Gospel Story Finder

The Datiles family enjoying a bowling activity. When the children were young, Brother Datiles was struggling to pay tithing because of his failing business. He and his wife set a goal to be full-tithe payers.
Photograph courtesy of the author
Years ago, when my children were young, I went to see my priesthood leader to have my temple recommend renewed. But when he asked if I was a full-tithe payer, I had to tell him I wasn’t. I wanted to be, but I was struggling to pay tithing due to a wrong decision I had made in a failed business.
After listening to my struggles and asking about my financial needs, he kindly and compassionately reminded me about the importance of putting my faith in the Lord and being a full-tithe payer. We then reviewed together what is written in Malachi 3:10: “Prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it.”
“I understand that it’s painful for you not to have your temple recommend renewed at this time,” he said. “But the joy you will feel and the blessings you will receive will be much greater after you honorably pay your tithing. We can reconvene for a temple recommend renewal in three to six months.”
After that interview, my wife and I talked and prayed about it. We were sure Heavenly Father knew how much we desired to be back in the temple to participate in sacred ordinances. Going to the temple is so important to us. In the house of the Lord, not only can we provide help to our departed loved ones, but we also experience great joy, peace, and calm. These are all priceless blessings that we can get from making and keeping temple covenants and performing sacred ordinances there. We determined that tithing is less about money and more about placing our faith in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. And we set a goal to be full-tithe payers and to return to the temple.
Having these goals in mind, we felt impressed to sell our car. It was our only means of comfortably transporting our family, but we had faith that the Lord would bless us if we made this sacrifice. We knew that it would be hard for us to commute in a jeepney holding three young girls while my wife took care of our bags, but we knew that it was the right thing to do to achieve our goals. We began paying our tithing in full.
After three months, I met with my priesthood leader again for a follow-up interview. He asked me about my testimony of tithing, and I was able to tell him I was a full-tithe payer.
My wife and I finally got our temple recommends renewed, and we immediately went back to the temple. We had achieved our goal of returning to the temple to make covenants and receive ordinances in behalf of our ancestors. Windows of heaven started to open. Blessings started pouring in. My feelings of happiness and inner peace were beyond description.
We still commuted using jeepneys and would sometimes miss our stops because we fell asleep at times, but the joy of being full-tithe payers and the blessings of temple worship are greater than any physical hardships.
The blessings continued. After six months, I was promoted at work, where I not only received a higher salary but also qualified for car benefits. After six months, the Lord gave us a new ride—our family once again had a vehicle, now more comfortable than the one we sold.
The Lord kept His promises to me, and by keeping His commandments, I keep my promises to Him too.
The author lives in Laguna, Philippines.

In my search for solace, I envisioned how joyous that future day will be when the Temple re- opens. My thoughts drifted back to the year 2005, to a truly incredible day, when the new Apia Samoa Temple was dedicated. I accompanied my Mother there.

We first saw the Temple at around 4:00 a.m. on Sept. 1st, the morning we arrived from Hawaii. This great and glorious edifice to the Lord had risen from the ashes of the former one. As she gazed upon it, my mother cried. I knew that the joy of seeing this Temple for the first time was now beginning to replace the sadness and the emptiness in her heart that commenced on that fateful night two years prior when as a Temple missionary she stood there helplessly and watched the old Temple burn to the ground. This was why my siblings and I were so keen on taking her back so she could have some closure. Now that she was within arm's reach of the new and completed Temple, the healing had begun.

United in their resolve to be true to their call from the prophet, the company headed into the desert toward 50-Mile Spring. Since there was no road, the pioneers cut their own through what one man described as “the roughest country I ever saw a wagon go over.” Mostly rock and nearly void of foliage, the land was a combination of gulches and straight-walled chasms more than 100 meters deep.
At 50-Mile Spring, President Smith divided the company into three work groups: one to work at the crevice, one to build a road from the crevice to the river 1.2 kilometers away, and one to build a ferry. For the next six weeks, all three groups worked simultaneously. “I don’t think I ever [saw] … men go to work with more of a will to do something than that crowd did,” wrote Cornelius I. Decker of the group who worked to widen the narrow crevice. “We were all young men; … we did make dirt and rock fly.” Two blacksmith forges were established at “the Hole” so that blacksmiths could keep tools sharp as men cut solid rock. Several men were lowered by rope in half-barrels over the 14-meter cliff. While dangling in midair, they drilled holes in the cliff and filled them with blasting powder. Work continued in snow storms as well as in sunshine.
The second group constructed a road over virtually impassable land. The steep upper third of the road was a serious challenge; among the problems the workers had to solve was how to create a section of road along the face of a 15-meter rock wall. First they blasted a ledge along the wall, then extended the ledge outward. This was done by hammering staves into holes drilled parallel to the ledge. Logs, rocks, and gravel were piled into the resulting area to build up a shelf just wide enough to accommodate a wagon.
The third group built a ferry wide enough to carry two wagons at a time across the Colorado River. Part of this group also began work on a road eastward.
On 26 January 1880, everything was ready.
Elizabeth M. Decker wrote of the first wagons to go down through “the Hole”: “Coming down the hole in the rock to get to the river … is almost strait down, the cliffs on each side are five hundred ft. [about 155 meters] high and there is just room enough for a wagon to go down. It nearly scared me to death. The first wagon I saw go down they put the brake on and … [chained the rear wheels together so they slid as a unit instead of rolled] and had a big rope fastened to the wagon and about ten men holding back on it and they went down like they would smash everything. I’ll never forget that day.”
The wagon of Joseph Stanford Smith was the last of 26 wagons to pass through Hole-in-the-Rock that day. Brother Smith, known as Stanford, had helped others all day while his wife and three children sat on a pile of quilts in the snow and watched. Apparently not realizing that men would be coming to help them, Stanford and his wife, Belle, thought they were stranded. So they determined to bring their wagon down by themselves. Belle sat their three-year-old son on the quilts, placed the baby between his legs, and told them not to move until their father came back for them. Ada, the oldest, sat in front of her brothers and said a prayer.
Belle and one of the horses pulled on the ropes tied to the back of the wagon as Stanford braced his legs against the dashboard and gently urged the lead horses on. As soon as they started down, the anchor horse fell. Belle caught her foot in the rocks and broke free several times before she too fell and was dragged along with the horse down the steep slope. By the time the wagon stopped, a jagged rock had torn into Belle’s leg from heel to hip. Stanford ran to her to see if she was all right. With pioneer tenacity, Belle told him she had “crow-hopped” all the way down. Stanford helped her into the wagon, cleaned her cut, and then climbed back up for the children. As he passed his horse, which was dazed but alive, Stanford took off his hat and waved it in the air as a salute to his wife. They had made it!
After crossing the Colorado River by ferry, the company still faced more than 240 kilometers of rugged ground. Elizabeth M. Decker described this land in a letter to her parents. “It’s the roughest country you or anybody else ever seen; it’s nothing in the world but rocks and holes, hills, and hollows. The mountains are just one solid rock as smooth as an apple.” Because the land turned out to be rougher than anticipated, the journey took much longer than expected—six months instead of six weeks—making the so-called shortcut extremely arduous. Two babies were born along the way. Supplies had to be brought in to the company by mule train. On 6 April 1880, the exhausted company came upon a few acres of good farmland near a small river. They named the spot Bluff City.
Though travel worn, the pioneers had remained true to their resolve to follow the prophet and move forward, and they had endured the hardships in good spirits. As one member of the company recalled, “In a camp … moving … through extremely rough country, one would naturally look for some trouble and a few accidents, but this was not the case. All was hustle and harmony.”
The road created by this pioneer company served as the major highway in and out of the area for about one year. Westward traffic heading back up the steep corridor through Hole-in-the-Rock required each wagon to have a six-horse team.
By 1882 the road had fallen into disuse, but the pioneers had done what they had set out to do—establish a settlement in a remote area of the proposed state of Deseret. Though the area today remains somewhat isolated, it stands as a legacy of those faithful and tenacious pioneers who cut their way through solid rock in obedience to a prophet’s call.

It was 7:45 a.m. on a rainy August morning here in Freetown, Sierra Leone, West Africa. We (the full-time missionaries in the Freetown District) had planned a baptismal service and were determined to hold it, rain or shine. It was then I received a call from Brother Allieu, a member from our branch, but I could not totally understand what he was saying, as he was speaking rapidly in Krio, the local language. I told him to take a deep breath and speak slowly. He did so and said, “Elder Naeata, there is no water for the baptismal font. I am sorry. There is no water.”
I thanked him for the call and then announced the bad news to the other elders. Immediately we began to think of how we could still perform this sacred ordinance. It was then that Elder Agamah reminded us of the waterfall and pond up the mountain nearby in a place called Mellow. The elders all agreed we should try and hold the baptism there, so we obtained permission to do so.
As everyone gathered later that morning at the bottom of the mountain, the group came to a stark realization of the formidable task looming ahead. However, the determined company had no sign of hesitation to press forward. Men and women and even children walked and talked happily up the wet and slippery trail. Gradually ascending, we took a short detour to cross the river.
As we hiked, the zeal of some in the party began to fade when the rain picked up, but we pressed forward with hope. Still, the rugged path seemed to have no end. Finally we arrived at our destination. Our hearts were happy, but the rain persisted to beat down upon us. As we prepared for the baptismal service, we took refuge from the rain under a large mango tree.
We opened by singing the hymn “The Spirit of God” (Hymns, no. 2). After the opening devotional we went to the baptismal site. The water was rushing off the falls and into the pond where we would perform the sacred ordinance.
A father entered the pond and helped his son into the water when, suddenly, the rain stopped. The rays of the sun broke through the clouds and illuminated the pond. We could feel the presence of the Spirit. After the father baptized his son, a husband baptized his wife, and then the elders baptized their investigators. The sun continued to shine, as did the smiles on our faces.
We closed the service by singing “Come, Follow Me” (Hymns, no. 116). Yes, indeed, we did follow Him. We followed our Savior up and down the mountain, across full, flowing creeks, up the steep and wet trails, and through the rain. And those who were baptized truly followed the Savior’s example as they entered the waters of baptism.

Youth in Roy, Utah, found an interesting way to cool off last summer. With rakes, shovels, and paintbrushes in hand and wearing T-shirts emblazoned with the slogan “The Rule Is Cool”—referring to the Golden Rule—this group spent two days helping out at a local community center for disadvantaged families. They played games with the children at the center, cleaned up the yard, painted playground equipment, and washed windows.

“My favorite part was doing the games with the kids at the community center. It was great to see their reaction, but it was also great to see how much fun we were all having,” says Sara Medill, a Mia Maid.

After the youth completed 750 hours of service, workers at the community center and recipients of the service all agreed—the youth of the Roy 16th Ward are as good as gold.

1838 My brother Don Carlos and my cousin George A. Smith returned [from missions through Kentucky and Tennessee], having traveled fifteen hundred miles—nine hundred on foot, and the remainder by steamboat and otherwise. They visited several branches, and would have accomplished the object of their mission had it not been for the troubles at Far West.
When nearly home they were known and pursued by the mob, which compelled them to travel one hundred miles in two days and nights. The ground at the time was slippery, and a severe northwest wind was blowing in their faces; they had but little to eat and narrowly escaped freezing both nights.

When seminary started my freshman year, I was pumped and ready for it—but that excitement lasted probably about a week and a half. By then I was just tired, and I was going to bed late and waking up so early. Every morning, I just thought, “This is such a bummer.” And even though seminary was held at my kitchen table in my own home, I didn’t want to go. It was becoming such a burden for me.

Eventually I said to myself, “Why am I even going? I don’t need to go!” But then I decided to change my attitude. I started writing down something I’d learned every morning, and I did that for the rest of the year. At the end of the year, I read the things I’d written. Going to seminary and writing down insights every day helped me appreciate seminary and have a stronger testimony of the gospel—especially when I read through all of it and realized how much I’d grown.
Annie P., Texas, USA

Shortly after completing my master’s degree I contemplated returning once again to further my education with a doctorate degree. I began preparing applications to doctoral programs and fasted and prayed that I would know which course would be best for me to take. The answer to my prayers came in the form of the still, small voice whispering that a doctoral degree was not needed for the next service I would be asked to provide. I withheld my doctoral applications with the exception of one that was already submitted. The Spirit then came even stronger—indicating that a doctoral degree would not be needed for the service I would provide next. The prompting came so strongly that I began to pray that I would not be accepted. I was not accepted into the graduate program, although my friend Jane was. It was a bittersweet experience, and yet we both went forward in faith.

A few short months later I received the calling to serve as one of the Relief Society presidents at the Utah State Prison. It was a deeply spiritual experience and a unique opportunity that required me to serve with all of my “heart, might, mind and strength” (Doctrine and Covenants 4:2). Serving in this position continually reminded me of our divine heritage and the love that our Heavenly Father has for us. On the first Sunday that I attended meetings at the prison, the Spirit bore witness to me that I had been prepared to serve in this calling. I had been prepared spiritually, educationally, and by unique life experiences.

On the morning of September 12, 2005, Keone and Naomi Kamauoha welcomed a brand new baby girl appropriately named Faith into their family.
Naomi shared the following: “all the pain from the labor and delivery went away as she was handed to me to hold.” Yet within a few hours, their happiness would unexpectedly be interrupted when their new born baby was diagnosed with a serious condition called Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia. Her intestines and spleen had gone through a small hole in her diaphragm up into her chest cavity. When we finally got to see her our hearts broke.
Faith went through 3 surgeries within 16 days of her life. The family fasted and prayed daily for her. During this difficult time when they were unable to hold her, the parents took advantage of talking and singing primary songs to her everyday and telling her they loved her.
Faith was put on an ECMO machine which helps to oxygenate her blood as an artificial lung. A day after Faith was put on the machine; she had opened her eyes and began to move her hands and feet. “It was just like Christmas for us” shared her parents. “It was so awesome to see her beautiful light brown eyes. We comforted her when she was scared and just spent the day talking to her and singing her to sleep. After a couple of days, the doctors needed to sedate her again to allow her lungs to rest before trying to open them up again. It was a rollercoaster ride of ups and downs but we prayed everyday for her comfort that she may have the strength to overcome this.”
On the early morning of October 12, we received a phone call from her doctor that we needed to come in and be with our daughter. “She was bleeding in her lungs and it could not be stopped. When we arrived, she was put into a deep sleep. The nurses removed the many tubes and IV’s that were in her, gave her a bath, clothed and wrapped her in a blanket, and gave her to us.
“As we held her, we sang and talked to her and told her how much we loved her. Our Bishop came to be with us and we asked him many questions about our daughter and what was going to happen with her spirit. His knowledge of the Plan of Salvation helped give us comfort. Faith returned back to a loving Heavenly Father that day.”
What could have been as stumbling block for this young couple became a stepping stone for them. As the mother expressed: “Although I may not understand at times, I know that the Lord knows who I am and hears my prayers. This experience taught me to be even more grateful for the gospel in my life for it has brought me peace and comfort throughout this time” (Kamauoha, 2005).

Five years after that war ended, the Korean War broke out. Our family had to leave our home in Seoul and move to the countryside. Things were hard for my parents—can you imagine trying to raise a family during a war? People were not properly fed because of the war conditions, and my mother became very sick from an unknown disease. Sometimes when the pain came, she would just be helpless. In my mind I can still hear her screaming because of the pain, and I still feel how awful it was not knowing how to help her.
One day an herb doctor told me that if I got a certain kind of herb for my mom, it would cure her. Another man told me where I could find this plant. So, because of the love I had for my mom, and my sympathy for her pain, I set out early one morning, without telling anybody, in search of this plant. My bicycle was very small and beat-up, with tires that didn’t fit; the road I had to travel was about twenty kilometers (over twelve miles) long. It included two steep hills, a creek, and a mountain. I had only the name of the plant and the general area in my mind.
To me the trip lasted almost forever—up and down, up and down on a dirt road. I found the general area, and when I explained to a man what I was looking for, he told me I needed to go to the home of one of the leaders in the community, who grew the plant in his garden for decoration.
It took me many more hours to get there, but finally I found the place and the plant, and I explained to the owner the purpose of my trip. He said, “Yes, it is true, that plant cures that kind of pain.” Even though I didn’t have any money, he gave the plant to me. I was so happy that I cried! I thanked him and very carefully tied the plant onto my little bicycle. I bowed many times to him for his kindness.
I started back home, down the mountain and across the little creek. About halfway up the first hill, my bike got two flat tires. I wasn’t a Christian then, and I didn’t know about the gospel, but I knew that there was a God who was the creator of all things. I said my own kind of prayer, as I had hundreds of times that day, and I know Heavenly Father heard me. He loves all His children, no matter what religion they are or what they believe. He answers our prayers if we are sincere and honest and say them with a righteous desire.
Heavenly Father answered my prayer that day, and I was able to make it home. When I arrived, exhausted and hungry, it was night; the trip had taken me the whole day. My parents had been terribly worried, even angry, especially because there was a war going on and it was dangerous. I quickly explained what I had done, and I showed them the plant. Then my dad cried, my mom cried, and I cried again. My mom was cured. She lived until 1991, the year I was called as a General Authority.
I don’t believe that it was only the plant that cured my mother. I believe it was mostly a blessing from Heavenly Father. That experience helped teach me the principle of prayer. It is my testimony that if we love God and do according to His teachings, nothing will be impossible if it is according to His will.

Twenty-four out of twenty-five! They had tied! In a five-shot free throw playoff, Ray Swanson, a deacon from the 18th Ward, Pocatello Idaho West Stake, edged out his Indiana opponent to be declared the national winner in the 12–13 year-old division of the Elks Hoop Shoot contest. (He received a 2 1/2-foot-high trophy for his efforts and was greeted at the airport by schoolmates, city officials, and a pep band when he returned home.) To become eligible for the basketball free throw competition held in Kansas City, Missouri, Ray also won local, district, state, and Northwest Region titles. Since he began competing four years ago, he has won every local and district title in his age group and three state titles also. Ray is the teachers quorum secretary in his ward.

Some, because they lack faith or understanding of the eternal plan, become bitter and lose hope. One such was a 19th-century writer who achieved both success and wealth with his dazzling wit and writing style. His wife came from a religious family, and he wanted to have faith in God but wasn’t really sure God existed. Then he was hit by a series of crushing blows. In 1893 a national financial crisis left him deeply in debt. His oldest daughter died while he was on a speaking tour. His wife’s health failed, and she died in 1904. His youngest daughter died in 1909. His own health declined. His writing, which had formerly been so full of sparkle, now reflected his bitterness. He became progressively depressed, cynical, and disillusioned and remained so until his death in 1910. With all his brilliance, he lacked the inner strength to deal with adversity and simply resigned himself to his misfortunes.
It’s not so much what happens to us but how we deal with what happens to us. That reminds me of a passage from Alma. After a long war, “many had become hardened,” while “many were softened because of their afflictions.” The same circumstances produced opposite responses. The writer who lost so much was not able to draw from the well of faith. Each of us needs to have our own storehouse of faith to help us rise above the troubles that are part of this mortal probation.

Mary Nash, another student from the past, who married classmate Clive North after his mission, comments, “I have rich memories of rising early to catch the 7:25 A.M. train from Birmingham to Leicester to be present for the 8:30 A.M. devotional at Wakerley Road Chapel one Saturday each month. There were a handful of us from all over the stake, but our teacher, John M. Madsen (Church Educational System Regional Coordinator), made those classes so much fun. I still recall his saying, ‘Welcome to cemetery,’ as tired, bleary-eyed youngsters sat yawning through his opening remarks. I remember the struggle I had at first with homework and daily scripture study, but through practice and Heavenly Father’s help, I coped with both and succeeded.”

His parents also recall that he was eager to help wherever he saw a need. When Todd was 13 years old, his mother underwent significant surgery as part of cancer treatment. Elder Christofferson’s father, who was with her at the hospital, learned that Todd had gathered his brothers to pray for their mother.
The surgery was successful, but it limited Sister Christofferson’s ability to complete some routine household tasks. Todd knew how much his mother loved homemade bread—and how difficult it would be for her to continue to make it. He asked his grandmother to teach him how to bake bread, and he made it regularly for his family until he left for college several years later.

Yet another father taught a son a never-to-be-forgotten lesson in obedience and, by example, to honor the Sabbath day. I learned of this at the funeral service of a noble General Authority, H. Verlan Andersen. A tribute was paid to him by one of his sons. It has application wherever we are and whatever we are doing. It is the example of personal experience.
The son of Elder Andersen related that years earlier he had a special school date on a Saturday night. He borrowed from his father the family car. As he obtained the car keys and was heading for the door, his father said: “The car will need more gasoline before tomorrow. Be sure to fill the tank before coming home.”
Elder Andersen’s son related that the evening activity was wonderful. Friends met, refreshments were served, and all had a good time. In his exuberance, however, he failed to follow his father’s instruction to add fuel to the car’s tank before returning home.
Sunday morning dawned. Elder Andersen discovered the gas gauge showed empty. The son saw his father walk back into the house and put the car keys on the table. In the Andersen home, the Sabbath day was a day for worship and thanksgiving, and not for purchases.
As the funeral message continued, Elder Andersen’s son declared, “I saw my father put on his coat, bid us good-bye, and then walk the long distance to the chapel, that he might attend an early meeting.” Duty called. Truth was not held slave to expedience.
In concluding his funeral message, he said: “No son was ever taught more effectively by his father than I was on that occasion. My father not only knew the truth—he lived it.”

Susanna unlatched the gate and quietly entered the old churchyard next to her home in the tiny village of Essex, England. Tomorrow she and her family would be leaving for America—for Zion. In all her eleven years, Susanna had never been farther away from home than Great Dunmow. Even then, she had only been there twice, when Papa allowed her to go with him to market.
One year ago—May 31, 1860, to be exact—Susanna was sitting on the step of their cottage, tending little Henry so that Mama could get the twins, Samuel and Elizabeth, cleaned up for supper. Down the path walked two tall strangers dressed in Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes. They carried books that reminded Susanna of the Hayden’s family Bible.
“Hello, young lady,” one of the strangers addressed Susanna with a funny accent. “Are your parents home?”
And that was how her family found the true Church of Jesus Christ. Papa invited the missionaries inside. They began teaching the family the gospel, and Susanna soon learned about one of their books, the Book of Mormon.
Susanna’s family had always been good church-going people. Even before the missionaries came, she and her one-year-younger brother, Joshua, took turns reading the Bible to the family every night after supper since neither Papa nor Mama could read. Now the family began studying the Book of Mormon too.
Soon after they joined the Church, family and friends began treating them differently. Some just ignored them, others shunned them. Susanna and Joshua’s classmates teased them and even taunted them about their new religion.
One day Joshua asked his mother, “Why do kids at school throw rocks at us?”
Susanna added, “The minister’s children call our missionaries ‘preachers of the devil.’ Their father even told them to stay away from us.”
Mama said, “Even Nephi was tormented for his beliefs.”
After months of persecution, Papa and Mama decided to leave their tiny English village and journey to Zion. Susanna wondered what her new life would be like in America. Would she miss her beautiful village nestled among the lush green and rolling countryside of England?
Mama was due to have a baby soon, but she refused to delay their journey any longer. The family packed their few belongings; Susanna watched Mama tuck in their precious new scriptures next to the family Bible.
On Susanna’s twelfth birthday, June 1, 1861, Papa, Mama, Susanna, Joshua, Samuel, Elizabeth, and Henry climbed aboard the huge ship in Liverpool, England, bound for Boston Harbor. Susanna thought about Nephi’s family leaving for the promised land. She and Joshua read aloud from the Book of Mormon every day of their ocean journey.
One day a violent storm arose at sea. Winds heaved the ship to and fro. Waves slammed against the ship’s sides and dashed upon its deck. Below, passengers huddled together in fright. Children whimpered. Susanna wondered if they would be swallowed in the belly of the ocean like Jonah in the Bible was swallowed by the whale. Finally she cried out, “Are we going to sink, Mama?”
“No, my child,” Mama said. “The Lord will protect us if we have faith. Remember, He calmed the tempest for Nephi.” Then Papa, Mama, and the five children knelt and prayed for safety through the storm.
Two days later a baby girl was born to them. Papa named her Seaborn because she was born at sea. That night she died. Papa sang, “And should we die before our journey’s through, happy day, all is well.”* A few days later Mama died.
When the ship finally docked in Boston Harbor, Papa and the five children knelt upon the ground and gave thanks to God. Papa handed Mama’s Book of Mormon to Susanna. “I want you to be the keeper of the record,” he said.
They traveled by train to St. Louis, Missouri, where Papa worked all winter to buy provisions for the trek west; Susanna cared for the children. Finally, when buds burst forth on bare branches and robins began to sing, they headed for Utah in their covered wagon with other Mormon pioneers. Along the way, little Henry caught a fever and died. Susanna read Alma 22:14 in Mama’s Book of Mormon: “‘Christ … breaketh the bands of death, that the grave shall have no victory, and that the sting of death should be swallowed up in the hopes of glory.’”
Years later, when Susanna was a grown woman in Zion, with children and grandchildren of her own, she carefully penned these words in her mother’s Book of Mormon, “To my posterity: Treasure this book as my mother—your ancestor—did. She gave her life for the gospel’s sake. She was a true pioneer. Remember, you may be a pioneer in your own time, for a pioneer is someone who goes before others and prepares the way for them. Live faithfully so that you may be a true pioneer.”

Anita said she felt fine, but I moved away from her bedside, knelt, and prayed.
Illustration by Katie Payne
I was single and self-employed when I was new in the Church, so I had days when I had extra time. On one of those days I called the Relief Society president and asked if anyone needed help that afternoon. She mentioned an elderly sister named Anita (name has been changed) who had recently come home from the hospital and was lonely. I had met Anita before and was happy to visit her.
I called and then went to her apartment. She asked me to make lunch for her, and afterward we had a great visit. She had a good sense of humor and loved to laugh and tell stories about her life.
After lunch she said she was tired and asked me to help her from her wheelchair to bed. Soon I had her tucked in. Suddenly, the still, small voice I had heard so much about spoke to me: “Get her to the hospital now!”
Anita hated hospitals and had just returned home. I asked her if she felt OK. She said she was fine but felt tired.
I moved away from her bedside and knelt. As soon as I started to pray, the voice repeated, “Get her to the hospital, and get her there now!”
I hesitated, asking myself, “What am I going to tell the doctor at the hospital?”
I called a friend, who also prayed and then told me to follow my prompting.
Anita was angry that I would even mention taking her to the hospital, but I called an ambulance anyway. When it arrived, two paramedics entered and took her vital signs. Without asking questions, they put her on a gurney and sped off in the ambulance.
I followed in my van. After arriving at the hospital, I sat and waited. Soon a doctor came out. He asked me, “She didn’t tell you that she had fallen before you came to her apartment, did she?”
“No,” I responded.
He told me that Anita had injured her spleen and was bleeding internally. Without immediate medical attention, he said, she might have died.
I felt a mixture of remorse and exultation—remorse that I had hesitated and exultation that ultimately I had listened to the Holy Ghost. Most of all, I felt grateful to know that the Lord had trusted me to help this injured sister and had inspired my Relief Society president to send me to her.
My own health has deteriorated since this experience, but the Lord still prompts me. I pray always for the strength to follow those promptings.

Sister Kristie Wilson
I am one of eight sisters working as a welfare missionary in a Vietnamese refugee camp. Since most of the people in camp have never heard of Jesus Christ or Heavenly Father and to help them better appreciate the Savior’s birth, we held a special activity just before Christmas. The Primary children reenacted the manger scene and story as told in Luke. They were as delighted to do it as we were to watch.
Christmas Eve we went caroling through the camp. It was a neat experience to roam through the billets and share the news of the Savior’s birth through song. The Spirit overcame language barriers, and we were avle to celebrate the Savior’s birth with one heart and mind. I have never been so exhausted. I have never been so at peace.

I saw a copy of the Book of Mormon in my niece’s house in Ibadan, Nigeria. Being an avid reader, I was curious to understand why the book says it is “another testament of Jesus Christ,” so I took the book and read it.
The subtitle “another testament of Jesus Christ” opened my mind to the possibility of a universal Savior rather than just the Savior of the Israelites, which at that time was a great concern to me. His visit to the Nephites and the establishment of His laws and ordinances among those people got me wanting to know more about His ministry.
That subtitle led me to learn more about the Church. I started feeling the Spirit as I obeyed the admonitions written in the Book of Mormon, like praying to know the truth for myself (see Moroni 10:4). Now I know that the Savior lives and loves all of us.
Ezekiel Akeh, Idaho, USA

A convert was ministered to by personal example. As a young man, he said he spent his days lounging at the beach. One day, he said, “I saw an attractive girl in a modest swimsuit.” Amazed, he went to ask why such an attractive girl would wear such a modest swimsuit. She was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and asked with a smile, “Would you like to come to church Sunday?” He said yes.