Gospel Story Finder

Perhaps you read in a recent Ensign about an exuberant convert named Maria. On one occasion her branch was gathered at a lake for two baptisms. The author wrote:
One of the converts and a missionary stood in the water about to proceed with the ordinance when a noisy family walked by, laughing and shouting.
None of us had as good a command of the Spanish language as Maria did, so we asked her to tell them to be quiet. “Maria,” we urged, “ask them to go somewhere else.”
But instead, Maria invited the noisemakers into our group. Quiet now, the family watched both baptisms while she explained the details of our beliefs. Afterward, they invited the missionaries to their home. They accepted the baptismal challenge a few weeks later. [Kathryn Malmfeldt, “The Trouble with Maria,” Ensign, August 1982, p. 47.]

“Sometimes I get cold and grouchy early in the morning,” Amy said. “But then I remember my first flight. We went over to the West Mesa where it’s flat and there aren’t any power lines or roads to worry about. It’s a good place to learn. There was snow on the ground. We came down and skimmed the bushes and saw some jackrabbits, then went back up again. Every time we go it’s fun like that. I want to be a balloonist for a long time.”

A while ago my bishop and priests quorum adviser challenged our quorum to give away two copies of the Book of Mormon within a year. I took the challenge to heart and always had a Book of Mormon on me (in the car, in my backpack, etc.). Several people accepted copies, but nobody really showed any further interest.
Then one day in June, I was filling up my car with gasoline after work and saw a coworker buying cigarettes. Because of his smoking and his rough personality, I never thought about sharing the gospel with him. He came over to talk to me, and we talked about music and movies. When I explained that I don’t watch movies with vulgarity, violence, or immorality, the topic changed to religion. I grabbed the Book of Mormon from the backseat of my car, wrote my testimony inside the cover, and gave it to him.
The next time I worked with him, I asked if he had read any of it. He said, “Jeff, I read the introduction, and I know it’s true. I want to know more and be baptized.”
That really shocked me. I gave the missionaries his address so that they could teach him, and I took him to church with me. He loved it. He set a date for his baptism.
Before his baptism, he told me that he had been offered a really good job, but he had to act immediately. It was in Alaska, and he was leaving in two days. So we found the address of the meetinghouse in town, and then he left.
Over the next few months we kept in touch, but he made no progress toward baptism. Then one day he called and told me he had contacted the missionaries and was going to be baptized that Saturday.
Now he holds the Aaronic Priesthood and has blessed the sacrament several times.
This goes to show that you never know who will accept the gospel, so share it with everyone, and God will provide a way.

I was born the youngest of six children in a small town called Bindura, Zimbabwe, Africa. My parents divorced a few years after my birth, and my good, loving mother had to raise us—four girls and two boys—by herself.
Life was tough for us. I had to walk four or five kilometers (3 miles) to school, and I would go without shoes or anything to eat. Each year I could never complete the term because we could not pay the school fees. There was no place in the world to get money to pay the fees on time. Whenever we did get money, I tried to trace how we got it, but it was untraceable. It’s miraculous to consider how well we were raised. It’s all because of the love and will of our Father in Heaven.

“Love your enemies,” challenged my Sunday School teacher one morning. “Do good to those that hate you. Then just watch what happens.”
At the time I received this challenge, my testimony was not yet firm, and I was skeptical about the practicality of this biblical teaching. It couldn’t possibly apply to my life. But I halfheartedly thought I might try it—that is, if I could think of an enemy.
After some thought, I concluded that I had no real enemies, so that took care of that. Then, suddenly, I remembered an incident. When we had moved into the end apartment of a row of four company-owned apartments, our outdoor water faucet wasn’t working. I asked the woman in the next apartment if I could hook my hose to her faucet to water my lawn. (There was no charge for the water.) She informed me that I certainly could not use her faucet and that, if mine was broken, I had better get it fixed and not bother her again!
Well! I would have no more to do with her! I was relieved some time later when she moved to the far end of our row of apartments. It would be just as well not to be next door to her anymore.
Now here was the challenge to love my enemies. She was the nearest person I could think of who would fit that description. Everyone else I knew was a friend. “I could try!” I thought.
Each day I hung out my laundry on the clotheslines at the end of the building, next to this woman’s apartment. She was always sitting on the porch alone. I had usually ignored her, but now I decided to prove whether or not loving my enemies would indeed work.
The next morning when I went to hang out the laundry, the woman was sitting on her porch as usual, drinking coffee and smoking a cigarette. I gave her a smile and said with a gay lilt, “Hi, there!” She glared at me and deliberately turned her head.
“That couldn’t hurt me,” I thought. “I’m just proving a point.” When I finished hanging out my clothes she had gone inside.
Each day after that, I merrily called out, “Hi!” as I passed her and never once got a smile or an answer. One morning, after about two weeks, much to my surprise, she walked over to where I was hanging wet clothes and exchanged a few remarks about the weather.
After that, each day when I came to hang out clothes, she came over and we said a few words—never anything personal. Sometimes we talked about the company both of our husbands worked for, sometimes the weather or a sale at a local store. I certainly never felt that we were friends in any sense of the word. She always seemed cold and reserved in her attitude.
Then one day my husband and I received word that we were to be transferred to a different locality. When I went out the next morning to hang my washing, the woman came to the clothesline as usual to talk. I told her that we were moving away. We passed a few comments about it, and I went back to my apartment.
About an hour after I had gone home, the woman appeared at my door. I was very surprised to see her. Neither of us had ever been in the other’s apartment. She had an odd, strained expression on her face. I invited her to sit down and we tried to talk a little. But there really seemed to be nothing to talk about.
Then, to my astonishment, she burst into tears, sobbing as if her heart would break. She said she couldn’t stand to have me move away. “You are the only friend I have in the whole world,” she said.
Me! Why, I didn’t even know her first name!
I couldn’t think of anything to say to my friend. I only knew that we weren’t enemies any more.
“Oh, Father,” I thought. “Forgive me for doubting your word. I didn’t really do anything for her. I only said hello and visited with her a little. What a flood of proof you’ve given me!”
I have found for myself—not only then, but many times since—that living the principles of the gospel in even the smallest way always proves them to be true.

Bob Cowan left home when he was nineteen, and for three years he crisscrossed the Australian continent in his small, yellow sports car. Like many young Australians, he felt the urge to see something of the vast continent he called home.
In the three years that followed, he traveled around the country twice, working in twenty-six different jobs. But the traveling also brought him a blessing he hadn’t counted on—he became a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
His wandering life “was marvelous at first,” Bob now says. “It was all I ever wanted to do—travel, see Australia, not be worried about ties to other people or commitments.” His system was to drive until he found a locality that interested him, work for a while, and then move on.
But two things happened during his travels which were to have a profound influence on his life.
Working as a post mortem (autopsy) attendant in a hospital, he came face to face with death for the first time. It was a sobering experience for a young man who had felt until then that life meant having fun.
Some time later, driving through Townsville in north Queensland, Bob witnessed the aftermath of the cyclone which savaged the city in 1972. “The destruction was incredible. I remember just sitting in my car and thinking there had to be more purpose to life—something more.
“I had seen everything I ever longed to see. But at the end of it there was nothing. Just a feeling of emptiness.
“I remember saying a silent prayer as I sat in my car: ‘God, if you are there, do with me whatever you need to do.’”
The following day, Bob Cowan parked his sports car on beautiful paradisiacal beach outside Cairns, and then found he couldn’t restart it. Waiting for a mechanic to bring help, he began to sculpt in the clean, moist sand. Soon he was approached by a woman who complimented him on his talent, and then led the conversation into a gospel-related discussion.
“She told me that the local branch of her church was having a cruise on a boat the next day, and asked me if I’d like to come along,” Bob says. “I knew nothing about this woman or the church she talked about, but as I was sitting on the back of the tow truck, with my car being taken back to town, I received a strong spiritual witness that this invitation was the answer to my prayer.”
At the waterside dock the next day, the missionaries—clearly advised in advance by the sister who had spoken to him—waved him to a stop in his repaired sports car. Bob joined the Church group on the boat. “All the time I was on the boat, I had the distinct impression that I was at home,” he says.
The missionaries did not go on the cruise, but the next day they gave Bob a Book of Mormon and urged him to read it.
Bob’s plans were to travel on to the remote northern Australian town of Weipa, so he took the book with him and read it from cover to cover—mostly in the tiny, two-man aluminum hut where he was staying. Deeply responsive to what he read, Bob knew he wanted to be baptized.
He flew back to Cairns for several eventful days. The elders taught him all six discussions in a single night; the following day he was baptized, and he attended Church on Sunday.
Returning immediately to the isolated town of Weipa, Bob was unable to attend church for another two years. “I was excited to be a member,” he says, “but I knew very little about the Church. I knew nothing about the Doctrine and Covenants, the Pearl of Great Price, or the history of the Church.”
But in 1974, two years after becoming a member and now aged twenty-four, Bob was sent to Brisbane by the company for which he was working. Promptly looking up the address of the Church in the local phone book, he began attending regularly. He acquired gospel knowledge rapidly, and little more than a year later departed on a mission to Perth—on the other side of the continent.
Soon after returning from his mission, he was called into the presidency of the Australia Brisbane Mission, and a year later as a counselor in the Brisbane Australia Stake presidency. He has served in that position for more than seven years.
President Cowan recalls his earlier life with some wonder.
“I have never been able to locate the sister who first invited me to that Church social event, but it was the moment that changed my life.”

Several years ago, our newly married daughter and her husband began a series of moves from one place to another—graduate school, first job, and so on. These moves took them to various parts of the country. In each place the climate and soil conditions were different, but they determined they would follow the prophet’s advice and have a garden. Their first attempts at gardening were pathetic. The weeds grew much better than the vegetables. The gardens were “obedience gardens.” However, with continued effort, each year the gardens improved. They learned new techniques and developed skills. As children came to their family, each was taught to work and take responsibility in those “obedience gardens.” Now their gardens are attractive, worthwhile “survival” projects, as the family enjoys and shares the produce. They preserve the excess for later use. Besides the practical lessons they learned, they found peace and assurance in keeping the commandments. Surely the promise was fulfilled for them: the prophet’s advice had been for their good always.

I am reminded of a great lesson I learned from President Marion G. Romney, a member of the First Presidency at the time. I was visiting with him about farms, tractors, trucks, canneries, and storehouses. He listened and then said: “Glenn, don’t lose track of the objective. The only reason we set up the welfare system in the first place was to help people become self-reliant, because the more self-reliant they are the more they are able to give and serve, and the more they give and serve the more sanctified and purified they become.”

Many lives have been blessed by the success of the Philippines Area’s “I Will Go, I Will Serve: 4600” initiative. Aside from the inspired vision of the Area Presidency, the support of the local priesthood leaders and the efforts of youth leaders, the miraculous success of the campaign was also boosted by the catchy theme song performed by Loredel “Daday” Ducena-Baluyot.
Composing the popular anthem with her husband Justin was a labor of love. After the first Area Presidency fireside premiered on Facebook on May 16, 2021, Daday and Justin felt the spirit and were inspired to write the song. After a few weeks, they presented the song to the Church area production team and offered its use to help sustain the momentum of the campaign. The song was reviewed and approved, and by July they were recording it with some help from Brio Divinagracia on the arrangement and background vocals. The song was officially launched during the follow-up Area Presidency fireside on November 21, 2021.
Aside from the 2021 youth theme song “A Great Work,” Daday’s “I Will Go, I Will Serve,” became popular after being part of youth, YSA, and FSY conferences all over the country. It was also listened to and sung along with the 2022 youth theme song “Trust in the Lord.” Recently, the couple rewrote the song as part of the November 20, 2022 Area Presidency fireside launching a heightened and more comprehensive “Come Unto Christ: I Will Go, I Will Serve” initiative.

Sister Holland spoke of another very memorable experience that became “a real turning point in my life.” She said, “My parents had allowed me to come to Salt Lake City and live with a group of girls for the summer while I worked. They were all about my age. We had many happy times together, but in our apartment at one time we felt despondency and discouragement, and I remember feeling it so strongly one day that I decided to fast and pray about how to be happy, how to find the peace and security and confidence that a person needs. That evening my roommates and I decided to go to a movie. We first went to a grocery store to get some treats to take with us. At the store we pulled our car in right next to Elder ElRay L. Christiansen, then an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. He walked right over to our car. He chatted with each one of us. He seemed very interested and asked us our names. I was so excited, I couldn’t believe this was happening to me.”
As if she were reliving that experience and sensing again the impact of that memorable occasion, she bore testimony: “Just before Elder Christiansen got ready to leave, he paused, looked right at me, and said, ‘Pat, the only way to be happy is to be obedient.’”
There was silence for a moment, each pondering the magnitude of this simple counsel and the direct answer to fervent prayer. She recalled her feelings on that occasion, “First of all, just to see a General Authority was a highlight in my life. It was the first time I had ever had any personal contact with Church leaders like that.”
This young girl, anxious to find the right answers and inspired by the counsel of a General Authority, had no way of knowing then that later, as the wife of Jeffrey Holland, former Church Commissioner of Education and now President of Brigham Young University, she would find herself in close and frequent association with many of the General Authorities. “To have my prayers answered so directly was another turning point in my life,” she said. “I realized right then and there that truly the greatest thing that I could cling to, the only way to be confident and happy, is to be obedient and live by the Spirit.”
While yet a teenager she discovered “there is just no substitute for obedience.” While obedience had not been a struggle for Pat, still the impact of receiving such an immediate and direct answer to her earnest supplication, and to receive it from one of the Lord’s chosen servants, a General Authority in person, was just more than she had ever hoped for.

As the Bible declares, the true Church of Jesus Christ is “built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ himself being the chief corner stone” (Ephesians 2:20). I experienced an application of that fundamental principle of the restored gospel many years ago.
A member of the Church brought her neighbor to my office. The neighbor’s husband was a Protestant minister with a large congregation. For many years, this couple had served the Lord with great diligence in their Christian ministry. He had baptized many people into that church.
Now, through the influence of his Latter-day Saint neighbors, he had read the Book of Mormon and was converted to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He was ready to resign his ministry and join the restored Church. But first, he and his wife needed an answer to their question regarding priesthood authority. Reminding me that her husband had baptized many people, his wife asked, “Are you telling me that my husband didn’t have any authority to baptize all the people that he baptized?”
The Spirit prompted my answer, as it will in these situations.
“No,” I said. “I’m sure your husband had authority to baptize all the people that he baptized. He had all the authority that his church could give him. He could perform marriages. He could make people members of the congregation. He could hire a contractor to put a new roof on your church. But that isn’t the kind of authority we’re discussing. The authority in your question is the authority that Jesus gave to Peter, that whatsoever he did on earth would be honored in heaven (see Matthew 16:19). And because that divine authority must be traceable to Apostles, it exists only in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

Many Latter-day Saint couples have asked themselves at one time or another: “Is my husband (or wife) progressing with me spiritually? Are we equal?”
In my earlier years of marriage, I found myself asking these questions and was discouraged by what I perceived to be the answers. Although my husband was an excellent father, I often felt irritated and angry. I wanted him to fit the image of what I thought he should be. I had certain ideals and goals that I wanted implanted in him.
One day, I turned to my father for advice. Because of his training as a psychiatrist, I knew he wouldn’t be too critical of his son-in-law. His first words were like a bucket of cold water over me: “Martha, if you continue like this, you could drive your husband away.”
My jaw dropped. “What do you mean by that?” I asked. This wasn’t going at all as I had expected.
He held up his hand to ward off my indignation. “Just let me explain. Not long ago, I counseled a Latter-day Saint woman who had left a basically good marriage. She felt her husband wasn’t living all the Church standards. Years of nagging and pleading hadn’t changed him. She thought that if she left him, he would change his ways in order to win her back. She never suspected that he would find someone else who loved and respected him as he was. He remarried happily after their divorce, and she was devastated.”
Why am I getting this lecture? I wondered. I had never considered leaving my husband. “Are you saying I should just quit being assertive and forget my own ideals?” I asked defensively.
“No, I’m saying lead but don’t drive. Be gentle in your persuasion while recognizing his strengths and achievements. Be an example without criticizing. In your rush to achieve your goals, you may be sending a silent message that he’s not good enough for you. He’s a good man, Martha, and he needs to know that you think so, too.”
I sat, unable to speak as tears welled in my eyes. I was torn. I understood my father’s words, but I expected my husband to be what I had always dreamed of.
My father tried a different approach. “Have you heard the story about the farmer who hitched two mice to his wagon? His neighbor saw him climbing into the wagon and laughed at the farmer. ‘You don’t really expect those two little mice to pull that wagon, do you?’ he asked. The farmer replied, ‘Why not? I have a whip.’”
I laughed in spite of myself. The image of me in the wagon was clear. I had been using anger and resentment as my whip, with just about the same chance for success.
“Okay, I guess I am being too pushy,” I said. “But I see other men who lead the way I want to be led. Is it wrong to expect that?”
Dad’s voice was gentle but firm. “You are going about this with the wrong attitude. One of the most treacherous developments in any marriage is when partners wonder if they made the right choice. The marriage begins to fall apart because they quit working at it.”
“Dad,” I interrupted, “it’s because I love him that I get discouraged. I want him to reach his full potential.”
“It’s all a matter of loyalty. Do you realize that disloyalty begins with your thoughts—that you are actually being disloyal when you compare your husband to others?”
I was losing my argument fast, and I knew it. I tried one more time: “My commitment to him is eternal. The day-to-day choices he makes as the priesthood leader affect the family eternally.”
“Patience and love are eternal, too.” He opened his scriptures and read: “No power or influence can or ought to be maintained by virtue of the priesthood, only by persuasion, by long-suffering, by gentleness and meekness, and by love unfeigned;
“By kindness, and pure knowledge, which shall greatly enlarge the soul without hypocrisy, and without guile” (D&C 121:41–42).
I knew these verses. They were written for priesthood holders about exercising unrighteous dominion. Why was he reading them to me?
“These two verses,” he explained, “contain the elements for success in any relationship—and especially the relationship between husband and wife. One of the great challenges in marriage is to accept all the differences in personality, background, and motivation—and to work toward being one in purpose. That’s no easy task, and it may take a lifetime. But as you pointed out, marriage is an eternal commitment.”
Then he told me about a farmer he had known when he was a boy. The man used to catch wild horses in northern Arizona. They were free and available to anyone who wanted to catch them, but they were difficult to tame and train. Late at night, he would round up part of the herd into a temporary corral near the watering hole. Then he would select the best one and tie one end of a cotton rope around its neck and the other end to his strong white mule, leaving just enough space for them to travel side by side. Then he would leave them in the desert to work out their own compromises.
The mule knew the way home and would gladly travel in that direction. If the horse tried to go another way, the mule would stand firm and not go. If the mule got off track, the horse would be unwilling to move. So it went until they had worked through their differences. Within two weeks, the two would come trotting home to food and shelter. The horse would be ready for training, and it and the mule would behave as though they had been together all their lives. Dad added, “I almost left out the most important part: that rope around their necks was a very soft rope.”

Stepping onto this campus back in the fall of 1991, fresh off my mission to Toronto, Canada, was both exciting and overwhelming. It was the fulfillment of a lifelong dream to attend the university where my parents had met 35 years earlier, but it was also a time of anxiety about the future. I had not yet determined my career path, and everything felt new and uncertain.

On my first day of school, I went to the Traffic Office—back then a small house right next to the carillon bell tower—to buy a parking pass. There was a typical long line at the beginning of a semester. Fortunately for me, there was a vivacious young lady wearing a light blue shirt with white polka dots standing two people in front of me. And then, due to some strategy on my part, we were standing next to each other. She had been a student at BYU for a couple of years, so I started to ask her questions about how things worked, and she was ready to answer. We got lost in conversation for about a half hour as we worked our way to the front of that line.

When I saw that our time in the line was soon ending—and knowing how much I was already liking her—I tried to work up the courage to get her number with the hope that we could connect later. Unfortunately I never got the words out. We got to the head of the line. She paid for her parking pass and said goodbye. I paid for my pass and hurried out the door, hoping to see her. There she was, lingering over by her car.

Brothers, that’s a good sign! Sisters, you have no idea how much a gesture like that helps!

Do you know that feeling of coming up with the perfect thing to do or say? This was not one of those moments! I leaned down to tie my shoes, mustering my final burst of courage. When I looked up, she was getting in her car, and then she drove away.

I had missed my chance. I guess a girl can only linger for so long. Right, ladies?

All I had was her name—no glass slipper, just her name: Michelle Lundquist.

Later that day when I told my mom about my missed opportunity to get Michelle’s number, she was unfazed. She said, “What do you think BYU Information is for?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

(Now, remember, this was the ’90s.) My mom told me that I could call the Information Office, give them her name, and they would supply her number.

“Really? They can do that?” I asked.

A couple of days later, I needed a date for a fun excursion up the canyon with my friends. I thought of Michelle. I called BYU Information and got her number—just as advertised by my mom.

Now for that last bit of courage! I turned off my brain and just called her. To make a long story short, we were married at the end of that school year.

Three years later, we left this place with a degree, a brand-new baby girl, and a job as a seminary and institute teacher. We have a lot to be thankful for in our time at BYU!

That last little bit of courage to call Michelle transformed my life. I love her with all my heart, and I can’t imagine my life without her. I am better in every possible way because of her love and support.

As a boy I learned a great lesson of faith and sacrifice as I worked on my grandfather’s farm during the terrible economic depression of the 1930s. The taxes on the farm were delinquent, and Grandfather, like so many, had no money. There was a drought in the land, and some cows and horses were dying for lack of grass and hay. One day when we were harvesting what little hay there was in the field, Grandfather told us to take the wagon to the corner of the field where the best stand of hay stood and fill the wagon as full as we could and take it to the tithing yard as payment of his tithing in kind.
I wondered how Grandfather could use the hay to pay tithing when some of the cows that we were depending upon to sustain us might starve. I even questioned if the Lord expected that much sacrifice from him. Ultimately, I marveled at his great faith that somehow the Lord would provide. The legacy of faith he passed on to his posterity was far greater than money, because he established in the minds of his children and grandchildren that above all, he loved the Lord and His holy work over other earthly things. He never became wealthy, but he died at peace with the Lord and with himself.

One treasured memento from my BYU past is a Chemistry 105 exam. In truth, of all the hundreds of papers, quizzes, and exams from my undergraduate degree, this is the only academic memento I saved from my entire undergraduate experience.

I vividly remember watching the professor hand a big stack of exams to the person on the front row and say, “Find your exam and pass the pile along.” This was long before FERPA laws protected privacy, so public humiliation or adoration (depending on how you performed) was always a looming possibility. I hastily retrieved my exam and hurried out of class.

As I was walking out of the building, I quickly glanced at the exam and saw the number 76 scrawled across the top in red pen—76? I quickly stuffed the exam into my backpack. I felt as if someone had punched me in the stomach. My mind raced and I started thinking that obviously I wasn’t smart enough to be at BYU, for surely everyone else in the class had scored much higher than I had. I envisioned my fellow classmates celebrating together at the Cougareat and toasting their success with chocolate milk.

The number 76 kept flashing over and over in my mind as I walked to my apartment by going down the stairs south of campus leading to the Botany Pond. Nearing the bottom of the stairs, I pulled the dreaded exam from my backpack, hoping that somehow I had read my score incorrectly. But sure enough, that red 76 was still there.

Then I saw something I hadn’t noticed before. My heart raced when I saw a tiny minus sign. You see, I didn’t get a 76 on this exam, I missed 76! And sure enough, in the corner was the number 24! Surely this is the lowest score in BYU history given to someone who actually tried to do well.

I was so stunned that my first impulse was to jump into the Botany Pond, swim to the bottom, and hide from the entire world. Little did I know that the Botany Pond was less than three feet deep, so that plan would have also received a score of 24, as it too would have been doomed to failure.

Now you may ask, “Why in the world did you save that particular exam as your only memento of your BYU undergraduate academic experience?”

I saved it because this experience impacted and shaped me in significant ways—ways I hope to never forget. I am not proud of failing—or of failing with such absolute certainty. What happened next, however, was something that I hope I will always remember. Somehow I resisted the urge to pack all my belongings into my car, drive home, and leave BYU and all my humiliation in the rearview mirror. It was during this time that I came across a quote that read, “Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.”

My mother used to tell her children that we were of “pioneer stock.” I wasn’t sure if I really knew what that meant when I was younger, but I did know the stories about crossing the plains. They were usually filled with unbearable challenges, setbacks, and seemingly impossible odds. And at the end of the day the pioneers circled their wagons, built a fire, sang, and danced—or at least that is the way I remembered the stories. And what was their theme song? “Come, Come, Ye Saints.”

I always thought this was a strange song for those who were hungry, fatigued, and at the brink of devastation. One verse, for example, reads, “And should we die before our journey’s through, Happy day! All is well!”

All is well? Anybody could see that all was not well. And just who were these overly optimistic people anyway? Apparently they were my people. And now, years later, they help me to remember just who I am and what it means to be of pioneer stock.

Years ago I was sitting on the stand in a chapel in Europe singing “Come, Come, Ye Saints.” A leader leaned over and whispered, “You know, the Polish translation of this song is quite different from the English version.”

“Really?” I countered.

“It doesn’t really read, ‘All is well! All is well!’”

I looked at him somewhat surprised.

“The real translation,” he said, “is ‘Not so bad, not so bad.’”

I couldn’t help but quietly chuckle. Then I thought of the pioneers who might not have always described their own circumstances as being “all is well.” But I could see how with their expanded vision and tremendous dedication they could say, “This is not so bad, not so bad,” and then with a deep breath take yet another step and continue to forge on.

Oh, to be of pioneer stock! Regardless of your heritage, we can all be pioneers, as I learned from one of my favorite Primary songs:

You don’t have to push a handcart, Leave your fam’ly dear, Or walk a thousand miles or more To be a pioneer!
You do need to have great courage, Faith to conquer fear, And work with might for a cause that’s right To be a pioneer!

Not so bad, not so bad.

I occasionally look at that exam and remember that “failure is not fatal” and that “it is the courage to continue that counts.” I remember that every storm will eventually break if you just hold on long enough. I remember that learning is a process and not an event and that I can do difficult things, even when it takes more time than I have and additional strength and effort. Most important, I am reminded that life is not determined by a singular performance and that there are times when we need, as my wife so eloquently taught our ­children, to remember who we are and to stand up straight—no slouching, no shrinking, no wilting. Just stand up straight, smile, remind yourself that it is not so bad, and move on.

After serving in the temple one evening, Elder Hammond stopped at a fast-food restaurant. He began visiting with a worker who was cleaning tables. The worker asked Elder Hammond why he was wearing a suit. “I told him about the temple,” Elder Hammond says. “We talked for more than 30 minutes. I don’t know if he’ll find out more about the Church, but he knows there is someone who doesn’t just see him as kitchen help.”

Finally, the Tongans have another wonderful cultural philanthropic tradition which illustrates that our gifts can take many forms and have many purposes.

President Eric Shumway told me last week that when he was inaugurated as President of BYU-Hawaii Campus, the Tongans brought twenty-seven (27) hand-made quilts and laid them on the Cannon Center floor in front of the stands. The audience was in awe as they watched this ceremony.

One of the dignitaries sitting on the stand leaned over to President Shumway and asked him how he and Carolyn would ever fit all of those quilts into their home?

President Shumway then explained to this good brother that the quilts were not given to him for his personal use. The Tongans were honoring him, one of their own (President Shumway is a Talking Chief to the King of Tonga). They wanted President Shumway to be a great university president, and be able to give great presidential gifts when acting in his office. They gave him the quilts to make him a great president.

President Shumway told me that he and his wife had a wonderful experience giving the quilts away to people who were less fortunate. Their act of giving, honored the Tongan Nation and people who made the quilts for the Shumways.

I would like to pay tribute to my angel mother, who for many years prayed that a husband would become active, that he would recognize his sonship to God, and that he would accept the priesthood. As a little boy, I walked through those many years with my mother’s sustaining hand at church, finally seeing my father receive a testimony by the power of the Holy Ghost. I honor him tonight, and I love him and respect him. He has been my friend, for he has taken me into his confidence. He has taught me how to work, and how to love, and how not to be judgmental. I am grateful for my father and my mother.

William’s first contact with the Latter-day Saints evidently came when he was about age 13. While doing an errand for his father, he stopped at a window where some curious boys were peering in; a gentleman suddenly ushered him inside where a Mormon meeting was beginning.
“I took my seat in one corner of the room,” he recalled, and “thought it was a very funny place, and not suitable for administering the holy sacrament.” But the sacrament was passed, hymns were sung, and speakers preached. The last speaker was British convert Charles Penrose, who later served in the First Presidency. His discussion of the Godhead “upset all my confused ideas of God,” William noted. “If ever a sermon touched the heart, this did mine.”

Mother couldn’t help noticing the serious, thoughtful look on Eric’s face as they drove home from church. “How was Primary today, Eric?”
“Fine.”
“What did you learn today?” Mother asked.
“We talked about choosing the right in our class, and Sharing Time was about temples.”
“I can’t think of anything more special to talk about than temples,” Mother cheerfully replied. But she noticed that the faraway look was still in Eric’s eyes as they pulled into the driveway. “After you change your clothes, would you please help me set the table for dinner?” she asked.
As they were setting the table, Eric asked, “You and Dad were married in the temple, weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“So that means I’m sealed to you for eternity?”
“Right again,” Mother replied.
“I won’t get to go inside the temple until I’m grown up, will I?”
Mother reminded Eric that his brother, Nathan, who was twelve and a deacon, had gone to the temple the month before and had been baptized for the dead, and how he, Eric, could do that, too, when he was twelve and held the Aaronic Priesthood. She also told him that when he was nineteen and ordained an elder, he could go through the temple for his own endowments before leaving on his mission.
Eric smiled at Mother, “I’m really looking forward to doing both of those things, but it’s not the same as what Joey did. When Sister Jones asked today in Sharing Time if anyone had a special experience to tell about the temple, Joey told about the missionaries teaching his family and about their baptism. He said that a year after they were baptized, they went to the temple as a family and were sealed together. He told about how beautiful the temple is inside and about how special it was to be dressed all in white and kneel down by the altar with his mom and dad and brothers and sisters.
“Mom, that sounds so exciting! I wish I had a story about the temple that I could share.”
Mother’s eyes sparkled. “You do, Eric. I’ll tell you all about it after dinner.”
Mother always fixed someone’s favorite dinner on Sunday, and of course the best part was dessert. Today, though, Eric was anxious for a different kind of after-dinner treat. It made his day when his older sister, Angie, and Dad volunteered to clean up the dishes so that Mother could tell him the special temple story right away.
They went to the family room, and Mother pulled her book of remembrance from a shelf and turned to a picture of a man with white hair and a white beard. She told Eric, “Welcome Chapman was my grandmother’s grandfather. While still a young man, Welcome heard rumors of a Joseph Smith, who was living in western New York, and who claimed to have a golden book that was given to him by an angel, and to have had visions and revelations. He also claimed that he had seen Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father. He said that They had instructed him to organize a new church.
“After thinking a lot about it, Welcome decided to find out for himself whether what he’d heard was true. Against the wishes of his parents, he saddled his horse and rode two hundred miles to New York.
“When he found the Prophet Joseph Smith,” Mother continued, “he discovered that they were about the same age. Welcome heard a complete account of all that had happened to Joseph, including how he obtained and translated the records on the golden plates, and was very much impressed with the Prophet and his wonderful experiences.
“He stayed two weeks at the home of the Prophet, learning all he could of the gospel. Convinced that this was the true religion, Welcome was baptized. Because of his activities in the Church and the esteem Joseph Smith had for him, he was made one of the Prophet’s bodyguards.”
“Wow!” Eric exclaimed. “He had an important job, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” Mother said, “but sometimes it was dangerous, not only for him but for his family. One time while he was away on guard duty, a mob went to their home and told his wife that if there was anything in the house that she wanted, to get it out before they burned the house down. Sick at heart, she got everything out while the mob looked on. The cupboard was so heavy that she couldn’t move it alone, so one of the men helped her get it out. Then, while she and the children watched, the mobbers burned the house to the ground.
“Welcome and his family passed through many of the trials, persecutions, and other hardships that fell upon the Church and its members at that time.”
Eric had heard stories about the pioneers before, but he had never imagined that his very own grandparents had been some of them. It was exciting to picture Grandpa Welcome with the Prophet Joseph Smith. He also felt bad for their losing their home and having been treated cruelly. But he wondered what Mother told him had to do with the temple.
“You see,” she continued, “Welcome was a stonecutter, so when he was living in Kirtland, he was called to cut stone for the Kirtland Temple. Later, when the Saints were building the Nauvoo Temple, he cut stone for it. And it was in the Nauvoo Temple that many Saints, including Welcome, received their endowments.
“The Saints were driven out of Nauvoo in the early spring of 1846, and they began their long trek westward. Welcome and his family spent the first winter at Winter Quarters. That next spring, Welcome was appointed captain over the fourth company, which arrived at the Salt Lake Valley in the late summer of 1847.
“In 1849, Chief Walker, the Ute Indian chief, met in council with President Brigham Young. He requested the Mormon leader to send colonists to settle on their land. Welcome and his family went to help settle the town of Manti in the Sanpete Valley.
“On July 27, 1854, Welcome was sustained as the Manti Stake president. That afternoon, as they were baptizing some settlers who had been converted, a large crowd gathered. Among them was Chief Walker and many of his people. Welcome asked the chief if any of his people would like to be baptized. The chief replied that he did not know but would ask them. That day many Indians were baptized there.
“After serving as Manti Stake president for eight years, Welcome was called by President Young on a mission to cut stone for the Salt Lake Temple, which he did until he was seventy-five years old.”
Eric looked up at the picture on the wall of the Salt Lake Temple with a new feeling of reverence. He felt proud that one of his ancestors had cut stone for the beautiful temple. He also felt proud as he thought of the good and faithful life Welcome had lived.
Eric gave Mother a big hug and kiss and thanked her for telling him about Grandpa Welcome. “You know, Mom, not only do I have a temple story to share, but I also have a neat Grandpa that I didn’t know about before. I want to live my life like Grandpa Welcome did and do what Jesus wants me to do so I can go to the temple someday too.”