Gospel Story Finder

Just a few months before I turned 14, I broke my leg. I was in a full-leg cast for two weeks and a shorter cast that came to my knee for four more. Because of my injury, I went to the last two weeks of school on crutches, and I couldn’t go on the girls’ camp backpacking trip or our family boating trip. I needed help getting in and out of the car, and my siblings weren’t very happy that I always needed the front seat so I would have room for my cast. Overall, I was miserable. I couldn’t walk, run, or play with my friends, and I was tired and in pain much of the time.
One day I was in the car with my mom and my brother. We were on the way home from running several errands. We stopped at one more store so my mom could quickly pick something up. She and my brother went into the store, and I opted to stay in the car. It wasn’t worth it to get out my crutches for such a quick trip. I had felt dejected all that day. I felt like I couldn’t do anything for myself except sit around. I couldn’t have any fun, and I felt like a burden to everybody around me.
At the peak of feeling sorry for myself, I noticed a copy of the Book of Mormon in a pocket of the car door. The missionaries had asked us to keep this copy in the car so we would have it handy to give away if the opportunity came. I pulled the book out and opened it to a random page. As I looked down, my eyes focused on the first few verses of 2 Nephi 2. As I read, I felt like these words in the second verse were written for me, for this very moment: “Thou knowest the greatness of God; and he shall consecrate thine afflictions for thy gain” (2 Nephi 2:2). In a moment when I felt afflicted and miserable, Heavenly Father spoke to me through the Book of Mormon and told me that He cared about me and that everything was going to be OK.
When my mom and brother returned to the car, I was smiling. They probably noticed the change, but I felt too quiet and peaceful inside to explain everything to them. I put the Book of Mormon back in its place, but I kept looking at it and remembering the words of Lehi that had brought me so much comfort. I also kept smiling. I couldn’t help but think that the missionaries’ request for our family to keep a copy of the Book of Mormon in our car wasn’t just for investigators.
At home, I pulled out my personal scriptures. I turned to 2 Nephi 2:2 and marked in red the words that had comforted me. A couple of months later I could walk and run just fine because my leg was healed. Of course, other trials came into my life later on. Many times when I feel alone and miserable, I remember how I felt that day waiting in the car. I still often turn to the passage marked in red in my scriptures, and I always find comfort there.

At the same time I lost my faith in science, I began to lose my faith in mankind. I took a class in which beliefs, truths, ethics, and morals were discussed. Many students in the class believed that there was no such thing as absolute truth, a God, or morality. They did not believe in personal responsibility and accountability for their actions. These people symbolized the world to me, so I began to lose my faith in mankind when I lost my faith in them.
I realized that much of what I had been taught as fact was not. This changed my perspective on everything in my life. I no longer saw teachers as sources of truth. I began to question all that I had been taught and had believed in. I wanted everything to be proven to me.
I began to question whether an absolute truth could exist. Yet I knew that certain things must exist. My lack of ability to comprehend God caused me to question his existence. I would say to myself, “God exists and his laws are absolute.” Then I would quickly think of something else to avoid questioning God’s existence.
Yet as I learned more, I tried to understand and explain God. Although I disliked my thinking, I could not deny what I felt. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to believe in that which I had always believed. My life was becoming depressing and insecure.
As the desire for stability and truth grew in my life, this great desire caused me to turn to the scriptures. It was then that I found a new meaning in Moroni 10:4 [Moro. 10:4]:
“And when ye shall receive these things, I would ask God, the eternal Father in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost.”
These were words of hope and comfort to me. I began to read the Book of Mormon with a new purpose. The writings of the prophets found a new place in my heart. I read with the desire to learn and know.
I longed for the comfort, purpose, and perspective that the gospel had always given to my life. Each night before I read, I would pray with a great desire to know the truth. I felt that the scriptures were true, but I wanted to know. When I read, I often found scriptures that gave me inspiration on how to live my life better. Many tears were shed as I felt the power and truth of the Book of Mormon.
I began to regard prayer more seriously. My relationship with my Father in Heaven became much closer. I prayed to him with a new enthusiasm. I desired to know if he was there. I prayed for a remission of my sins. I prayed for forgiveness because of my lack of faith.
After reading the Book of Mormon, I knelt in prayer. I had a great desire to know of its truth. I hoped it was true, knowing what joy this would bring me. That night I prayed for hours desiring to know. The following nights I continued in my prayers and began to wonder if I would receive a witness.
My determination in waiting for a witness was a trial of my faith. After many days I came to the realization that I knew the Book of Mormon was true. It came not as a sign or a voice. I knew because in the center of my being I could not deny that it was true. I also knew that God existed and that he is my Heavenly Father, that Jesus Christ is the only begotten son of God.
This came to me, not as new knowledge, but as a peaceful remembrance of that which I already knew. I did not need a further witness. I had always known the truth. My pride in my own knowledge had caused me to forget my testimony.
With this new understanding my life received meaning and peace. Although I still question some of what I hear, I do it for my own good and a desire to learn the truth.

When I was going to law school, we lived 2,200 kilometers from the nearest temple. We had very little money, and it was difficult to provide for our schooling and care for our small children. My wife and I attended the temple each summer when we returned to visit Utah, but at no other time. I am glad my priesthood leaders did not make me feel guilty that I did not attend the temple more frequently. A few years later I worked in Washington, D.C., and was able to use the great library resources there. During that year, I chose to concentrate my personal efforts (in addition to my Church calling) on family history research. When we moved to another city, I was called as a stake missionary, and my priorities shifted from family history research to missionary work.

The principle of encouraging members to prayerfully determine what they can do “in wisdom and order” in their present circumstances is an important principle of Church administration and individual growth. Quotas or assignments violate an important principle. In the past, most of us have observed a local leader make assessments for each member of a ward to contribute exactly the same amount of money for a particular financial need. Such assignments or assessments take no account of individual circumstances or the spirit of voluntary offering. Assessments deny everyone the blessing of making a voluntary offering.

King Benjamin did not say “all things should be done by mathematical division even if this requires some members to run faster than they have strength” (See Mosiah 4:27). The Prophet Joseph Smith did not say “I teach the people correct principles and then I give them an assessment.” (See Journal of Discourses, 10:57–58.)

In summary, we should understand and apply these principles:
(1) All things should be done in wisdom and order. We should recognize that our members have many individual circumstances. Considering these, we should promote the mission of the Church in such a way as to accomplish the work of the Lord, not to impose guilt on his children.
(2) There is a time to every purpose under the heaven. There are many tasks to be performed in temple and family history work. We should encourage our members to make prayerful selection of the things they can do in their individual circumstances and in view of their current Church calling, being “diligent unto the end.”
(3) Each member should think about the three dimensions of the mission of the Church—proclaiming the gospel, perfecting the Saints, redeeming the dead—as a lifelong personal assignment and privilege. Each should gauge his or her personal participation from time to time according to his or her own circumstances and resources, as guided by the Spirit of the Lord and the direction of priesthood leaders.
There are family organizations to be formed, family projects to be planned, hearts to be touched, prayers to be offered, doctrines to be learned, children to be taught, living and dead relatives to be identified, recommends to be obtained, temples to be visited, covenants to be made, and ordinances to be received.
As we fulfill our responsibilities to teach and show our brothers and sisters how to help bring to pass the eternal life of man, we will all be blessed, for this is His work and His glory.

As you read, you will discover new insight and meaning even in stories you have heard before. No scene in Church history is better known than Joseph Smith’s First Vision, but Saints helps us better understand how Joseph struggled to reconcile what he felt in his heart with what he thought in his mind.

Joseph’s heartfelt desire to feel the Savior’s forgiveness had gone unfulfilled because he observed that none of the existing churches taught “the gospel of Jesus Christ as recorded in the New Testament.” [16] In his mind, Joseph pondered which church was right or if they were all wrong. In his heart, he desperately hoped that one of them was right so he could find the peace he sought. With his head and his heart at odds, Joseph discovered that he could ask of God. He went to the woods to pray. There he saw the Father and the Son, who forgave him and resolved his dilemma in a way he had never imagined. [17]

One of the most rewarding experiences I have had this year came when I decorated some rooms in a rest home with gas-filled balloons. These simple, colorful ornaments brought cheerful smiles and happy eyes.

At Christmastime I accepted an invitation to participate as a sub for Santa. I went to a grateful but humble little home. They had done all they could, but needed some help. Our family provided the finishing touches. But what I want to tell you about is the gift this little family gave back to the world. They had a little home in the middle of an industrial area. I did not go inside the home, but the outside was brightly lighted with Christmas lights adding a cheery holiday glow to that dreary, dismal neighborhood.

A couple of years ago a young brother came up to me after a concert and asked if I’d ever seen the kid in the back of the room watching the man up front play his guitar, wanting with all his might to just open up like that and let his feelings out. And then he told me that he was the kid, that it was destructive to his spirit and hurtful to his head to feel the constant pressure of those dammed-up feelings and emotions and ideas. I didn’t doubt his sincerity, but I thought it might be just one more case of never having really tried. I asked him what he was doing to develop his talent. “Well, I’m studying voice right now, and I’ve been playing classical guitar for five years.” Obviously the problem had to be something else.
I invited him to come out to my house in Alpine (a small town in Utah County) when he could, and we’d talk about it. (Incidentally, his desire to share his light so touched me that I wrote a song about him that night before I went to bed—a song that a lot of my artist friends relate to really well, because they, too, frequently feel those “dammed-up” pressures.)
Not long after, we spent the day together in Alpine. The main element in his problem turned out to be a fairly simple misunderstanding. He somehow had the idea that those phrases and images that roll so easily off the singer’s tongue roll just as easily from the writer’s mind. He had begun hundreds of verses on hundreds of days, but whenever a word or picture got stuck in the pen, he felt that he had failed and quit. I have a song about swimming in a river. I sang him the lines:
You can see the fishes dancin’
Dancin’ silver rings around you and me.
Then I told him how I spent an hour a day for about three days writing those two lines, singing the song over and over, getting to that empty place and trying to hear those two lines, filling that place with a dozen different images, finally finding that image and saying it a dozen different ways, then singing it again and again, testing it on my tongue, my ear, my sense of balance.
He asked what the green book on the piano was—a rhyming dictionary. The blue one—a Thesaurus. And the cassette recorder—a recorder to tape four or five notes at a time, playing them back, seeing if the structure sounded fresh and yet inevitable. What was written in the pile of music notebooks? Melodies that didn’t work. The other notebooks? Lyrics that didn’t work. The filing cabinet? Ideas for songs. He wrote me a letter recently from the mission field in South America. The letter was in rhyme—not a hit song lyric, but real feelings breathing on the page.

I saw how this happened recently in a most unexpected place. You see, my wife and I were pulling into Portland, Oregon, anticipating a big BYU basketball game. Late at night, after a long flight and a long day here on campus, I was struggling while checking into our hotel well past midnight when someone said, “I want to introduce you to this family. They’ve come here to watch the basketball game.”

As this family walked up, I noticed that it was a mom with a whole bunch of children of varying ages in tow. As we started visiting with this mother, I soon found out that her husband—and the father of their children—had passed away only a couple of days earlier. This family was there at the basketball game to honor their father, who had wanted more than anything else to watch BYU play during March Madness.

I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why this heartbroken wife and mother, with all of her children in tow, would show up at this basketball game. She was there with a missionary who had come home early so he could be at his father’s funeral, with a newly born grandchild, and with a thirteen-year-old son who was clearly heartbroken at the loss of his dad.

But then I heard the answer in something she said. “I know,” she said, “that he’s going to ask us if we made his wish come true when we see him again.”

As I got to my room, still thinking about this family, it struck me more fully that this wife and mother had a perfect knowledge that she was in fact going to see her husband again. She knew that she was eternally tied to that relationship—to her relationship with her husband and to her relationship with the Savior Jesus Christ—forever. She knew that the sting of death was truly overcome. She knew that the victory of the grave was completely obliterated because of Christ’s miraculous and infinite Resurrection. And she knew that her covenants would lift her, along with her loved ones, heavenward.

Most people don’t think of a 17-year-old boy having to relearn to stand, but that was my situation this past year. I broke my jaw in a car accident and also had an emergency appendectomy. I was in rough shape, physically and mentally, and spent a lot of time in the hospital.
I remember clearly the first chance I had to stand after days of lying in bed. Despite the awkwardness, standing felt good. It wasn’t easy to do, but I did it.
Standing isn’t just putting your feet on the floor and standing up. We must also stand in holy places where we can be protected (see D&C 87:8). With the Lord’s loving help, any child of God can withstand the winds of temptation and evil. Everyone can stand strong. The Lord has provided a way for me to stand tall physically and, more importantly, spiritually. And boy, am I grateful!

December 16, 1981
Elder Marion D. Hanks
7 Castle Road, Central, Hong Kong
Dear Elder Hanks:
In an effort to make our Christmas more meaningful, we decided as a family to economize and use the savings to feed the hungry children in Cambodia and in other Southeast Asian countries.
To earn Christmas money the children addressed envelopes for my work, sold stationery, and worked around the yard and house. The kids earned a penny a page for reading. They put into the Christmas account the money they were going to spend on presents for each other, and they gave up a trip and goodies. We bought a small Christmas tree to set on top of the table rather than a full-sized tree, and we donated the difference.
The enclosed check represents, on behalf of our family, the money that we would have spent on Christmas but did not. We know you will put it to good use.
We are grateful for our many blessings, and we are very sorry that there are so many suffering so much. Please let us know what else we might do.
We hope you have an enjoyable Christmas season.
Sincerely,
The Dale S. Call Family

In his general conference address in April 2011, Elder Kent F. Richards relayed the following:
Thirteen-year-old Sherrie underwent a 14-hour operation for a tumor on her spinal cord. As she regained consciousness in the intensive care unit, she said: “Daddy, Aunt Cheryl is here, . . . and . . . Grandpa Norman . . . and Grandma Brown . . . are here. And Daddy, who is that standing beside you? . . . He looks like you, only taller. . . . He says he’s your brother, Jimmy.” Her uncle Jimmy had died at age 13 of cystic fibrosis.
“For nearly an hour, Sherrie . . . described her visitors, all deceased family members. Exhausted, she then fell asleep.”
Later she told her father, “Daddy, all of the children here in the intensive care unit have angels helping them.”

Elder H. Burke Peterson, then of the Presiding Bishopric, related the experience of a group of teenagers who were picnicking in the desert outside Phoenix, Arizona. One of the girls was bitten by a rattlesnake. Instead of immediately seeking medical attention, the group pursued the snake and sought revenge by killing it with rocks. Unfortunately, during the precious minutes that the group wasted in exacting revenge, the poison had time to move from the surface of the girl’s skin into the tissues of her foot and leg; her leg later had to be amputated below the knee.
“It was a senseless sacrifice, this price of revenge. … The poison of revenge, or of unforgiving thoughts or attitudes, unless removed, will destroy the soul in which it is harbored,” said Bishop Peterson.

Those first new green shoots popping up through powdery brown soil fill the gardener’s soul with joy—his love and care have paid off! There’s growth! And even if the gardener is not there to continue to watch the growth of the plants, his work lives on.
Such a gardener was Bruce Drennan, a young missionary whose love for the Lord and the gospel was no secret. He planted the seeds of testimony among friends, family, and the people of the small Aymara Indian village of Suriquina, Bolivia, where he and his companion Kevin Bons died after being overcome by carbon monoxide fumes from a faulty heater in their living quarters on December 22, 1981.
Many of those seeds he planted have been sprouting these past few years.
Everyone in his high school knew Bruce for his leadership as senior class president and his commitment to the Church. He had a way of injecting a big dose of fun and life into just about everything he touched. It might have been getting a bunch of friends together to take the local missionaries out to breakfast. Or planning the first senior class trip to Disneyland. Or yelling “Let’s be the nerd bus!” and herding kids onto the bus when arguments arose over who should go on which bus for a school trip. Or staying up all night to put together the program for a youth conference.
On top of all his activities, he still managed to keep a 4.0 grade point average and win a four-year scholarship to BYU. As one of his teachers wrote when Bruce was applying for a scholarship, “A room full of Bruce Drennans would put any teacher in seventh heaven.”
He was committed to going on a mission and influenced his friends to do the same. “He really encouraged me to go on a mission when I needed the encouragement at a certain time in my life,” said his friend Ed Belliston. “He was always a good example and brought out abilities in me that I didn’t know I had. After I left on my mission and I heard of his death, the memory of Bruce would get me fired up again. He made me work harder.” Dean Teach, another friend, told his friend Lisa Anderson that if it hadn’t been for Bruce, he wouldn’t have gone on his mission.
While in the Missionary Training Center, Bruce Drennan wrote a letter bearing his testimony to one of his good friends, Lisa King, who is not a member of the Church. That same day he wrote in his journal, “I wrote Lisa King today. In the letter I bore my testimony and told her why I’m going on a mission. I don’t know what she’s going to think, but I guess that it doesn’t matter too much if she thinks I’m a jerk.”
Though Bruce didn’t know it, that testimony he wrote to Lisa would be sent to hundreds of people after his death, attached to the flyleaf of copies of the Book of Mormon sent by relatives and friends in his stake. And his testimony that had touched so many people in Suriquina, Bolivia, would continue to touch lives.
When the news of Bruce’s death reached his hometown of Ukiah, California, it struck a nerve in the community. Bruce was well known and loved. Grace Jones, whose Church assignment is to work with the media in Ukiah, received many of the questions about what had happened. She decided to let people really know what Bruce was doing in Bolivia—preaching the gospel of Jesus Christ.
“We had so many inquiries from newspapers and radio stations about Bruce, that we decided it would be a good idea to let others know what he had been teaching,” said Sister Jones. “Why not give out copies of the Book of Mormon in his memory during the remaining 18 months he would have been serving as a missionary? I discussed the idea with the stake presidency, and they approved it. And Bruce’s family accepted the idea wholeheartedly.”
So under Sister Jones’s direction and with Lisa King’s permission, Bruce’s picture and testimony were put in hundreds of copies of the Book of Mormon. His testimony continued to influence many people.
Wrote Bruce, “A missionary’s sole purpose in the Mormon church is to teach the gospel of Christ to all those who are willing and ready to receive it. I know that Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father appeared to a man named Joseph Smith and restored the gospel to the earth. I know that Christ and Heavenly Father live today and have a tremendous love for us. I know that we lived before this earth and that we came down here for a purpose. The Book of Mormon is an additional witness of Christ to the Bible. Both are the word of God. These things are so true; they are so very important. It is because of these things that I am going on a mission. I hope you can understand and will receive these things with an open mind and heart.”
Also included in the copies of the Book of Mormon were two excerpts from his journal. The first one was about a mission experience. “I had been praying about this meeting quite a bit, that we would have the Spirit with us and that the people would feel it. Upon teaching, I felt like I was helped out with the language. Some words just came to me without having to think. By the time we finished, it was dark and the room was full. There were probably 100 people there.”
The second journal excerpt was about the blessings. “I’m so grateful for the world we have. If I ever want to put myself in a spiritual mood, all I have to do is look for the beauty in the world. I feel so small and insignificant compared to the grandeur of the world. It is like God has to love us to have given us all that He has.”
Many wards in the Ukiah Stake asked if they could participate in the Book of Mormon project. Posters were made and put in the foyers of participating wards. When a referral card was filled out and returned to the stake or full-time missionaries, the name of the requesting person was embossed in gold on the hardback cover of a Book of Mormon for that person, with Bruce’s testimony and photo included. Over 500 copies of Bruce’s testimony were printed the first time, and more were later printed.
“It was overwhelming! We were printing names on books like you couldn’t believe!” said Bruce Bates, Ukiah stake mission president. The books were either given to the recipient by the person making the referral or by the missionaries.
Bishop Drennan, Bruce’s father, probably gave out more books than anyone else. Manager of a department store in Ukiah, he posted a copy of a newspaper article telling about the Book of Mormon project on the bulletin board at his store. Many of his employees asked for copies.
“A Catholic friend of Bruce’s was extremely cooperative in sending his friends copies,” added Bishop Drennan. “She looked up addresses and made sure people got the books. At first we decided to continue giving the books for the period of time Bruce would have been on his mission, but it’s carried on past that time. I think the whole situation has helped my wife and me decide to go on a full-time mission when we retire.”
Sister Drennan, Bruce’s mother, also shared the books with people. “Because of the circumstances, it was easier for us to do what we should be doing anyway, sharing the Book of Mormon with our friends and neighbors,” she said.
Bruce’s brother David, formerly student body president at Ukiah High School, now serving a mission in Spain, gave out several books, and one friend took the missionary discussions because of the gift. “There was a blessing that came along with the trauma of Bruce’s death,” said David. “It made me open up more about the Church. It became easier to talk to people about it.”
Twelve-year-old Matt McKell gave one of the books to his junior high school social studies teacher. “It scared me a little, but he said he knew the Drennan boys and that he would read it,” said Matt.
Lynn Budrow, then eleven, gave one to her fifth-grade teacher. “I told her it was from Bruce, and she said she really wanted it,” said Lynn.
Ken Morgan, custodian at Ukiah High School, gave five books to teachers and personnel at the high school. The librarian asked for two copies, one for herself and one to put in the school library. Ken’s wife works at an elementary school, where she gave ten books to teachers and parents.
“The Book of Mormon I received I’ll keep forever, even though I’m not Mormon,” said Mary Beth Morris, one of Bruce’s friends. “Bruce would write and tell me how many baptisms he was doing. I thought his mission was neat, because I knew he would do a good job at whatever he did. He was an example for a lot of people.”
Georgia Portlock in the Drennan’s ward gave out many books. “I love to talk about the Church, and it made me feel great to give the books to people,” she said. “At least they’ll have a copy of the Book of Mormon, and I don’t care if it sits on their shelf for a while. One day something will come up and they’ll read it and understand it. That’s what happened to me. My son gave me a Book of Mormon, and it sat on the shelf for ten years until I read it. When I did, it. was like I was burning up, and in three weeks I asked to be baptized.”
Sister Portlock sent a copy of the book with Bruce’s testimony to her granddaughter Sherry Siekert in Wisconsin. And a little while later, Sister Portlock got a call from Sherry asking Brother Portlock to come out and baptize her.
“I had been brought up hearing about the Mormons but not knowing anything about them,” said Sherry. “When I got the book, I started to read it—I’ve no idea what made me open the book. I just did. Two elders had come by before and left a pamphlet in the house, and I read it. Maybe that’s one reason I started to read the book.
“After I talked to the missionaries a while, I called my father in Chicago and said, ‘It all sounds so good to me. It’s like everything I’ve always wanted to know all my life.’ My father’s interested in the Church now, too.”
The gospel has had a great impact in Sherry’s life. “I don’t feel like I have to go out and do a lot of wild things to have fun. Fun is being with good friends and family now. I appreciate them more, and I’m not afraid of death anymore. I work in a nursing home, and when I see people dying, I feel like they’re going to something better. I’ve also found that if you stand by your standards and don’t let your peers pressure you into things you know are wrong, they’ll respect you more than if you’d just gone along. This last year since I’ve been baptized has been great.”
So Bruce Drennan’s missionary work continues on as his example inspires others to plant, nurture, and harvest. The impact of his testimony may never be fully measured.
Two flowering nectarine trees, the first of the kind in Ukiah, have been dedicated to Bruce at his high school, along with a plaque in his memory. “The trees here will grow and be strong, just as Bruce was strong,” said his friend Mary Morris.
Eugene F. Olsen, acting mission president of the Bolivia La Paz Mission at the time of Bruce’s death, wrote to Bruce’s parents: “Elder Bons and Elder Drennan were among the best missionaries in the entire mission. The fact that they were assigned to the Aymara program at all is in itself a high recommendation as only the very most dedicated and committed missionaries are called to that program because of the fact that the minimal supervision possible in these remote areas makes self-supervision and total dependability an absolute necessity.”
In a letter to Bishop and Sister Drennan shortly after Bruce’s death, Elder Mike Hanley of Bruce’s mission summed up the impact Elder Bruce Drennan had in the lives of a few—and continues to have: “I wanted you to know about the work in Suriquina, where Elder Drennan was working. In January, the elders in Suriquina had 25 baptisms. That was excellent for them. However, they did even better in February—they had 37. They were the highest baptizing companionship in all Bolivia. Suriquina is booming, and Brother and Sister Drennan, I know Elder Drennan planted some of those seeds. He made a big sacrifice, but these people will be grateful to him throughout eternity. He helped them receive the greatest gift they’ll ever have—the gift that’ll carry them to eternal life. I’m sure Elder Drennan is happy. We should be, too.”
“But if ye will nourish the word, yea, nourish the tree as it beginneth to grow, by your faith with great diligence, and with patience, looking forward to the fruit thereof, it shall take root; and behold it shall be a tree springing up unto everlasting life” (Alma 32:41).

An elderly widow shared a similar sweet experience with me. She opened her front door one wintry day to find a handwritten note left on the doorstep. The note read:

I just wanted to drop you a note to tell you how much I admire you in all the roles you have played—as a mother, teacher, wife, and example of a daughter of God. Thank you for being you. From a friend and admirer.

The anonymous note from a thoughtful neighbor took only a few minutes to write, but the message will lift that faithful widow for months to come.

The Kaohsiung Seventh Branch at the Taipei Taiwan Temple in December 2001.
In 2000 we were called to serve as branch president and Primary president of the smallest unit in the Kaohsiung Taiwan Stake. We had about 20 people at sacrament meeting, including our young family, four active elders, and the missionaries. We later sent out two elders on missions, trusting that the Lord would replenish our branch.
As we worked with our branch, we remembered President Gordon B. Hinckley’s (1910–2008) counsel that every convert needs “a friend, a responsibility, and nurturing with ‘the good word of God.’”1 We felt impressed that our new members should quickly be given callings so they could grow by serving. The missionaries introduced us to each investigator, and within two weeks of each of their baptisms, they received a calling. They developed friendships as they served with other members.
Within a month, every newly baptized brother received the Aaronic Priesthood, and each blessed and passed the sacrament. We also prepared them to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood by the next stake conference.
New elders were taught how to perform ordinances, and then these elders taught the newer elders. We believed in learning by doing and in retaining learning by teaching. Branch members were responsible to model and mentor, teach and train, and sustain and support each other.
We used home and visiting teachers, family home evenings, ward activities, and potlucks to fellowship new converts. They were nurtured with the word of God through Sunday and weekday religious instructions. Institute grew from 2 to 25 students. To further nurture our small branch, we attended and served in the Taipei Taiwan Temple every month—a 10-hour round-trip by bus. Normally, our stake struggled to fill a second temple bus. As our branch grew and families prepared for their temple blessings, we set a goal to fill our own bus. Twice that first year, while the rest of the stake filled one temple bus, our small branch filled a second one. Soon after, the stake asked each ward to fill one temple bus at least once a year.
By the second year, our convert retention increased from 30 percent to more than 90 percent, and our sacrament meetings grew to about 100 people, including 25 active elders. Our branch became a ward, and our old building was renovated into a new chapel.
The smallest branch had become the strongest ward in the stake because every convert had been blessed with friends, callings, and nurturing with the word of God.

Women in the Apia Samoa East Stake told us,

We . . . decided to approach the government if it was all right for the Stake Relief Society sisters to plant some flowers around the town clock. We chose the town clock because it is right in the middle of the town, and we felt it would be just the right place to have a beautiful garden. Its flowers would bear the theme of the Relief Society, “Charity Never Faileth.” The government was thrilled. . . . They thanked us wholeheartedly, and then they asked us if there was any way we could paint the 20-foot clock tower as well. We told them . . . we would see what we could do. . . . The stake did not have money, which did not worry us a bit. We only wanted them to approve it, as we had a strong feeling and belief if it was the will of the Lord, things will work out. . . . Paints and equipment were donated, professional painters offered themselves and their time, and the priesthood of our . . . stake also helped out with the work. The sisters of the eight units of our stake worked in scraping the old paint off, scrubbing and cleaning the clock tower, and, of course, in planting the flowers. We will be taking turns in maintaining the gardens there for the whole year. Again, the sisters were generous and willing.

One of these is the great intuition enjoyed by women. One of our faithful ward Relief Society presidents recalls a prompting she had:
“While attending my meetings, I had a strong feeling that I should check on an inactive sister in my ward. My first thought was, ‘I’m in charge; I can’t leave.’ But then I thought, ‘What would Christ do?’ Of course He would leave the meeting and go to His lost sheep. So I went. As I arrived at this sister’s home, I told her, ‘I don’t know why I’m here, but are you okay?’ She said she was fine. But I persisted. If the Lord had sent me, I knew I couldn’t just leave.
“She invited me in, and I found out on that Easter Sunday that her husband had left her earlier that week. Her children had been wondering where their daddy was. And she prayed for help for the first time in a long while. We were then able to get her family involved, and our bishop and his counselor came and helped mend the crisis so that the family got back together again.
“This experience taught me the importance of listening to the Spirit and following the promptings when they come. I’ve learned much from my experience of ‘leaving the ninety and nine’ to go and ‘find the one.’”

And the girls feel a similar concern for their “mom.” In October 1990, she went to the United States to escort several children who were being adopted by U.S. families. Many girls who had sung in the Tender Apples choir gathered from far and near to see her. President Till speaks of watching her greet her “children,” with a broad smile on her face and tears in her eyes. As each woman arrived, often accompanied by a husband and children, Sister Whang would gather the group in a massive hug and hold on as if she would never let go.
“I’ve never seen Sister Whang show such emotion,” remembers President Till. “It was especially touching when I thought of what might have happened to those girls without her. A couple of them probably wouldn’t have survived. The rest of them probably would have ended up as servants or living on the street. Sister Whang truly provided physical salvation for those girls—and gave them the opportunity for spiritual salvation by introducing them to the gospel.”

“I need you to watch your baby brother,” Mama said. “Your pa and I are going to help someone who is sick.”
I looked up from sweeping the floor of our small house and nodded. Mama was the Relief Society president, and she often went to visit sisters in our ward.
“Thank you, Arlyn,” Mama said, kissing the top of my head. “John’s asleep. And there’s bread dough rising on the counter. Please don’t touch it.”
I watched through the doorway as she and Pa rode the wagon down our dusty road. I felt proud that Mama trusted me.
As I swept the kitchen, I stopped to look at the bread dough. I could hardly wait for Mama to bake it tonight. Usually we ate the fresh bread with homemade jam. But we had run out of jam three months ago.
Jam! The thought made me hungry for something sweet. I glanced up at the sugar jar, high up on the shelf. I knew Mama was saving it to make more jam.
But the more I thought about the sugar, the hungrier I felt. Finally, I pulled a chair up to the counter and reached up. My fingers just barely touched the jar of sugar. I pulled it closer to the edge of the shelf. …
And then the jar slipped right off the shelf! I tried to catch it, but it fell with a loud plop right in the middle of the bread dough. Sugar spilled all over the bread and counter and onto the floor.
“Oh no!” I yelled. That woke my baby brother up. He started crying. I wanted to cry too. What would Mama say about this mess?
After I got John calmed down, I did my best to clean up the sugar. I pulled the jar out of the dough and washed it. I wiped the sugar off the counter and floor. But there was nothing I could do to get the sugar out of the dough.
I thought about putting the jar back on the shelf. Maybe Mama wouldn’t notice it was empty. But I knew that wasn’t right. So I set the jar on the table and waited for Mama and Pa to come home.
When they got home, Mama noticed the sugar jar right away.
I took a deep breath. “I just wanted a taste of sugar. But I knocked the jar off the shelf. I tried to clean it up, but I couldn’t get it out of the bread dough.” The words rushed out as I looked down at the floor.
Mama was quiet for a minute.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
Mama let out a sigh. “Well, I guess the bread will be extra sweet tonight,” she said. I looked up. She gave me a little smile. “Thank you for telling us what happened.”
As we ate the sugary bread that night, Mama and Pa and I talked about honesty.
“We all make lots of mistakes in life,” Pa said. “But when we are honest and try to repent, Heavenly Father and Jesus are happy. We will always be blessed for being honest—even if it seems harder at first.”
I was still sad that I had spilled the sugar. I knew we probably wouldn’t have as much jam this year because of my mistake. But I was glad I had told the truth. That was a sweet feeling no amount of sugar could give.

The children also had a special opportunity to make a rug that would be used in the temple’s cornerstone services. They first participated in a drawing contest for the rug’s design. From the winning designs, a lovely rug with six colorful panels was created. Each child was able to take a turn stitching a part of the rug. Their finished handiwork was exhibited at the temple during the cornerstone service.
The children will never forget their experience of making a rug for the dedication of the San Diego California Temple. That rug is now displayed in the children’s center inside the temple, where many will see their labor of love.

The sun was just touching the water of the Great Salt Lake on a warm Sunday evening one August, when the radio speaker nestled snugly between windshield and handlebar of my police motorcycle crackled into life. “Motors 38 and 40,” said a female voice, “report of a noisy motorcycle in the neighborhood. Vicinity of Glendale Circle and Navajo Street. Complainant does not wish contact.”
I wrestled the radio mike from its clip and acknowledged the call. “Motors 38 and 40, 10–4.” My partner and I were on motorcycle patrol for the Salt Lake City Police Department. The cooler evening air felt good against my face as we picked up our pace, riding straight and tall, side by side, to answer this complaint. It had been a quiet day so far, for which I was grateful.
We soon arrived in the vicinity of the complaint and rode around several streets looking for the offending motorcycle. No such vehicle was seen, and I was just reaching for my mike to report GOA (gone on arrival) to the dispatcher, when around the corner came a new Harley Sportster. It was ridden by a handsome young man wearing a T-shirt and jeans. He was well groomed and tan, just the kind of a fellow who would attract a 16-year-old girl like the one who was riding behind. She was very pretty and obviously enjoying the ride, her arms wrapped tightly around the boy’s waist and her hair blowing in the breeze. I cringed as I noticed her bare legs and shorts, knowing what injury she might receive if an accident were to occur.
My partner and I pulled up near this young couple and the cycle, and I listened to the pipes. It certainly wasn’t too loud, but perhaps they had been cutting up a little too much around the neighborhood. I was sure this was probably the culprit and decided to stop them to advise them to be a little more cautious. I moved up, nearly alongside the other cycle, and beeped my horn. The young man looked around, saw the police uniform, and suddenly, without warning, screwed the throttle handle full on, and away they went at a high rate of speed. I was surprised and shocked, not expecting such a response. I quickly kicked my motor into a lower gear, and the chase began.
Around and around several streets we went, siren wailing and lights flashing. My partner dropped back to use the radio and give locations as I continued the pursuit. Out of the subdivision and onto California Avenue we went. This was a major street, long and straight, and speeds increased. Soon we found ourselves sliding and scraping around the corner and heading north on Redwood Road. This main highway was heavy with traffic. The sun was gone now, and most cars had their lights on. My young man turned off his lights to try to lose me. My wailing siren was causing traffic to pull to the right and into his path. I slowed a little, giving him room because I feared an accident might occur. He was really desperate now. I could see him turning, looking back to see how close I was, and turning again, trying to turn the throttle tighter to get more speed. Still I stayed with him.
As we approached another major intersection at North Temple, I saw something that I will never forget. This young man, as he went around the corner, suddenly turned quickly on the cycle seat, bringing his elbow back and into the side of the young girl behind him. His blow knocked her off the bike, landing her in the middle of the busy intersection. His motorcycle fishtailed as he lost his burdensome load, but he regained control and sped away without so much as a backward glance as she went skidding and sliding along the gravel and asphalt.
Of course, I stopped my pursuit to give first aid and call for help, and the young man made good his escape—for a while. What a tragic way for a fun afternoon ride to end. How disillusioned this young girl was as her newfound “friend” had sacrificed her so willingly to save himself. I suppose if my partner and I had not come along that day, he could have pretended to be a friend to this girl for a long time, and perhaps she might have been hurt in even more significant ways. The young man was caught and arrested several hours later. It was determined that he was AWOL (absent without leave) from the Marine Corps, and he was returned to them under military guard.