Gospel Story Finder

At the same time, many Congolese emigrants found the Church in Europe and the United States. Mbuyi Nkitabungi was baptized in Belgium in 1980, served a full-time mission in England, and then felt prompted to return home in 1985. “One of my righteous objectives is to build … Zion in the heart of Zaïre,” he wrote to Church headquarters. “I know there is quite a few members from my country who are waiting for that opportunity. … Tell me everything I have to do.”
Nkitabungi was put in contact with other members in Kinshasa, who met in the home of Mike and Katie Bowcutt, an American couple. Like Nkitabungi, many members were Congolese Saints who had joined the Church abroad. Because the Church was still not legally recognized, however, the members held no public meetings. Nevertheless, the group quickly outgrew the Bowcutts’ home and moved their meetings to Nkitabungi’s garage.
In February 1986, the president of the country promised during a broadcast on state-run television that he would grant the Church legal recognition, and members soon began preaching the gospel openly. That same month, Ralph and Jean Hutchings, the first missionaries called to Zaïre, arrived and found a growing group in Kinshasa. Recognition was granted officially in April, and by June 1987 the Church was growing so quickly in Zaïre that a mission was organized, with Ralph Hutchings as president.
Missionaries also reached out to the unofficial congregations near Lubumbashi. Although the transition proved difficult for some, a second center of strength soon emerged. Between May and July 1987, 170 people were baptized. Some were traveling as far as 300 kilometers (186 miles) from Pweto, Kolwezi, and Likasi to attend meetings.
When 21-year-old Elie Monga of Kolwezi read the Book of Mormon in 1987, he was impressed. “I strongly felt,” he later said, “that that’s what I need.” Monga traveled the 300 kilometers to Lubumbashi to meet with the missionaries. After only one discussion, he decided to be baptized. After his baptism, with encouragement from missionaries, he held Sunday School meetings in his home. “We started gathering and teaching our friends [and family],” he said, “bringing them the message of hope through the restored gospel.” A large group was soon meeting in Monga’s home. When the first baptismal service in Kolwezi was held the next year, it took more than three and a half hours for Monga to baptize the 82 converts who had accepted the gospel. It was one success among many: in 1990, just four years after the Church received government recognition, branches and districts were thriving in Kinshasa, Lubumbashi, and many other cities throughout the country.

The story is told of Ali Hafed, a wealthy ancient Persian who owned much land.
An old priest told him that if he had a diamond the size of his thumb, he could purchase a dozen farms. “If you will find a river that runs through white sands, between high mountains, in those white sands you will always find diamonds.”
Said Ali Hafed, “I will go.”
So he sold his farm and away he went in search of diamonds. After years of searching, he had spent all his money, and he passed away in rags and wretchedness.
Meanwhile, the man who purchased Ali Hafed’s farm one day led his camel out into the garden to drink, and as the animal put his nose into the shallow waters, the farmer noticed a curious flash of light in the white sands of the stream. Reaching in, he pulled out a black stone containing a strange eye of light. In the black stone was a diamond. According to the story, this marked the discovery of the most valuable diamond mines in the history of the ancient world.
Had Ali Hafed remained at home and dug in his own cellar or anywhere in his own fields, rather than traveling in strange lands where he eventually faced starvation and ruin, he would have had “acres of diamonds.”

Brother Dai Endo of the Yokohama Japan Stake is an example of one who faithfully acted upon this principle. After serving for many years as a counselor in the stake presidency and then as president of the stake, Brother Endo was released in 2000. As he bore his testimony in stake conference at the time of his release, he expressed his love for the Saints and his gratitude for the blessing of serving them and the Lord. With a smile he said, “Next week I’ll probably be called to serve in the Primary.”

The following week Brother Endo’s bishop asked to meet with him and extended a call to him to serve as a Primary teacher. With humility the former stake president graciously accepted the call. His willingness to serve was not based on the status associated with the calling but instead on a desire to serve the Lord wherever he was called.

Janetta Ann McBride and her family were early members of the Church. They have traveled from England on their way to the Salt Lake Valley. Their journey was delayed in Iowa because their handcarts were not ready. But finally, as part of the Martin Handcart Company, they are on their way across the plains. In Florence, Nebraska, some members think it is too late to continue the journey. However, it is finally decided that they will all continue on to the Salt Lake Valley.
It was the 25th of August, almost the end of summer, when we left Florence, Nebraska, and headed for Salt Lake City. Everything went fine until Mother became really sick. It was hard to see her ill. She had to ride in one of the handcarts, and I took her place pulling. Heber also was pulling a cart.
Traveling by handcart isn’t bad if you have enough food and the weather stays nice. Many Saints traveled that way and found it a healthy and quick way to get to the Salt Lake Valley. On September 7, a group of missionaries returning to Salt Lake passed us. When they saw how late in the season we were traveling and that the weather was unseasonably cold, they said that they would hurry on to Salt Lake and report to Brigham Young that we would be needing help to get to the valley. We later learned that they had arrived in Salt Lake on October 4. The next day, the 5th, Brigham Young called upon the bishops to immediately organize supplies, wagons, and men to go out and help us reach the valley. The first group left Salt Lake City on October 7th. But, of course, we didn’t know that.
When we arrived at Fort Laramie, we were starting to run low on food. Members of the company purchased what additional food they could. Our rations were also cut from 1 pound of flour a day per person to 3/4 pound. Later it was cut to 1/2 pound, and finally to 1/4 pound per person.
On October 17, just before crossing the North Platte River for the last time, we were told to lighten our loads so that we could travel more quickly. Blankets, extra clothing, and utensils were left behind. How I missed the clothing and bedding a few days later!
The North Platte River was freezing cold, deep, and swift. On October 19th, Father helped us across, then helped others. We were all wet and cold and hungry. No sooner were we across, than the first snowstorm hit us. Father worked hard helping set up camp, and he gave away much—too much—of his food to those in greater need. Most of the men worked too hard and ate too little. They couldn’t bear to see the suffering of the women and children.
The night of October 21st was especially bitter cold and stormy. Nobody had enough clothing or blankets to stay warm. Sometime during the night, Father died of exhaustion, starvation, and the cold. Twelve others also died that night. They were all buried in the same grave. The ground was so frozen that digging in it was almost impossible. How hard it was to leave him out there on the frozen prairie. I felt sad and lonely.
Mother was still ill, Father was dead, and I was now in charge of getting our family to Salt Lake. There was no time to sit down and cry or wait for help. None of us had any choice but to keep moving toward Zion and safety. I used our family’s flour to make a kind of biscuit. I kept pieces from my share of the bread in my pockets. When I couldn’t get the boys or Margaret to keep going, I’d offer them a crumb of bread. Even though they were cold and exhausted, they were so hungry that it worked.
At the end of October, Brother Joseph A. Young and Brother Stephen Taylor arrived in our camp from Salt Lake City. They had wagons of food and clothing! We greeted them as angels of mercy. For the first time in many days, there was joy in our camp. They told us more food, clothing, and bedding were waiting for us at Devil’s Gate.
We kept traveling through the snow to Devil’s Gate and ran into the other wagons with provisions for us. How I wished for a pair of shoes, as my feet froze in the icy slush. But even shoes were less important than food. We left Devil’s Gate with a single handcart for our family. Many of the handcarts were left behind. Those that had brought the provisions from Salt Lake City traveled with us.
At the Sweetwater River, I pulled our handcart through the slushy ice water, then went back for my brothers and sister. I carried them across one at a time. The river wasn’t too deep, but it was many yards wide. It was so cold that my skirts froze around my legs. I wondered if I’d ever be warm again.
The snowstorms continued, and it was bitter cold at night. Sometimes we’d wake up in the morning with our hair frozen to the ground. One night, we thought my little brother Peter was dead, because he was frozen to his quilt. But he finally woke up and, after thawing out his hair, continued the journey.
Although we were much better off now, there still wasn’t enough food or clothing to go around. It was still cold, it was still stormy, and I still had no shoes. Our company found a ravine that we later named Martin’s Ravine, and we set up camp there. For three days there was a terrible blizzard. It was so cold! Even after the storm ended, we had to wait several days before we could travel over the fresh snow. Although there were now wagons and horses, I walked every step of the way. Only those who had frozen feet got to ride.
We camped at Fort Bridger for a few days of rest. More help came at that time. We kept right on traveling. We reached Salt Lake City on November 30, 1856, eleven months after we had left our home in England. Of the 576 people who had started with our company, about 150 of them had died and were buried along the trail, including my father.
We found a place to stay in Ogden with a family named Ferrin. Mother got better and cooked for this household of grown men in return for our board and room. I fell in love with one of the Ferrin brothers, Jacob Samuel. We were married in the Endowment House, and we moved to Provo with my brother Heber.
Later my husband and I moved to Arizona, where we were once again pioneers in an unknown territory.
Do I regret any moment of following the call of the prophet? No! Despite all the hard times, we made it to Zion. We had the gospel, and we were with the Saints. Jacob and I were married for eternity. It was what we had left England for, to obtain the blessings of the gospel. No matter what it cost, it was worth it! All my life I bore testimony of my thankfulness that I made that journey, no matter how hard it was.

Arthur took the Scout oath seriously. “On my honor I will do my best” was for him an inviolable law. He never did anything halfheartedly. In school he was at the top of his class. He taught himself shorthand in his spare time as a self-improvement project and became skilled enough to take dictation at well over 100 words per minute. This later led to a job as personal secretary to a member of parliament. He was an enthusiastic athlete, always giving the best that was in him to each sport. As a teenager he ran a three-mile race in which he was required to start last because he was considered the fastest. Some of the competitors were given a full minute head start. Arthur ran with all the strength he had and a little more, catching the leader just 100 yards from the finish line and edging ahead to win. Years later, at the age of 48, he ran in a cross-city, five-mile race in Salt Lake City. He finished second in a field of 32 runners. He won medals in both England and the United States for his skill in soccer. In this rough and tumble sport he had to use “brains instead of brawn” as he puts it, since at five-foot-two he couldn’t run over the top of many opponents. He played his last soccer game at the age of 60. He is also a qualified member of the U. S. Soccer Referee’s Association. Cricket is another favorite sport. He once played against the Australian test team in a match in San Francisco.
Thanks to his experiences in the First Colchester Troop, Scouting soon became an indispensable part of Arthur’s life. When his work took him to Berkhamsted, England, he was made assistant Scoutmaster of the local troop and organized a fife and drum corps.
At the age of 23, Arthur emigrated to America, arriving in Chicago on July 4, 1915. The very next day he was made Scoutmaster of the Logan Square Branch Troop. There were six LDS and 18 nonmember boys in the troop, and under Sadler’s guidance they won the championship flag of the Chicago area. Sadler later served as Scoutmaster of seven other troops in several states.
He has to laugh a little when he recalls one of his camping experiences as Scoutmaster of the Spring Lake (Utah) Troop. “We enjoyed a very nice overnight camp by the shores of Utah Lake. Our transportation on that occasion was a wagon and two horses provided by a local farmer. Not being a farmer myself, I left the details to the assistant Scoutmaster. The result was fine for the Scouts, but not so good for the horses—we forgot to provide any hay for them!”
In recent years Sadler has been able to influence large numbers of boys through invitations to speak to Scout troops, firesides, Scout leader groups, and other gatherings. Last February he spoke at seven different wards. He has also been invited to participate in various jamborees, leadership training programs, and summer camps.
At summer camp, as Sadler moves from camp to camp, offering encouragement and advice, it’s obvious that he is at home, doing what he loves to do best. He sits with the young men at their campfires each night and talks with them much as Baden-Powell talked with him and his companions at Walton-on-Naze. And like Baden-Powell, when the usual songs and ghost stories and adventure stories are all finished, he talks to them about honor. He eats each meal with a different patrol, and no matter how disastrous the cooking, he makes the Scouts feel that he has been honored to share it with them. And he really has.
It is no mystery why Sadler has given so much of himself during his 65 years as a Scout. He loves Scouting because he loves boys. His faith in them is absolute. He accepts wholeheartedly, and often quotes, the statement of Baden-Powell: “If you will give a boy a task to perform, within the range of his capabilities, and place him on his word of honor, you can rely confidently upon his accomplishing the task assigned to him.”
To Scouts he says, “Don’t just acquire a merit badge or skill award—earn it! If you’re swimming the mile, swim the mile; don’t cheat yourself by resting your feet on the bottom for a minute if you get tired.” He tells of a time when he was able to save two friends from drowning because of leaders who had insisted he really fulfill the swimming requirements.
Needless to say, Brother Sadler’s sons and grandsons have all been active Scouts. His son is a Scout leader in Las Vegas, Nevada; three of his grandsons are Eagle Scouts; and he has four great-grandsons just starting out in Cub Scouting.
He has received many honors, including the Silver Beaver award, but the honor he treasures most is the honor of working with Scouts. He has always set a good example for them, in the Church as well as in Scouting. He has held Church positions in all the areas where he has lived, and he served a full-time mission to his native England where he served as branch president of his home branch of Colchester.
It’s been a long time since Arthur Sadler paid fourpence for the first installment of Baden-Powell’s handbook, but his enthusiasm has never cooled. In him young people in and out of the Church will always have a friend.
He sums it all up when he says, “So long as I live I shall have in my heart a great love for boyhood and a sincere gratitude to young people for the happiness and joy my continued active association with them has afforded me through nearly three quarters of a century. May God bless them one and all.”

I picked up my husband’s memoirs and read, once again, his account of finding the Church more than half a century ago:
“As a 20-year-old in 1951, I was at the school of sergeants at the Kronborg Castle [in Denmark]. On Christmas night I was on guard duty on the embankment that surrounds the castle. At one point I stopped, looked up to the stars, and felt that there was more between the sky and the earth than I had thus far thought. In other words, I began to believe that there was a God, which I had never really believed before. My parents were absolutely not religious, and they and I came to church only for baptisms, confirmations, weddings, and funerals.
“When months later I became a sergeant, I got my own troop: 44 new recruits—or more exactly, 43 plus 1. This one was very different, and when I asked him what it was that made him different from the others, he said he would tell me in the evening inside my quarters.
“There he told me about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for five evenings in a row. On the sixth day, Sunday, I went to church. And with that my new life began.
“The Church involved me completely. Little by little I became acquainted with the members of the Church. I found out that my recruit was not so much different than the overall membership.
“I became convinced that the Church was true, that it was the Lord’s Church—and I was baptized. A truly magnificent day.”
I am grateful that my husband, Orla, who died in 1998, included these words in his personal history. That long-ago Christmas night, when my husband first sensed that God truly did exist, and his conversations with the new recruit are responsible for our meeting each other, being sealed in the temple, and having five children—who have now brought grandchildren and great-grandchildren into our family. We have had a rich life in the Church and many blessings. I am grateful for that Christmas night and for the new recruit in Denmark those many years ago.

At first I was just interested in knowing how my grandmother had managed to raise six children on very little income. I talked to her for hours, taking notes. I also asked my mother and my aunts and uncles about their memories of family events. But I didn’t know what to do with all that information until my cousin Ginny suggested that I write my grandmother’s life story.
But before I could focus my attention on our grandmother’s biography, I felt that I needed to write my mother’s. She was only fifty-one, but she was ill, and I realized that she would probably not survive another year. So I began spending more time with her, gathering information about her life. Ginny and I worked together on both histories; she documented names and dates and I wrote the stories. They were finished soon after my mother’s death.

Elder Gong noted that faith and covenant-keeping and rich blessings are very much available for those who choose not to remarry after the loss of a spouse. He tells about one of his family’s progenitors who “was left with five young children when her husband and oldest son both died suddenly just days apart. A widow for 47 years, Gram raised her family with sustaining love from local leaders and members. During those many years, Gram promised the Lord if He would help her, she would never complain. The Lord helped her. She never complained.”

“You’re it!” Mandy said. She tagged her little brother and then swam away. Mandy’s family was staying in a motel until they could move to their new home. It was fun eating ravioli warmed up in the microwave for lunch. And they got to swim in the motel pool almost every day!
But there was one not-so-good part about the motel. The motel manager’s office was right under their room, and the manager thought Mandy and her brothers and sisters were too loud. “How can I rent rooms when it sounds like a herd of elephants are over my head?” he asked Dad.
After lunch Mandy’s little brother Aaron jumped off the bed and hit the floor with a thump. Mandy winced and looked up at Mom.
“No jumping. Tiptoe, please,” Mom said.
But it was too late. The phone rang.
Uh-oh, thought Mandy.
Mom picked up the phone. Mandy could hear her apologizing to the manager.
Mom’s shoulders sagged as she hung up the phone. “Edward and Mandy,” she said, “I need to put Aaron and Emily down for a nap. Will you please take Kristine and Daniel for a walk?”
As they started across the motel parking lot, Mandy spotted something small and brown on the ground.
It was a wallet. And it had money in it!
“Look, Edward!” she said, holding the wallet up high.
“We need to take this to the manager’s office right away,” said Edward.
Mandy felt her stomach clench. Why did they have to take it right now? Couldn’t Mom or Dad return it later?
But Mandy knew the right thing to do.
The children opened the office door and timidly stepped inside. The manager frowned. “Um, we found this wallet in the parking lot,” Mandy said. Her hand shook as she set the wallet on the counter.
A man was standing at the counter, looking worried. “You found it!” he said when he saw the wallet. “Thank you, kids!”
Mandy looked up at the manager. His frown was gone, and his eyes were twinkling.
After they left the office, Daniel asked, “Was that wallet magic?”
“Why do you think it’s magic?” asked Edward.
“Because it made the grumpy man happy!”
Edward shook his head. “The wallet wasn’t magic,” he said. “He was happy because we did the right thing.”
Mandy had a warm feeling inside. She never knew choosing the right could make people so happy.
A few days later, Mandy and Dad went to pay the week’s bill. The manager smiled at Mandy. He had only called once since they found the wallet—and just to thank them for being honest. Mandy felt like they’d made a new friend.
Choosing the right really is magical, Mandy thought. She waved goodbye, and the manager waved back. And he really isn’t so grumpy after all.

“I have heard that only 2 percent of the population is born with extraordinary talent. Most people have to work to become good!
“Let me give an illustration: Half a century ago a boy of ten was working in Naples in a factory. He longed to be a singer, but his first teacher discouraged him.
“‘You can’t sing,’ he said. ‘You haven’t any voice at all. It sounds like shutters.’ But his mother, a poor peasant woman, put her arms around him and told him she knew he could sing. She could see an improvement already, and she went barefoot in order to save money to pay for his music lessons. That peasant mother’s praise and encouragement changed her boy’s life. He was to become one of the world’s greatest tenors. His name was Caruso.
“You mustn’t give false praise, but instead, be like this mother and find the good. Then give your sister the genuine praise that she seeks.”
Bruce Wendell BarkerJacksonville, North Carolina

Winter is a cold time of year in the Russia Moscow Mission. To a missionary this sometimes seems true of not only the weather but also the people. They become introverted. Everybody seems to be rushing home after work. People are ill, the roads are terribly slick, and the cold ruthlessly bites every exposed piece of skin. Smiles are rare.
My companion and I found ourselves in these conditions during the winter of 2005. We wanted to cheer people up by sharing our message of faith, hope, and love, but nobody wanted to listen. And to be honest, my mood wasn’t all that great. I couldn’t help but feel discouraged. Day after day we walked the cold streets in search of people to teach, freezing our feet to the bone. In spite of the discouraging circumstances, we didn’t want to give up. Christmas was getting close, and we wanted to help people feel the Christmas spirit. But how?
One evening as we were on the train returning home, a small group of musicians walked into the railcar. They played wonderfully, but to my surprise, their performance didn’t have an effect on anybody. Maybe a person or two gave them some pocket change, but the rest just stared out the frosty windows. I felt bad for the performers and gave them a few coins.
Soon we arrived at the station near our apartment and ran home. As soon as I closed the apartment door, the phone rang. I picked it up and recognized the voice of our district leader. That day we were supposed to have thought of ideas for celebrating the Christmas season as missionaries. I had totally forgotten, but I didn’t want him to know that. Straining for an idea, I remembered the group of musicians and suggested that our district could sing Christmas hymns on the trains. I could accompany them on the violin. To my surprise and perhaps dismay, our district leader loved the idea. We decided on a day. “What was I thinking!” I said to myself, remembering that three of the missionaries in our district were tone-deaf.
The day came, and the missionaries met on the platform. The sun had set long ago, and it was terribly cold. My feet were already numb. We rehearsed for about five minutes until the train crept slowly up to the platform. We gladly entered its open doors, getting out of the cold wind and snow. I took my violin out of its case and silently prayed that God would touch the hearts of the listeners.
As we boarded the train, most of the people didn’t pay any attention to us. My fingers hadn’t warmed up yet, so when I started to play, the tone of the violin sounded very simple but very piercing. Suddenly the mood in the railcar changed. It was almost as if something could be felt in the air. The passengers seemed to hold their breath. The other missionaries joined with me, singing the words to “Silent Night”:
Silent night! Holy night!
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon virgin mother and Child.
Holy Infant, so tender and mild,
Sleep in heavenly peace;
Sleep in heavenly peace.1
While I played and the other missionaries sang, nobody in the railcar spoke a single word. When we finished the hymn, I looked around at people’s faces. Everybody was looking attentively at us. Tears were flowing down the cheeks of several women. It was silent for a minute as nobody wanted to interrupt the moment. Finally a man standing in the back of the railcar exclaimed, “They are Saints, genuine Saints!” Everyone began to applaud.
As we walked down the aisle, many people wanted to give us money. When we didn’t accept it, they became all the more surprised. I heard somebody saying under his breath, “This just doesn’t happen.” One man even tried to give us a thousand rubles and was shocked when we refused the money. Instead, we offered him a pass-along card, which he gladly took. Soon other passengers began asking for pass-along cards. They also asked about the Church and us. It seemed like wherever we looked, our eyes were met with smiling faces and warm greetings. At the end of the railcar, we wished the passengers a merry Christmas and waved good-bye to our new friends.
On the other side of the door, we looked at each other in disbelief. “What just happened?” we asked. Then, with twice as much energy, we entered the next door. At first the passengers didn’t pay any attention to us, but after we performed the hymn, they had the same miraculous reaction. For the rest of the evening, we made our way through the railcars, experiencing the same thing in each one. Never before had I seen such acceptance and love.
Returning home that night, I realized that I had experienced a miracle wrought by music, a message about the Savior, and the spirit of Christmas. Even in the coldest times of our lives, we can be comforted by the Lord’s presence. How blessed I was to have seen how drastically people can change under the influence of the Spirit. I will always remember that evening and treasure it in my heart. May the Spirit forever work such miracles!

When I received the invitation to respond to this question there immediately flashed through my mind the recollection of a teenage experience of many years ago. In the stake where I lived, the young people were planning a week-long camping trip that would extend through a Monday holiday. This involved being in the mountains on Sunday. The general policy guideline was for Church groups to avoid Sunday camping, but those responsible for the planning of this camping trip felt that by carefully working out a program to include the regular Sunday meetings at the campsite they could overcome any objections that might be raised. Approval to go forward was sought from the stake president. The young lady serving as the spokesman for the group explained what was being planned and concluded by saying, “We feel that by getting close to nature we can get closer to the Lord and can increase our spirituality.”
The stake president listened patiently and then in a kindly tone replied, “I agree with you that these things can happen, but my observation is that they usually don’t. I have no concern about the outcome of the Church meetings being planned. It’s what happens before and after. The minute church is out, the young folks are back in their grubbies and ready for play.”
The stake president was identifying a problem common to many of us, where we rationalize that attendance at church qualifies us for Sabbath day observance, and that this can be followed with activities not always in keeping with the spirit of the Sabbath.

I’m bored! Let’s do something!
I’m already doing something. I’m looking at family photos.
But I want to have a party!
How about doing both? We could have a family history party!
It sounds boring.
Let’s go! It’ll be fun.
Should we make some popcorn?
Welcome to the family history party! Our first game is family tree trivia.
Where was Grandma Jensen born?
Now it’s time for the great index race! The team that indexes the most names wins.
Look! That person has the same name as me.
Now we’ve saved the best for last. Family history story time!
When my dad was little, his family lived on a ranch …
Later that night …
That was the best party ever. Let’s do it again tomorrow!

While serving in the Asia North Area Presidency with Elder Takashi Wada, I learned that his wife, Sister Naomi Wada, is an accomplished Japanese calligrapher. I asked Sister Wada if she would draw for me the Japanese characters for the word mui. I wanted to hang the calligraphy on my wall as a reminder to be still and to focus on the Savior. I was surprised when she did not readily agree to this seemingly simple request.

The next day, knowing that I had likely misunderstood her hesitance, Elder Wada explained that writing those characters would require a significant effort. She would need to ponder and meditate on the concept and the characters until she understood the meaning deeply in her soul and could give expression to these heartfelt impressions with each stroke of her brush. I was embarrassed that I had so casually asked her to do something so demanding. I asked him to convey my apologies to her for my ignorance and to let her know that I was withdrawing my request.

You can imagine my surprise and gratitude when upon my leaving Japan, Sister Wada, unsolicited, gifted to me this beautiful piece of calligraphy featuring the Japanese characters for the word mui. It now hangs prominently on the wall of my office, reminding me to be still and to seek the Lord every day with all my heart, might, mind, and strength. She had captured, in this selfless act, the meaning of mui, or stillness, better than any words could. Rather than mindlessly and dutifully drawing the characters, she approached her calligraphy with full purpose of heart and real intent.

Example three: Years ago I lived in a large ward with a great number of youth. I served as the Scoutmaster at a time when there were 53 Scouts in the troop. There was a young man in the ward who was a little older. He was not a Scout nor had he been. His name was Neil Schmitt. We worked in a produce department which had eight full-time and six part-time employees. We were able to help Neil become active in the Church. When he became active he was truly converted. Before I got to know him, I remember seeing him once downtown on a Saturday, about midnight, selling newspapers. I was impressed with his ambition. We used to discuss scriptures at work. We hiked to the peak of Mt. Olympus together.
Years ago there was a millpond in the Salt Lake area that was a young man’s dream of the ideal swimming hole. It was a large pond down in a gully. On the rear side it had a six-foot bank straight down to the water. It was kept filled from a large underground spring. A large tree on the bank leaned out over the pond. The pond was deep, and someone had nailed a board for a platform about six feet up the tree. This was about 12 feet above the water. There was another diving place at about 18 feet. Then about 10 feet above that was a large branch on which a long rope had been tied so you could swing out over the pond. You could also dive in from that height. You could take the rope, run down the bank, and swing in a giant circle out over the pond. Then you could drop into the pond or swing on around and crash into the tree. It was a great place.
I remember my first experience at the millpond. I challenged Neil that I would be first in the water. We walked down to the pond and changed into our suits. Then Neil hesitated, and I dove in. The next time we went I gave the same challenge. He ran down and changed. He was a sprinter, and I was quite a few steps behind him so he had a head start. Just as Neil was pulling on his swimsuit, I dove into the water partially undressed and beat him. The third time Neil was determined that he would be first in the water. We had challenged each other. This time I knew that Neil meant business. He sprinted ahead of me down to the millpond. I believe he had his suit on under his clothes. I’ve forgotten. But, by the time I arrived at the pond, Neil was almost ready to dive in. I kicked off my shoes and dove in fully clothed. I beat him. When you are older and not so fast you need to think of shortcuts. All through the years we have had that kind of fun together. Our friendship over the years came from more than a responsibility to activate. I really love him. Over the years Neil has been more than a friend.

I first came face-to-face with depression at the end of my mission in South Africa. I was oddly unhappy. My spirits were low, my perspective less positive, and my faith shaken. On top of that, my mom was unwell, and my family had other challenges. I pretended that everything was OK, but it wasn’t. One moment, I had been handling all sorts of stress just fine, and the next, I hit my breaking point. My thoughts were crushing me, and everything seemed to turn against me.

I was emotionally and mentally drained, so I decided to fast and pray for guidance. As a result, I received three specific promptings:

The first was to talk to my mission president. Finally opening up about my struggles helped me feel better and know I wasn’t alone.

Second, I was prompted that learning of Jesus Christ could help me through this. As I studied about Heavenly Father and the Savior, it became clear to me that They knew my pain and felt my sorrow. I relied on Them for strength when I felt I had none.

The third prompting came from a quote from President Gordon B. Hinckley: “Service is the best medicine for self-pity, selfishness, despair, and loneliness” (Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Gordon B. Hinckley [2016], 201.) As I focused outward and on serving others, over time I felt happier, more confident, and more trust in Heavenly Father.

I got through my mission, but depression struck again during my first few months in university. I had just moved from Zambia to Malaysia and was far from home with no friends or family close by. I didn’t even know where my branch met for church.

I held onto hope and felt prompted to fast and pray for guidance again. From there, I was led to becoming friends with a girl in my class who helped me find the closest branch. As I walked into the chapel on that first Sunday, I felt the Holy Ghost lift my burden from me. I knew that I could follow the healing steps I took on my mission. Again, I spoke to my Church leaders for help, studied the life and teachings of the Savior, and then focused on serving others. I found people to talk to and reached out, helped others at school, and accepted a calling at church.

Akasiwa Wamunyima, Malaysia

I saw holiness in the countenance of Evangeline, a 13-year-old girl in Ghana. One of the ways she keeps her covenants is by magnifying her calling as the Beehive class president. She humbly explained that she goes to the homes of her friends, the less-active young women, to ask their parents to allow them to come to church. The parents tell her that it is difficult because on Sunday the children must do household chores. So Evangeline goes and helps with the chores, and by her efforts her friends are often permitted to come to church.

For the pioneers, caring for their homes required heavy labor and protection from the harsh physical environment. Consider the story of Ann Howell Burt. She emigrated from Wales, married, and lived in a dugout in northern Utah during the summer of 1863. As a young mother she had to work hard to keep order and see to the needs of her family. She recorded in her journal:
“Some days ago, I killed a rattlesnake with my rolling pin, as he came crawling down the steps. I was just cooking supper and the baby was on the floor or rather the ground. … I was badly frightened. …
“… A few days ago, while keeping the flies off the baby’s face as he slept … , I discovered … a large tarantula crawling toward the child. I seized the broomstick, thrust the end of it at the tarantula and when it took hold … I hurriedly put it into the fire.”

Charles helped Mary Fielding Smith, Hyrum Smith’s widow, move her belongings across the river. He and Sarah and little Charles Edward spent the winter at Winter Quarters, then, in March, fit out for the trip West. In fitting out, Charles bought a yoke of oxen, a wagon, a cow, food, and other supplies. They left Iowa City in March, joining Isaac Higbee’s company, and entered the Salt Lake Valley in September, 1848.

As a young child I was taught to pray. I felt a love for the Savior and wanted to feel His Spirit with me. When I was perhaps only seven or eight years old, I remember helping my mother one day and thinking to myself, “If I had lived on the earth at the time of the Savior, would I have recognized Him and been one of His followers?” My testimony was very small then, so I didn’t know what the answer was, and the question continued to concern me as I was growing up.
When I entered Young Women, I loved going to Beehive camp. It was an amazing experience—enjoying the out-of-doors, singing the songs, and listening to testimonies around the campfire. I felt the Spirit of the Lord then and learned to recognize that Spirit. As the years passed, I came to know myself better. My question had been answered. Had I lived when the Savior was on the earth, I felt I would have recognized Him. I would have loved Him then, just as I love Him now.