared to see him as the less attractive man of an earlier period.

Because of their expectations, he completed the last years of his life much less happy and much less involved and surely much less productive to the kingdom than he had been for that one glorious period where people in a new land and in a different time allowed him to change and to be what he really wanted to be and, in his heart, really was.