Gospel Story Finder

As children living in Argentina, Andrea Veronica Muñoz and her older sister attended a Catholic school. They had never been exposed to other religious teachings until Andrea was nine years old. That’s when Latter-day Saint missionaries began teaching her family about the restored gospel.
Soon after the missionaries finished their lesson and left, Andrea’s mother explained that there was more than just one religion. Andrea asked her mother what church she thought best represented God. Her mother replied, “I think it is this one”—The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, about which the missionaries had just taught them.
All her life, Andrea had always “wanted to please God,” so she worried about embracing a new faith. The feeling lasted only a few minutes, however, and was replaced by a desire to learn more about the Church.
The family was baptized, “and we started a new life,” Sister Spannaus said. “It was really wonderful the way our family life changed for all of us.”

There is a book that I have always remembered since I first read it many years ago. I feel it illustrates the scripture found in 1 Thessalonians 5:18, which reads, “In every thing give thanks.” Many of you may be acquainted with Corrie ten Boom’s book entitled The Hiding Place. It is the true story of two Dutch women who were imprisoned during World War II for harboring Jewish refugees. Its message bears reminding.

Corrie and Betsie ten Boom lived by the precepts of Christ and found great comfort in reading the Bible. Their prison barracks were dimly lit, dirty, foul smelling, crowded, and constantly patrolled by guards. Corrie was put into a cell with her sister, which was a blessing for them both. Her constant worry was that the guards would see their Bible and take it away, since it was a great source of hope and comfort to them.

The place was so infested with fleas that the sisters could not move without instantly being covered with the bugs. They were very familiar with scriptures concerning gratitude and thankfulness in the Bible. Betsie told Corrie that they should thank God for the fleas. Corrie wasn’t sure she could do this, but she and Betsie bowed their heads and thanked God even for the fleas.

Weeks later Corrie was struck by the blessing that came from her obedience to thank God in all circumstances. Betsie had heard a supervisor say she wouldn’t step through the door of their cell because of all the fleas, and neither would the guards. It was because of the fleas that they were able to continue to keep their Bible without the guards finding it. They were also able to hold worship meetings and share Christ’s message with other prisoners. God asks us to give thanks even when there may seem to be little for which to be thankful. The ten Boom sisters fully understood this admonition. (See Corrie ten Boom, with John and Elizabeth Sherrill, The Hiding Place [New York: Bantam, 1971], 197–99, 208–9.)

The Young Women program allowed the youth council to decide what they wanted to do, and Anahei Chung, the class president, proposed: “We decided to reach to all members of our group and so invited all of our young women to prepare pizzas and pies and then take them to less active members.”
Tetinia Teriirere, Young Women president, said: “Our goal was three pizzas and three pies but in the end we made 12 pizzas and seven pies as the enthusiasm of the young women was infectious.” After enjoying some pizzas and pies that day, each young woman also received either a pizza or a pie to take home. Some of them chose to share what they received.
Tetinia continued, “One of them offered her pizza to the missionary sisters, others gave them to young women in less-active families. They were so happy to interact again, and it was really good to meet again and share with others.”

Several years ago I was teaching a group of nursery leaders how to give a short gospel lesson to very young children. One of the leaders had her young son on her lap. I held a picture of the Savior in my hand and, demonstrating how to speak to young children, began talking about Jesus. The tiny boy slid off his mother’s lap, toddled over to me, looked intently at the picture, and touched the face. At that point in the dialogue, I asked the question, “Who is this?” With a smile on his face, the child responded, “Jesus.”
This child was not old enough to really even say his own name, but he recognized the image and knew the name of the Savior. As I watched this sweet response, I thought of the words of the Savior when He said, “Seek the face of the Lord always, that in patience ye may possess your souls, and ye shall have eternal life” (D&C 101:38).

Christ gives peace. I remember being in Europe a number of years ago at the time tanks were rolling down the streets of a great city, and students were being slaughtered with machine-gun fire. I stood that December day in the railroad station in Berne, Switzerland. At eleven o’clock in the morning, every church bell in Switzerland began to ring, and at the conclusion of that ringing, every vehicle stopped—every car on the highway, every bus, every railroad train. The great, cavernous railway station became deathly still. I looked out the front door across the plaza. Men working on the hotel opposite stood on the scaffolding with bared heads. Every bicycle stopped. Every man and woman and child dismounted and stood with bared, bowed heads. Then, after three minutes of prayerful silence, trucks, great convoys of them, began to roll from Geneva and Berne and Basel and Zurich toward the suffering nation to the east, laden with supplies—food, clothing, and medicine. The gates of Switzerland were thrown open to refugees.

As I stood there that December morning, I marveled at the miraculous contrast of the oppressive power shooting down students in one nation and the spirit of a Christian people in another who bowed their heads in prayer and reverence, then went to work to provide succor and salvation.

Fine examples of this are Christopher and Melita Baliton from Asingan, Pangasinan, parents of seven. They joined the Church in 2012 with their three oldest children and the four younger ones were baptized when they reached 8 years of age. They were sealed for time and all eternity in the Manila Temple in 2013.
Recently, I had the opportunity to visit the home of the beautiful Baliton family and learned that Brother Christopher passed away in 2020. The responsibility to continue the family food cart business fell on the shoulders of Sister Melita, with the help of her children, especially Christian Adam, the third child.
When Adam expressed his desire to serve a mission and become one of the 4600, he was concerned about leaving because he knew his mother relied on him as the runner and delivery boy of their food cart business. We felt Melita’s great faith as she said to “I assured him that we will be alright, his other siblings will be there to help me.”
Sister Baliton also said it was the wish of her departed husband that Adam would serve a mission. She also said, “Aside from helping our brothers and sisters who do not know about the true gospel of Jesus Christ, I really want Elder Baliton’s example to influence his younger siblings so they too will become full-time missionaries.” Elder Baliton is now faithfully serving in the Philippines Iloilo Mission and we enjoyed the pleasure of meeting him personally during our mission visit.

When I was a young boy, my greatest desire was to play basketball. Fortunately, I had a father who was anxious to see that his son’s desire was met. Dad and I would practice the basics of passing and dribbling the basketball hour after hour in our small kitchen. I would listen to college basketball games on the radio and dream of playing college ball someday. Serving a mission was far from my mind at that time; consequently, I spent very little effort in missionary preparation. In an attempt to ensure some balance in my life, my dad—who had not held a Church calling in many years—accepted the call to serve as my Scoutmaster. He operated by the book, and due to his diligence, some of my friends and I became Eagle Scouts. I realize now that Scouting is great preparation for a mission.

Sammy Snake was busy crawling out of his old, dry skin when Hosea Hamster scampered by. “Ha-ha!” laughed Hosea. “Sammy, you certainly look funny—like a worm crawling out of its cocoon.”
Sammy Snake turned to his old friend and replied, “Snakes always shed their skins in the springtime.”
“I don’t see why you should shed your skin. Your old one looked just fine to me,” said Hosea.
“Every year I grow bigger so my skin becomes too small,” Sammy explained. “In the winter I hibernate, and I grow a new skin under the old one while I’m asleep. When I wake up in the springtime my old skin is dry. It splits along my belly and I crawl out of it. It’s like being born again every year.”
Hosea looked puzzled and replied, “Sure sounds like a lot of trouble to me. Why don’t you just stretch your old skin? That’s what I do. Watch this!” He puffed out his cheeks, making his little round face look like a fuzzy Ping-Pong ball.
“No, no! You don’t understand,” cried Sammy, a little exasperated. “My skin doesn’t stretch like yours. It has to be hard and tough so it won’t tear when I crawl over sharp rocks. My skin needs to be strong enough to protect me from the hot sand and from Benny Badger or he could bite through it with his sharp teeth.”
“I see,” replied Hosea. “A skin that can do all those things couldn’t be expected to stretch too.”
Hosea sat on his hind legs and watched Sammy wiggle and squirm.
Finally all his old skin came off. As Sammy crawled free of the skin, he gave a sigh of relief. “Well, I’m glad that job is over for another year. Boy, am I hungry! I’m hungry enough to eat a. …” His beady eyes fixed on the plump little hamster sitting in front of him.
Hosea caught the message. Quick as a wink, he scurried down the path to safety. He paused for a moment and turned to say, “So long, Sammy. I’ll see you later—maybe we can play after you’ve had your dinner!”

I have always been ambitious about education and leap at every opportunity. One year in high school, I took courses at the local community college through a program funded by my school. I really like computer science, and I was excited to take a computer programming class so I could learn more.
When I got my schedule from the college, I realized that my programming class was at the same time as my Young Women activity every week. I tried to ignore it at first and tell myself that education was encouraged by the Church and that I was doing the right thing. As the time for classes to start drew nearer, I felt more and more uncomfortable about taking the class. When the time came that I had to tell my Young Women leader that I wouldn’t be making it to any of the activities, she sounded devastated. She told me that I would be sorely missed, and she would do anything to help me.
After talking to her, I felt bad that I thought the class was more important. When I got home, I went to my room and looked at the goal board I had made for Personal Progress. I had written on it, “If you want something, you’ve got to prove it.” I read my scriptures with that in mind and came across Mosiah 2:21. I realized I had to prove that I was going to serve God and not myself by letting my desires get in the way. I cancelled the class the next day. I had a wonderful year of Young Women activities, and I was able to set a higher priority for the Church in my life. I know it was the right thing to drop that class, and I am really glad that I did.

Sister Evans and I served together as I presided over the Japan Nagoya Mission. Our desire was to increase the quantity and quality of convert baptisms and to more firmly establish the Lord’s church in Japan. As many of you know, in recent months, Elder Oaks has reminded us that the very doctrinal purpose of missionary work is to “teach repentance and baptize converts.”8 That is what we wanted to do! That was the desire of our hearts. We set goals and made plans on how to accomplish those goals. We worked with greater focus and desire than we had ever done in anything in our lives. As we worked with missionaries, we were blessed and the work increased. We found more opportunities to teach repentance and then saw the blessing of an increase in the number of convert baptisms. However, after experiencing this remarkable blessing, we then experienced a period where we plateaued and we stopped reaching our goals.

Have you ever felt this way in those things that you want to achieve? As I contemplated what to do, one of our missionaries wrote to me a letter in which he said:
“I am really thinking about what I can do to [achieve our goals]...I know that it will require more dedication than I have had to accomplish these goals. I think so many times when we have missed our goals, it came down to the sad fact that we just didn’t care. Of course we wanted baptisms, but we didn’t really care enough to do the things that make baptisms happen. It is sad, but when we all really think seriously about it, we all know it is true.”

In the spring of 2001, the First Presidency invited me to dedicate a building on the beautiful campus of Southern Utah State University in Cedar City, Utah. At the time, I was puzzled as to why I would receive this assignment. I am not an educator by experience or training. I was not a graduate of that institution, nor had I any previous association with the University. Nevertheless, I went ahead with the assignment.

Sister Sorensen and I were having breakfast with Brother and Sister Bennion, who, some of you may remember, was president of this institution not so many years ago. The experience I am about to tell you was spoken of by Sister Marjorie Bennion here on this campus several years ago. I have collaborated with her and she has given me permission to make reference to some of the following incidents: While at breakfast at the Southern Utah State University, Sister Bennion said to me, “I understand you are the Executive Director of the Temple Department and there is consideration being given to rebuild the Nauvoo Temple.” Before I could answer, Sister Bennion continued, “I visit teach a less-active sister whose great grandfather was the architect of the Nauvoo Temple. His name was William Weeks. Would you be interested in talking to her? I think she could be helpful. She would very much appreciate making contact with an official from the Temple Department of the Church.

I was delighted and excited. I explained to Sister Bennion that the Church had a few limited drawings and plans from the original Nauvoo Temple. They came to the Church in a rather unusual way. Let me explain.

In 1948, Elder Vern C. Thackery and Elder Frank Gifford knocked on the door of Mr. and Mrs. Leslie Griffith in the…town of Boron, California located in the Mohave Desert. It turned out that the Griffiths were descendants of William Weeks. They were not members of the Church at the time.

Their great grandfather, Brother William Weeks, had a misunderstanding with Brigham Young regarding the design of the Salt Lake Temple. President Young insisted Brother Weeks yield to the inspiration of the President of the Church. Brother Weeks left President Young’s office – never to return again. He took the plans of the Nauvoo Temple with him.

So, going forward all those years, the missionaries tracted into the Griffiths in 1948, who happened to be descendants of Brother Weeks, and miracle of miracles, had possession of some of the original plans of the Nauvoo Temple. According to Elder Thackery, he was driving an old Ford with a rumble seat, which is a seat that can be hidden. They gave Elder Thackery the documents and he put them in the rumble seat, closed it and forgot them.

Sometime later, after the Elder was home in Heber City, Utah, he remembered the documents and delivered them to the Historical Department of the Church.

Now we turn to 2001 in Cedar City, Utah with President and Sister Bennion. Remember she said, “I am visiting teaching the great-granddaughter of William Weeks. I think she has some plans of the Nauvoo Temple. Would you please go and visit with her? Better still, why don’t I go and bring her here? You can have lunch with her.”

She promptly left to retrieve the good sister and the architectural drawing. She came right back with both of them. Sister Griffiths had in her hands the actual drawings of the Nauvoo Temple – drawings the Church did not have. We quickly made arrangements for her to go to Salt Lake City and present the last pieces of the puzzle, restoring all as it was at first.

Since the Church was driven from Nauvoo, think how many places those Nauvoo Temple drawings must have been. Think of how many old trunks and covered wagons they were in, as they crossed half a continent. Imagine them passing through the generations of the Weeks family. Finally, 100 years later, consider two missionaries knocking on a remote door in the middle of the Mohave Desert.

All along Heavenly Father knew where those plans were. They weren’t lost to Him. His vigilant eye was watching over them until the time came to restore them for His great purpose of rebuilding the Nauvoo Temple in our day.

In an effort to light their part of the world, members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Dhaka, Bangladesh visited and delivered donations to six organizations that serve the needy in that country.
Members gathered at the church at 10 a.m. on 8 December 2018 to organize into groups and plan their service, then left to make visits throughout the afternoon, with some traveling two hours away.
All told over 2,000 items were donated to orphans, elderly people, and others in need.
According to Kris Johnson, the purpose of the activity was to perform Christlike service to the community, and to strengthen the love of Christ in Church members.

Lesson two is that we can endure challenges with patience. I worked hard during my undergraduate career to prepare for admission to graduate school. I kept my grades up, worked on research projects with professors, took a GRE prep class, and, like all of you, contributed in campus and community service projects. I carefully selected the graduate schools I would apply to and ensured my applications were complete and submitted early.

After months of waiting for each school to notify me of its admissions decision, I received a rejection letter, then another, and then another until every graduate school had respectfully denied me admission. With help and advice from professors in my department, I submitted a late application to one more graduate school. I was promptly admitted, and, from my present perspective, I am confident that I am going where I am supposed to go.

The smell of freshly cooked bacon filled the cabin where the sisters of our young single adult ward had gathered for a Relief Society overnighter. As I lay in bed trying to wake up from a short night’s sleep, I heard the sisters begin to gather in the kitchen for breakfast. I heard their familiar voices laughing, talking, and then laughing some more. As I listened to the happy noise, I felt a surge of love for these amazing women. I smiled as I thought to myself, “This is the sound of Relief Society.”
I then reflected on all the other wonderful sounds that remind me of Relief Society: a sister sharing her heartfelt testimony of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, the voices of many sisters blending as we sing hymns together, a tender visiting teaching lesson, the hum of a sewing machine as we participate together in a service project, and the tears we shed as we share one another’s sorrows. These are just some of the many wonderful sounds that remind me of the Lord’s organization for women.
But that morning in the cabin, as I lay there listening to my sisters laughing and talking, I realized what was my favorite sound of all: the sound of righteous women rejoicing together, loving each other, and celebrating our common sisterhood as daughters of a loving Heavenly Father. To me, that is truly the sound of Relief Society.

Now back to Highway 89. I have recounted the experience of my first two photographic trips along the highway, but it was on my third trip where I really challenged myself to see the possibilities that the highway offered. This trip was undertaken with a much different goal in mind: I determined that I would travel the entirety of the highway—more than 2,200 miles—and that I would make a photograph every mile. This time the project took more than a year and dozens of excursions to complete. What I learned over those months of driving, stopping, looking, thinking, and photographing made me a more intense observer and a better photographer. In the same manner, we need to practice seeing the miracles that God has provided and that He continues to provide to us daily. It isn’t always easy. Let me share an example of a small miracle which I nearly missed because I was out of practice and viewing things through a lens of skepticism. This miracle happened years ago when my son Chris was very young. Chris had come to tour the space research facility where I worked with his elementary school class. At the end of the tour, I was supposed to take Chris and run some errands before heading home. As usual, I was in a hurry. Our car at that time had a slowly failing battery—it sometimes took two to three tries before the car would start. When we got into the car to run our errands, I turned the key and to my dismay all I got was “click-click-click.” I tried it again. Same result. Again. Same result. I probably repeated this eight to ten times and by then even the clicking was getting weaker. I was upset and I slammed my palms on the steering wheel in frustration. Then from the back seat I heard Chris say, “Don’t worry, Dad. I will say a prayer that the car will start.” I thought to myself, “Don’t bother. The battery is dead. It ain’t going to start.” I was just about to get out of the car to call my wife when Chris said, “Try it again.” I almost didn’t. I knew better. A prayer wouldn’t change anything. But it did. I turned the key once again and . . . the motor turned over!
I took a moment, said a silent prayer of my own, one of thanks and seeking forgiveness for my faithless skepticism.
Was that small event really a miracle? For me it absolutely was. It was a miracle showing that God cares about even the little things in our lives. It wasn’t flashy or showy. No mountains moved. No one was healed. But it was a miracle. God was teaching me to see.

Jeffrey didn’t even remember waking up—he just slipped from pleasant dreams to smelling Mom’s cooking. He wiggled his feet between the sheets as he listened to her distant, busy, kitchen sounds.
Later that morning, after his mother had gone visiting teaching, Jeffrey repeated her instructions over and over to himself. “I won’t be gone long,” she had said, “and I’ll be right next door if you need me. There is one thing I would like you to help me with while I’m gone—and two things I want you to not do.”
The thing Mom wanted him to do was one of Jeffrey’s favorites—the dishes. And the not-do things were easy—he wasn’t to eat any cookies or watch TV.
Just before she left, his mother had hugged him and then stretched her arms out wide. “This much,” she’d said. Jeffrey had smiled and stretched his arms out, too. “This much, Mom.”
Once, when Jeffrey was much smaller—he was almost seven now—his mother had asked him how much he loved her. He had flung his arms as wide as he could and said proudly, “This much!” That gesture had become one of their private messages to each other.
Jeffrey stood on the kitchen stool, washing the dishes with a sponge and setting them in the warm rinse water. He felt important for doing something to help Mom. As he worked, he thought, I won’t take a cookie, of course, but I wonder if they’re cowboy cookies?
Cowboy cookies were his favorite. Mom made them with oatmeal, coconut, semisweet chocolate, and raisins. He looked at the bear-shaped cookie jar on the far end of the counter. “I’m not going to take one,” he said aloud, “but I wonder … ?”
He moved his stool, climbed up to the counter, and pulled the jar to him. As he lifted the lid, the welcome smell reached him almost as quickly as his memory of it. Yep, they’re cowboy cookies all right!
His tummy grumbled, wanting one. “Nope, I won’t,” he told his tummy. But as he looked into the jar, he saw a bump on the side of one cookie—you know, the little bump that sticks out so that the cookie isn’t quite round. Mom probably wouldn’t mind if I just ate that, he thought.
Almost on their own, his fingers picked up the cookie and removed the little chunk from its side. It was a short move from there to his mouth. Mmmm, it was good! He set the cookie back in the jar, but now it had a ragged dent in its side. When Mom sees that, she won’t like how it looks. He took the cookie out and looked in the jar. That looked better. He put the lid back on, returned the jar to its place, and climbed off the stool, cookie in hand.
Jeffrey never thought that he would eat a cowboy cookie he didn’t like, but as he sat at the table, eating this one, all he could think of was how sad Mom would be if she knew.
He climbed back up to the sink and continued to wash the dishes. At least I didn’t look at the TV. During the day, there weren’t programs on he wanted to watch, anyway. Then he remembered watching cartoons about this time of day at his friend Mark’s home. Mom said no watching TV, and I’m not going to. But, he thought, I can just check to see if that channel with the cartoons is on our television.
He dried his hands on his apron, went to the television, and turned it on. It came to life with older people doing boring, older-people things. He turned to the station he thought Mark had had on. There were the cartoons! He watched the captivating characters scurry across the screen. As he burst out in laughter at them, his feet, as if on their own, backed him onto the couch.
He was only there a moment, he was sure, when he heard steps coming up the walk! It must be Mom! He shot up from the couch, shut off the TV, ran to the sink, and began to wash more dishes.
When his mother had unlocked the door and come in, Jeffrey didn’t look at her. He couldn’t. He was ashamed of himself and hoped that she would never know how poorly he had done. He felt even worse when his mother rested her hand on his shoulder and asked, “Jeffrey, are you all right?”
“Yes.” But his voice didn’t even convince him.
Mom sat down at the kitchen table. “Come here,” she gently requested. “You know what?”
“What?”
“You have chocolate on your face.”
Jeffrey didn’t even try to wipe it off. He just sat down heavily on the chair next to her and hung his head.
“What happened, little buddy?”
The story poured out in a flood of tears. As she listened, she tenderly pulled him over onto her lap and rocked him back and forth. After a while she gently asked, “Do you know why you didn’t do what you really wanted to do?”
Jeffrey didn’t know. He wished that he did, and he told her so.
“Do you love me?” she asked.
“Yes, Mom—you know I do.”
“How much?”
He smiled a little. “More than this.” He opened his arms wide.
“Then,” she said, “let me tell you an important truth. You must promise never to forget it, and you must use it.”
He nodded, listening to her closely.
“OK,” she said, “Here it is: We will never arrive at the place we don’t want to go, if we don’t take the first step to get there.”
“Yeah?” Jeffrey waited for her to tell him the rest.
“That’s it.”
“I don’t understand.”
Mom explained, “There are things you will not want to do because they make you sad. And there are things you will want to do because they make you happy. No matter how hard the first step seems that takes you to happiness, once you take it, everything gets easier.
“And,” she continued, “no matter how easy or safe the first step to sadness seems, don’t take it. Then you will never get to where you don’t want to be. You see, you fooled yourself when you decided to just see if the cookies were cowboy cookies.”
“Ohhhh.” Jeffrey began to understand. If he hadn’t looked in the cookie jar to see if they were cowboy cookies, he wouldn’t have seen the cookie with the bump. Looking was his first step to where he wished he had never gone. He thought of how innocent and small it had seemed to him at the time. “And,” he blurted, “the first step with the TV was when I turned it on to see if there really were cartoons.”
Mom smiled, pleased that he understood. “Every first step we take is always the most important. After we take it, the other steps always come quicker, made stronger by the first one. So, if we never take the first step …”
“… we will never get there,” Jeffrey completed. “And that’s why the first step is the most important step.”
He and Mom sat together quietly for a while. “Will you remember?” she asked.
“Oh, yes, I’ll remember,” he assured her. It was so simple. I won’t fool myself and take the wrong first step again, he promised himself. He turned to Mom. Together, they said, arms stretched wide, “This much!”

Many years ago, when I was a young boy during the decade of the 1960s, I would attend church with my family each Sunday. At that time, we would attend Sunday School in the morning and sacrament meeting in the late afternoon. I remember attending junior Sunday School and sitting in the Primary room with other children as we sang Primary songs such as, “Jesus Once Was a Little Child,” “When He Comes Again,” and “I Am a Child of God.” One particular Sunday morning, as I sang with the other children, I felt a warmth fill my heart. It went from my heart to my chest, and then it filled my whole body. It was a warmth that brought peace to my soul. In that moment, I felt my first experience with the Holy Ghost witnessing to me that God the Father lived, and that He knew me. It was a simple experience, but it was sweet to me and one that I remember vividly over fifty years later.

More than 12 years ago while living in the Detroit area and employed in the auto industry I was asked to take a business trip to Las Vegas. Our firm developed fuel pumps and had contracted with a taxi company to test prototypes - a great way to accumulate high miles in a short amount of time. The pumps had been installed in several taxis and needed to be removed and brought back for analysis. I was to be accompanied by two other employees of our company whom I had never met. We would spend 3 days working from about midnight until 6 or 7 am -- the hours when the taxis were least likely to be on the road. As I prepared for this trip a coworker commented to me about the vulgar nature of the two I would be traveling with. The Holy Ghost made a deep impression on me that I should beware -- that satan would use this opportunity to tempt me. The feeling was so poignant that I considered refusing to take the trip. As the trip grew nearer I decided to talk to my bishop about it. He expressed confidence in me and advised me to take the trip but to follow promptings about precautions I should take. I told the Lord in prayer that I wanted to return with honor to my family and asked him to inspire and help me.

As the trip began it was clear that the individuals I was with were truly vulgar and immoral. Since we only had one rental car to share between us I decided not to accompany them to restaurants because I was certain they would go places that were inappropriate. Instead, I said "no thank you" to their invitations and stayed in the hotel and ordered room service. The maintenance bays at the cab company where we worked were littered with pornographic leaflets. I had previously committed to myself that I would not even glance at them. Since we were limited to working from midnight to 7 am we had a lot of free time. I even felt that I should not turn on the television in the hotel even though it appeared that the trip would result in 3 days of boredom. Instead I retreated to the haven of The Book of Mormon for hours each day. At the end of the trip my soul was soaring like an eagle and I returned to my family with honor.

But, in a strange way, Joseph Ott’s missionary work in this life was not yet over.
In 1908, a woman named Maria Strauch made regular visits to the Dresden cemetery to tend a relative’s grave.
On one of these visits, Maria saw what appeared to be a light shining on one of the tombstones. She was curious and decided to investigate. Approaching the tombstone, she discovered that it marked the grave of a missionary named Joseph Ott.
Maria wondered about what she had seen. What did it mean? Who was this man? Why had her attention been directed to his tombstone? The answer came to her that she must learn more about the church named on the stone.
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints had few members in Germany at the beginning of the century. However, careful inquiry soon led Maria Strauch to the local branch of the Church. She accepted the gospel message gladly and was baptized. A year later her husband Herman joined her, and eventually many of their thirteen children were baptized.
Since that time, Maria’s descendants have contributed to the growth of the Church in Germany. For example, one of her sons, Herman Karl Strauch, served a mission in his homeland in the 1920s. The gospel light has burned brightly in the Strauch family through two wars and the division of Germany into two nations.

I recently read the account of a man who, just after the passing of his wife, opened her dresser drawer and found there an item of clothing she had purchased when they visited the eastern part of the United States nine years earlier. She had not worn it but was saving it for a special occasion. Now, of course, that occasion would never come.
In relating the experience to a friend, the husband said, “Don’t save something only for a special occasion. Every day in your life is a special occasion.”
That friend later said those words changed her life. They helped her to cease putting off the things most important to her. Said she: “Now I spend more time with my family. I use crystal glasses every day. I’ll wear new clothes to go to the supermarket if I feel like it. The words ‘someday’ and ‘one day’ are fading from my vocabulary. Now I take the time to call my relatives and closest friends. I’ve called old friends to make peace over past quarrels. I tell my family members how much I love them. I try not to delay or postpone anything that could bring laughter and joy into our lives. And each morning, I say to myself that this could be a special day. Each day, each hour, each minute is special.”