Gospel Story Finder

Mine has been the opportunity to meet many wonderful men and women in various parts of the world. A few of them have left an indelible impression upon me. One such was a naval officer from Asia, a brilliant young man who had been brought to the United States for advanced training. Some of his associates in the United States Navy, whose behavior had attracted him, shared with him at his request their religious beliefs. He was not a Christian, but he was interested. They told him of the Savior of the world, of Jesus born in Bethlehem, who gave his life for all mankind. They told him of the appearance of God, the Eternal Father, and the resurrected Lord to the boy Joseph Smith. They spoke of modern prophets. They taught him the gospel of the Master. The Spirit touched his heart, and he was baptized.
He was introduced to me just before he was to return to his native land. We spoke of these things, and then I said, “Your people are not Christians. You come from a land where Christians have had a difficult time. What will happen when you return home a Christian and, more particularly, a Mormon Christian?”
His face clouded, and he replied, “My family will be disappointed. I suppose they will cast me out. They will regard me as dead. As for my future and my career, I assume that all opportunity will be foreclosed against me.”
I asked, “Are you willing to pay so great a price for the gospel?”
His dark eyes, moistened by tears, shone from his handsome brown face as he answered, “It’s true, isn’t it?”
Ashamed at having asked the question, I responded, “Yes, it’s true.”
To which he replied, “Then what else matters?”

From there we flew to France to take care of Church business. We then flew to Rotterdam and drove to The Hague. Work in three nations in one day is a rather heavy schedule for an old man.
The following day we dedicated The Hague Netherlands Temple. Four sessions were held. What a touching and wonderful experience that was.
The temple is a beautiful structure in a good area. I am so grateful for the house of the Lord which will accommodate the Saints of the Netherlands, Belgium, and parts of France. Missionaries were first sent to that part of Europe way back in 1861. Thousands have joined the Church. Most of them emigrated to the States. But we have there now a wonderful body of precious and faithful Latter-day Saints who are deserving of a house of the Lord in their midst.

I ran the Wasatch Back Ragnar in 2012. A Ragnar race is a relay that covers about 200 miles or so. Teams of 12 runners are assigned segments of the course and hand off the baton to the next runner. It’s basically two days of driving through some beautiful country, hopping out of the van to run like mad, then doing it again and again while you try to occasionally eat and sleep.

My second leg was an 8-mile uphill jaunt up to East Canyon reservoir. [45] I started a bit hesitant because I wasn’t sure what to expect, and I hadn’t had time to adjust to the altitude. Then, a thought came to my mind: “Kevin, you live the Word of Wisdom. You’re promised that you can run and not be weary, and walk and not faint.” That thought filled my body with energy and determination, and I flew up that mountain! I felt such joy and happiness that I couldn’t help offering encouragement to all the runners I passed (much to their chagrin) and reveling in the beauty of the world around me and the miracle that our bodies are.

When we have confidence that we’re doing what is right, our Heavenly Father will help us in our races. He won’t take the mountains away, but he will help us get up them. He’s promised us that when we do His will and follow His coaching, we’ll be strong. With each covenant we make with God, He promises us so many wonderful blessings, and we should be confident in our abilities to live up to our eternal potential.

When I was 14, I met two American missionaries. I was interested in hearing about the Book of Mormon, so we set an appointment for them to visit me. My entire family listened to the first discussion, but none of them were interested in continuing. I had felt something and sensed the message was true, so I asked my parents for permission to continue receiving the missionary discussions. They agreed, and when I was almost 15 years old, I entered the waters of baptism in the Godoy Cruz Branch, Mendoza Argentina District.
The next year I faced a great trial in my life: my parents separated. Thankfully, I had the Church during that difficult time and the support of excellent teachers, leaders, and friends. At about that same time, after being ordained a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood, I baptized my 11-year-old sister.
I worked full-time for the next few years, attending school in the evenings. When I was 19, I sent in my mission papers. I will always remember the day I received my call to the France Paris Mission. It was signed by President Joseph Fielding Smith, dated June 16, 1972, just weeks before he passed away.
After going through endless formalities to obtain a passport (I was underage, my parents were separated, and I was of military age), I was finally able to leave for my mission, a year and a half after completing my papers. I flew to Paris, France, with only my five years of high school French and without knowing any English. The zone conferences in my mission were in English. And I hadn’t been endowed yet because there were no temples in South America at that time.
One month after I began my service, President Willis D. Waite sent me with a young Frenchman, Jean Collin, to receive my endowment in the Swiss Temple. We traveled all night by train and spent three emotional and spiritual days there.
Six months into my mission, I had a special interview with my mission president during one of our mission conferences. In essence President Waite told me, “Elder Agüero, I’m going to give you an assignment. You have to learn English because when you return home you will be a member of a stake presidency, a mission president, and a leader in the Church. You will need English to communicate with the General Authorities.”
I laughed, perhaps because at the age of 20 I couldn’t see myself in these positions and because I came from a new stake in Argentina that was among only three that had been organized in the country.
He said, “Don’t laugh, Elder Agüero. I’m being serious.”
I felt the Spirit very strongly through this man, my leader, who then explained to me the way in which I was to fulfill this assignment.
He said, “From now on, you will speak only in English, every day, for half the day, with your companion.”
My companion received the same instructions in his interview, and we started doing so. It was extremely difficult for me at first, but later after much effort, I began to understand basic ideas. I prayed at night, crying many times out of frustration and helplessness because I wanted to be obedient to the task I had been given.
After some months and a few companions later, the miracle came. While a missionary was giving a beautiful talk in English during a zone conference, I suddenly began to understand every word. The miracle did not end there. Over time I came to serve as the mission’s financial secretary, which helped me read and write English. I tried to understand the language by reading Church News, the Ensign, and other English materials. Through these I was able to get a feeling for the English language, which is still with me today.
Shortly after I returned from my mission, my stake president asked me to interpret for Elder Hartman Rector Jr., then of the Seventy, who had come to Mendoza, Argentina, to preside over a stake conference. These marvelous opportunities have continued over the years. I interpreted for President Thomas S. Monson and other General Authorities during the 11 dedicatory sessions of the Buenos Aires Argentina Temple.
During four of those sessions, I read the dedicatory prayer in Spanish from the pulpit in the celestial room. My voice broke up several times because of my emotions; tears filled my eyes and flowed down my face. I was reading the inspired prayers and promises for my country from Heavenly Father, who lives and reveals His will, just as He did 12 years earlier through my mission president when I accepted the challenge to learn English.
I also interpreted for the prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley, during the four dedicatory sessions of the Montevideo Uruguay Temple and the four dedicatory sessions of the Asunción Paraguay Temple.
It’s difficult for me to explain how sacred those moments were for me when I stood alongside prophets, seers, and revelators in the Lord’s house. I felt somewhat like Peter, James, and John when they had the amazing experience of seeing Jesus transfigured. Peter expressed my feelings when he told Jesus, “Lord, it is good for us to be here” (Matt. 17:4).
From these and other experiences, I learned how the Lord works in our lives. The price for good things is paid in advance by our patience, humility, and obedience, especially during trials. If you don’t give up during your trials or let frustration and discouragement overcome you, trials will refine you spiritually and prepare you for better things. You will see the fulfillment of beautiful miracles in your lives.

I spoke with a young man recently who was a freshman at a large university, (actually it was BYU-Provo.) Having come from a very small high school of less than 200, he was overwhelmed by the number of students. Everywhere he looked there were people, faces with no names. He was one of them. One Saturday night, however, he got up the courage to go to a dance. He was separated from his roommate and the others he had gotten to know and for 45 minutes he walked around by himself. No one stopped, no one looked, no one noticed this young man. I think there were probably hundreds, maybe thousands there that night facing the same plight. Desperately alone, he closed his eyes and prayed to one he knew was there, his Father in Heaven. He prayed for help. . " Help me not be alone." And then he turned to walk back toward the celebration. But he felt prompted to take another sidewalk. The Lord was at work prompting others onto that same sidewalk and sure enough, the young man ran into a group of students and one called out his name, someone from his home ward who had moved several years before. Someone who knew his name, drew him in. That's what we must do for one another.

There’s something different about Chris and Jason Trevino of Huntsville, Alabama. Something different in a positive way, a way that makes you want to understand why they’re so upbeat all the time and why they seem to have life all figured out.
This is made all the more intriguing by the fact that the two 19-year-old brothers are identical twins—twins so much alike that people get confused, yet with something so different about them they stand out among their peers. For example:
—They spend a lot of time helping their neighbors, the Wellmans, take care of their three youngest children, Michael, Jennifer, and Nathan. They play and laugh with and tease them in a good-natured way. They organize parties for them and take them fishing or boating. Sometimes they all camp out as a group in the Wellmans’ backyard. Chris and Jason are more like older brothers than neighbors to them. And what do the twins get in return for their kindness? A squeeze play. The kids smother them with hugs.
—They take care of three horses at a nearby riding club, mostly in return for the privilege of being allowed to exercise them now and then. They do the dirty work without complaining. They show up when they say they will and do all that they’re asked. They help with expenses. They’re totally dependable.
—They love their family. Put Jim and Barbara Trevino and their twin boys together and it’s like you’re with a group of best buddies, friends who treat each other with ultimate respect. Add 15-year-old sister Allison to the mix, and it only gets better.
Bad mood? The twins make it disappear.
Help with homework? No problem.
Want to tag along while we go somewhere? Great. Hop in.
Yes, the twins treat everyone well, most of all mom and dad and sister. But there’s something else—fondness may be the closest description. This family really enjoys being together, in a way that lets you know they’ll always be close.
—Most of all, at a time in life when many young men of their age and athletic ability concentrate on which college they’ll attend, what teams they’ll be on, and what young women they’re dating, the twins are leaving all that behind.
Argentina. That’s what they want to talk about right now, because soon that’s where they’ll be. They’ve both been called to serve as full-time missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Chris in Bahia Blanca. Jason in Resistencia. Two years at their own expense. Two years bearing testimony of the Lord Jesus Christ. Two years focused entirely on the needs of other people.
And maybe that’s the clue to figuring out the Trevino twins. The difference that makes them both the same is their love for other people. It’s a love that comes from following the Savior and living his teachings, from concentrating on what really counts instead of wasting worry on worldly things. It’s a dedication that brings happiness so filling it spills out into everything they do and everyone they meet. Add that to personalities that have always been spontaneous, and you’ll find Chris and Jason telling everyone what they’re up to:
—Getting passport pictures taken, they keep telling the photographer about how they’ll be representing the Church. “That’s why we brought our suits for the pictures,” Chris explains.
—Meeting with the county sheriff, who has to sign letters for their visas, they can’t help explaining how excited they are about spreading the gospel. “I can tell,” chuckles the sheriff, who already knows their father.
—At the county government building, they tell the clerks about going to Argentina to preach the gospel. “Isn’t that great?” Jason beams.
—Their mother’s boss, Victor Howard, is a Church member who works across the street. Dropping in to visit, they soon have him joking along with them. But after a few minutes, they talk seriously about the mission he served and how much he loves the Lord, the gospel, and the Church.
You have to understand. Chris and Jason are the kind of guys who, if you ask about diving and you’re close to the community pool, will show you the dives they do. Never mind that they didn’t bring their suits. They’ve been lifeguards here, and the caretaker, who knows them well, gives permission. They look at each other, accept the challenge, and even though they’re in jeans, jump on the board and plunge in the pool. You get the feeling that’s the same way they’ll plunge into missionary work—follow the rules, be dependable, work hard. But get with it—no wimpy excuses.
It’s sort of like a lesson Chris says he learned at the stables.
“Horses are good,” he explains. “If you work with them you learn to love them. But there’s one named Alvin. I don’t like to ride him a whole bunch because of his attitude. He fights me and tries to get the reins from my hands. He thinks he should do what he wants when he wants. There are a few missionaries who are like that. If their mind’s stuck on somebody back home, or if they go out just because everybody else thinks they should be there, they’ve got to change their attitude. You can’t complain about the reins; you’ve got to concentrate on where you’re going.”
And that’s what Chris and Jason are doing—concentrating on where they’re going. Not just on their missions but in their lives.
Sure there are some things that will be tough to leave behind. Family first of all. Friends a close second. Even the horses they’ve taken care of. And school, and work, and just having a blast. But nothing stands in the way once you gain the perspective of eternity. Even having to work in separate missions.
“Chris opened his call letter first, and I saw Argentina,” Jason says. “Then I opened mine, and for a split second it was like, ‘We’ll be in the same mission!’ Then we read more and found out we’d be in different parts of the country. We’ve been together for 19 years, and now we’ll be apart. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is what we’ll be doing.”
Serving others. Bringing them the truth.
Like the times when they’ve talked with Mrs. Wellman about her oldest son, who died in an accident at age four, and where he is now and what he’s doing. Like the times when they’ve shared Church magazines with her, or watched the video Called to Serve.
“Don’t just let her borrow it,” Chris said then. “Let’s have her over here and we’ll all watch it together.”
These are, after all, brothers who are close in more ways than appearance. “We talk about everything together,” Jason says. “Now we’ll just do it through our letters.” That will make for some pretty great letters. Letters they’ll share with Mom and Dad and Allison. Letters they’ll share with the Wellmans and their kids. Letters they’ll share with close friends. Letters in which they’ll bear testimony and record the adventures of two years spent preaching the gospel.
“In the past we looked at missions like they were something they ask you to do,” Jason says. “Once we got closer to it, we thought, ‘It’s the Lord and the prophet who call you, and their way is the right way to go.’ We’d go to church and come home in such a great mood. We talk to everybody about it.”
That includes the 12- and 13-year-old Sunday School class he and Chris teach together.
“I’m learning more and more about the gospel,” Jason says, “especially when we talk about things like the plan of salvation and patriarchal blessings. It’s a learning experience. And I think a lot about Heavenly Father and how much he loves us. He gave up his son for us. He must have a lot of love for us to do something like that.”
“Being as close as I am to my brother,” Chris continues, “it gives me some understanding of how close I should be to the Savior, who is also my brother. Even though Jason and I will be apart during our missions, we’ll be close to Him. And that will make the bond between us even stronger.”
Faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. That’s the something that makes these twins different from a lot of their peers, but exactly the same in what truly counts.
Editor’s note: Since this story was written, both Chris and Jason have arrived in Argentina and are faithfully serving their missions.

Born in 1838 to Hyrum and Mary Fielding Smith, Joseph F. Smith was the son of Hyrum Smith, who was the elder brother of Joseph Smith Jr. As you may know, Hyrum was martyred alongside his brother, the Prophet, in Carthage Jail in 1844. Joseph F. Smith was only five years old when he lost both his father and his uncle. Although his memory of the event was limited, he vividly recalled his mother’s anguish upon learning of his passing. Even as an adult, he refused to enter Carthage Jail due to the painful memories it evoked.

From the ages of 7 to 9, Smith led his mother and younger sister on an arduous trek westward, first to Winter Quarters, Nebraska, where he witnessed the toll of starvation and freezing conditions on hundreds of Saints, and finally to Utah, where food was scarce due to a cricket infestation upon their arrival. During the journey west, Smith was forced to take on adult responsibilities, leading and protecting his family. After navigating a heavy wagon over a thousand miles, he proudly declared that he never once got stuck, broke a wheel, or overturned the wagon.

A couple of years after settling in the Salt Lake Valley, his mother Mary fell ill and was quarantined in Heber C. Kimball’s home. After eight uncertain weeks, Mary passed away, most likely from pneumonia. Smith was 13 at the time. His sister wrote that when Joseph learned of their mother’s passing, he fainted.

From his journals and other records, we know that the hardships of his youth— including the loss of both parents, the struggle witnessed on the trek westward, and assuming the role of protector before entering his teenage years—had a profound impact on him. In his own words, he described it as “perilous times,” where “I was almost like a comet or fiery meteor without attraction or gravitation to keep me balanced or guide me within reasonable bounds.” [3]

Working to reconcile such hardship wasn’t always easy for Smith. For example, he sometimes had difficulty managing his temper as a young man, and one particular incident even led to his expulsion from school.

Charles Nibley recorded Joseph’s account of that incident. Joseph's little sister Martha was called up to be disciplined. He saw the schoolmaster bring out the leather strap, asking her to hold out her hand. Joseph spoke up loudly and said, 'Don’t whip her with that!' At that, he turned to punish Joseph instead, but instead of allowing him to, Joseph stood his ground, physically engaged with the school master, and was later expelled for it. [4]

Shortly thereafter, Smith was called on a mission to the Sandwich Islands, or Hawaii. At 15 years old, he was the youngest missionary in the field. He traveled from Utah to San Francisco by company, followed by a three-week sail to Hawaii. When he arrived in September of 1854, the Hawaii mission was still relatively young, having been established by pioneers like George Q. Cannon and others just four years prior. Thanks to the faithful service of these early missionaries and Hawaiian converts such as Kaleohano and Jonathan N?pela, the Church had already grown to around 4,000 members by the time Smith arrived.

Like Elder Cannon, who is remembered for his faithful service among the Hawaiian Saints, Elder Smith quickly learned the Hawaiian language and was greatly respected for his sermons given in ‘?lelo Hawai?i. However, the pace of conversion began to slow in 1854, possibly due to epidemics such as smallpox that were ravaging Hawaii at the time. Joseph himself fell severely ill while serving on the island of Molokai shortly after his arrival. During this precarious period, he was adopted, or hanai’d, by a young Hawaiian couple. The young wife took Joseph under her wing and cared for the ailing missionary with genuine love and aloha.

Naoheakamalu, affectionately called Ma Manuhi’i by Joseph F. Smith, became his hanai mother. As she cared for him, his health improved, and he went on to serve faithfully on Maui, Lanai, and the Big Island. Their bond lasted for decades. In 1915, as an elderly man on official Church business in Hawaii, he saw her again, embraced her, and, with tears in his eyes, introduced her to his companions, saying, “This is my mother.” Ma Manuhi’i is memorialized with a beautiful statue on the Laie Hawaii Temple grounds, near the fale behind the temple.[5] His time in Hawaii, with his new ohana and in the service of the Lord, helped him heal past wounds and move forward with aloha.

I learned a great lesson from my father about priesthood authority and power.
I grew up in a home with a faithful mother and a wonderful father. My dad was not a member of our Church but still came to Church meetings with our family. He coached our ward softball team and helped with Scout activities.
As a boy I asked my dad many times each week when he was going to be baptized. My father replied each time, “David, I will join the Church when I know it’s the right thing to do.”
One Sunday I asked my dad when he was going to be baptized. He just smiled and asked me a question. “David, your church teaches that the priesthood was taken from the earth anciently and has been restored by heavenly messengers. If your church truly has the restored priesthood of God, then why are so many of the men in your church no different about doing their priesthood duty than the men in my church?”
My mind went blank. I had no answer for my dad.
I knew that men who hold the priesthood should act differently than other men. Priesthood holders should not only receive priesthood authority but also be faithful and worthy to exercise God’s power.
I decided I never wanted to be a poor example to my father. I simply wanted to be a good boy. The Lord needs all of us who hold the priesthood to be honorable, virtuous, and good boys at all times and in all places.
A number of years later, my father was baptized. I had the opportunity to confer upon him the Aaronic and the Melchizedek Priesthoods. One of the great experiences of my life was seeing my dad receive the authority and qualify for the power of the priesthood.

Years ago Elder J. Golden Kimball was traveling with one of the presiding brethren in southern Utah. In those days meetings often didn’t have a time limit; they went on as long as the speaker wanted to speak. For those of you looking for something to be grateful for, perhaps I’ve just given you one idea.

One fast Sunday they had been preaching nearly all day. Everyone was hungry, especially Elder Kimball, who felt that he “was pretty nearly dead.”

Finally, at about four o’clock in the afternoon, the presiding apostle turned and said, “Now, Brother Kimball, get up and tell them about the Era.”

The Era magazine had just been launched, and the Brethren wanted to encourage subscriptions. Elder Kimball approached the pulpit and then, after a short pause, said, “All you men that will take the Era if we will let you go home, raise your right hand.” There was not a single man who did not raise his hand that day and subscribe to the Era. (In J. Golden Kimball, CR, April 1932, 78.)

It seems like all my life I’d been worrying about Danny, trying to keep him straight. Sometimes he just doesn’t understand things too well.

Once when we were shopping, Dan picked up a record that was left lying in the road outside the store. He started toward the car.

“Danny,” I said, “you take that record back inside the store.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not ours.”

“So what? It’s nobody’s when it’s out in the middle of the road.”

“Dan, somebody might have dropped it. Maybe they’ll come back for it.”

“Fat chance. If somebody just bought it, it would have been in a sack. Some car has probably run over it anyway.”

“Daniel O’Brien Hertz, you either take that record into the store, or give it to me and I will. It’s not ours.”

Finally, Dan let me take the record back in the store.

When I came out, he said, “Sometimes, Mauri, you don’t have the sense of a flea.”

In the evening many of us had hoped to attend Moscow’s renowned Bolshoi Theatre, but no tickets were available. Our disappointment was acute. Our tour director suggested, instead, a short sacrament service in one of the hotel rooms. He had paper cups and bread; two or three others had pocket-size songbooks; another could direct music. So the meeting was planned.

Meanwhile, our prize member-missionary was planning also. She received permission from the director to invite Tanya to the service. Our guide refused at first, protesting that she would be out of place. But before long, at the loving encouragement of several tour members, Tanya acquiesced. Suddenly two fears formed inside me: that her presence would make us overly self-conscious and that she might report us to her superiors, who could force us to leave the Soviet Union early. Where did these heretofore hidden apprehensions come from? Tools of Satan or warnings from the Lord? I dismissed the fears, but still I was grateful to have no speaking part in the service.

At 9:00 P.M. we assembled in a hotel room overlooking the sluggish Moscow River. The city appeared—no doubt somewhat deceptively—to be slumbering. The humid room and the late hour seemed more conducive to yawns than to spiritual experiences. Then a sister eagerly spoke out in the warm room: “After the sacrament has been passed, may we hear the testimony of our most recent convert?” As adrenaline forced my heart to pound faster and faster, the Spirit tried to convince me of the excellent opportunity I—the recipient of the sister’s request—would have to bear testimony in Tanya’s presence. In my mind I hastily concluded, as I saw our director agree with the suggestion, that I should not, above all, become emotional or very personal. Tanya, if true to her communist heritage, would relate best to the things of the mind, not to those of the heart.

After we had partaken of the Lord’s Supper—a ceremony certainly foreign to Tanya’s upbringing—I felt quite calm and in complete control of my emotions. As I rose to speak, I felt prompted to read one of my favorite scriptures, Doctrine and Covenants 59:21 [D&C 59:21]: “And in nothing doth man offend God, or against none is his wrath kindled, save those who confess not his hand in all things, and obey not his commandments.” As I read in that hotel room in Moscow, my heart told my head what to do. I began to confess the Lord’s hand in various events in my life, even my father’s passing when I was only eight years old. Because of his death my mother and I moved from a small Arkansas town to a large city where I found and embraced the restored church. From that time, six years earlier, my life had been changed. I knew why I was here on the earth and where I was going.

The meeting took on a very personal tone; tears were shed. As I concluded I suddenly saw the Lord’s hand in our not being able to attend the Bolshoi Theatre that evening. The Lord wanted us to be in that meeting, remembering him and what he has done for us and sharing our spirits and his with Tanya. Perhaps that would be her only exposure to the restored gospel in this life.

Shiloh W., age 18, Chihuahua, Mexico
My mother died when I was only 12 years old. At that time I was not a member of the Church. When she was sick, I prayed a lot that my mother would be well. I had much faith, and I trusted in God in the hope that her health would return. Sadly she did not recover. I questioned why she had to die at such a young age and leave me while I was still a teenager. I was angry and came to the point where I doubted that God existed. Now that I am a member of the Church, I understand the plan of salvation. I know that she is waiting for me and that our family will be reunited.

I have had the opportunity of flying a number of different high-performance jet fighters during my time in the air force, and flying each of them has been a unique experience. However, at one point in the past, I was flying a small two-engine turboprop airplane called the OV-10 Bronco. It was an observation aircraft, and in it I performed forward air controller duties. The OV-10 was fully acrobatic, cruised at speeds ranging from 200 to 400 mph, and looked a lot like a oversized dragonfly with a large, clear bubble canopy protruding out the front. This allowed the pilot to see nearly all the way around the aircraft with an unobstructed view, and it flew slow enough and was maneuverable enough that you could locate and mark the position of targets using 2.75-inch rockets that it carried in pods located under its fuselage.

I not only flew this aircraft into combat but also flew it for two years while I was assigned to Bergstrom Air Force Base in Austin, Texas. Although I was assigned to Bergstrom, I was away from home about half of the time, as we supported all of the army and air force units west of the Mississippi.

Shortly after our arrival in Austin, Vicki and I were asked to visit with our stake president early one Saturday morning. He talked with Vicki and me for some time, during which I laid out in pretty graphic detail my travel and temporary duty schedule. Despite that heavy travel schedule, the stake president extended the call for me to serve as the elders quorum president in our ward. As he concluded that interview, he must have sensed my concern over what I thought would be a very difficult assignment made even tougher by my being gone almost half of every month.

He looked me in the eye and promised me that if I would do my best—the absolute best I could when I was home—and attend my meetings, work hard, and pick good men to be my counselors, the Lord would bless me with success in this calling. And then he added that the Lord would protect and watch over me while I was away from my family.

I was buoyed up by his promise of success in this calling in a large and recently organized ward, but quite frankly didn’t think much more about the promise that I would be protected and watched over. I was, after all, young, confident in my abilities, and a combat veteran. I felt I could handle the OV-10 very well.

Several months later I was returning one Saturday evening from a two-week flying training assignment at a western base and stopped, along with a second airplane, in El Paso, Texas, for gas. It was late, and the two other pilots—in the second OV-10 in the formation—argued that we should spend the night in El Paso, get a room, have a good meal, sleep late on Sunday morning, and get home mid-afternoon on Sunday. I was also tired and hungry and agreed it would sure be great to get a good night’s sleep, but I recalled the guidance of my stake president and knew that he would expect me to be at the early Sunday morning priesthood executive committee meeting and the other meetings that would follow. So I convinced the others to gas up quickly and get on our way. I called Vicki. She and our two-year-old son would be at the base in just a little under three hours to pick me up.

Since I had led from California to El Paso, it was the other pilot’s turn to lead our two-ship formation. It was probably about a two-and-a-half–hour flight from El Paso to Austin. About halfway it grew dark, and the weather started to turn foul. I flew in close formation on the leader for the last half of the flight. About 15 miles away from the air base, in darkness and in some rough weather, we let down to just below the clouds to begin our approach to the field. We lined up on initial, which meant we would fly down the runway at about 1,000 feet above the ground. Then, over the approach end of the runway, the leader would execute a 180-degree turn, and I would take five seconds spacing and do the same 180-degree turn, slow down, extend our gear and flaps, and turn to final approach, with us landing one behind the other. We were flying just beneath the ragged edge of some very bumpy cumulus clouds, in and out of rain showers.

The leader approached the runway and gave the signal for me to take five seconds spacing and then do my turn or pitchout to downwind. About the time we were approaching the field to land, a concerned wife and mother looked outside at the impending stormy weather and felt prompted to kneel with her two-year-old son and ask a loving Heavenly Father to protect and bring home a dad who had been gone for two long weeks.

I counted to five and pulled the throttles back on the engines powering the two three-bladed, eight-and-a-half–foot propellers to slow the aircraft down and snapped the airplane into a 60-degree banked turn. I pulled back on the stick to increase the G forces, which are needed to complete a level 180-degree turn to a downwind position parallel to the runway. The G forces also help to slow the airplane down from 300 mph to less than 150 mph in a matter of a few seconds.

Just as I pulled on the stick to tighten up the turn, the main oil line failed on the right engine. Oil pressure is needed to hold the propeller at the precise pitch, based on the throttle position. When the oil line failed, the propeller instantly feathered, causing the three propeller blades to rotate 90 degrees within the propeller hub and streamline into the relative wind. As they rotated, they created extremely high drag loads on the engine, similar to someone trying to pull three large oars through thick molasses. This excessive load caused the engine to fail, followed by an engine fire. This catastrophic loss of thrust on the right engine while I was in a steep left turn caused my airplane to yaw upward into the nighttime storm clouds. A relatively simple overhead pattern and landing to complete the mission had turned into a serious malfunction compounded by the inclement weather.

A key part of our training as we learn to fly is how to handle various emergencies that can occur in flight. With the illumination of the fire warning light, I instinctively followed the emergency procedures—first shutting down the engine and then discharging the fire extinguisher, taking care of the engine problem. However, during the time I was concentrating on accomplishing the emergency procedure, I experienced a severe case of spatial disorientation—meaning I was no longer sure which way was up or down.

During those few seconds in the darkness of the clouds, a few hundred feet above my awaiting family, my brain fought to make sense out of what I saw on the instrument panel. As I struggled to overcome the compelling instinct to follow other sensory perceptions, I recalled the final part of the promise my stake president pronounced as he called me to be an elders quorum president several months earlier. He promised that the Lord would watch over me if I did my duty. In those brief seconds of fear and confusion, I prayed that Heavenly Father would make good on that promise.

Now, brothers and sisters, with a clarity that I cannot explain but with a power I could never deny, I knew with a confidence that defied the situation that I must simply turn left. Despite being in the weather and lacking the visual cues essential to land from a overhead pattern, I followed the promptings and quite easily and quickly maneuvered out of the weather without further reference to the instruments, completing a descending turn to final approach and landing without further incident. The first hint the control tower had that there was a problem came as I radioed them on landing rollout—after saying another short prayer of thanks—telling them that they needed to get the fire trucks and a tow truck out to the end of the runway.

I have thought about that experience many times and marveled at the peace I felt as the situation deteriorated in those brief seconds of frantic action and confusion.

When you think of the Netherlands, you probably think of wooden shoes, tulips, and windmills. But the Netherlands is also home to youth who are strong in the gospel. Here’s what some of them had to say about their testimonies and beliefs in gospel principles:
“I was home-teaching and had to give the lesson. I talked about Jesus Christ, the Resurrection, and life after death. While I was teaching the lesson, I felt it was true. I almost cried because I really felt it deep inside me.”
—Jos Reijnders, age 16

While I was president of the Southern States Mission, a schoolteacher loaned a book to one of our Mormon children; and when the book came back, in it was an Articles of Faith card, and that schoolteacher read it. She went to her minister and said, “Why can’t our church have something like this?” The minister could not give her any satisfactory explanation, and so she wrote a letter to the Bureau of Information here in Salt Lake City. They sent her literature, they sent us her name, the missionaries called on her, and she joined the Church.

Alma taught that, for the righteous, the spirit world will be a paradise—“a state of rest, a state of peace, where they shall rest from all their troubles and from all care, and sorrow” (Alma 40:12). I have often wondered how we can be in a place of rest and yet be busy and deeply involved in intense activity. It reminds me of an account that one of my colleagues shared with me. His aged mother-in-law, who had been widowed for decades, saw into the spirit world shortly before her passing. She told the family that she had seen departed family members, including her beloved husband.
“Well, doesn’t that make you want to go join them?” a daughter asked her.
She responded, “Oh, no. They were so busy. It made me tired watching them.”

A while back, I went with some friends to a party. When we got there, we saw that there were no parents to supervise us, and I immediately felt uncomfortable. I started to have fun, though, so I decided to stay and hang with my friends.
As the night progressed, I soon realized that people were drinking alcohol and that some of my friends had joined in. I had felt uncomfortable before, but now things had gone too far. Luckily, I’d decided years before what I would do in this situation, so I immediately called my dad to come pick me up.
When he showed up, I left the party, and a few of my friends who were also uncomfortable came with me. I sadly lost some close friends that night, but I gained better ones. And my relationship with my parents and my Heavenly Father improved immensely.
Looking back, I can’t help but think of the scripture in 2 Nephi 2:27, which says, “Wherefore, men … are free to choose liberty and eternal life, through the great Mediator of all men, or to choose captivity and death.”
That was not the last time I had to make a decision like this one. I will always be grateful for the first time I learned to choose liberty.

In anticipation of the hurricanes, the Church had moved food, bottled water, generators, chain saws, and other equipment to safe sites near the coast. As soon as the storms passed, supplies and equipment were quickly moved to locations like the storehouse for use and distribution. Stakes and wards in surrounding areas organized thousands of LDS volunteers into work groups that came each weekend from September to November to put tarps on roofs, cut up trees lying across roads, and pull up water-soaked carpets.

Ben Bradley, 13, was on one of these crews. He and his father, sister, and brother drove seven hours each way from Albany, Georgia, to Gulfport, Mississippi, making the trip several times. “We wanted to help,” Ben says. “I learned that all it takes is a willingness to pitch in, and Mormons are good at that.” Often crews would complete a work order at a member’s house and then perform similar tasks in other houses or yards in the neighborhood. The Church was widely recognized for its ability to help its own members and its willingness to help others, too.

Sunday, July 2, 1972, at the close of testimony meeting, he stood with the congregation of his home ward. Tears filled his eyes as he sang, with them “The Star Spangled Banner.”
In the afternoon there was a visit to family members.
And in the evening, as he sat in the home of a beloved daughter, his head bowed quietly forward, and he died.
There was no suffering. “He was here one minute, and gone the next. It was very peaceful,” the family reported.
So ended the mortal life of a prophet of God.
For President Joseph Fielding Smith it was an appropriate last day on earth: joyful worship with his brothers and sisters in the gospel; nourishing and enjoying the family circle; a quiet, happy acceptance of the Lord’s call to further service.
It had been that way all his life.

I recently traveled to the beautiful island of Moloka’i to attend sacrament meeting and visit with members of the church and others. These sweet people were among the first to send supplies by boat after the fires, including much-needed fuel for generators, to the shores of Lahaina—fuel, that I might add, that is far more expensive on Molokai than on Maui. They understand the meaning of “[loving] thy neighbor as thyself.” [13]

This was a special Sunday for me. I watched a group of friends and family gather together to literally lift Brother Arlan Angco, an amazing husband and faithful father to two teenage daughters, into a specially prepared recliner-chair they brought into the chapel. Though he was terminally suffering from the terrible effects of cancer, he insisted on worshipping in person and partaking of the sacrament with his loving ward ‘ohana. He understood that he would soon meet the same Savior Whose emblems he sought on this particular day.

I will forever treasure watching loved ones ensure he was comfortable as they helped him carefully partake of the bread and water.

I also visited with him and his family in their home that afternoon. It was holy ground. My counselors and I blessed him. Then, with one of my counselors carefully supporting Brother Angco’s hand on his wife’s head, we blessed her as well. He passed away just a little over one week later. I am eternally grateful for this experience. His faith changed me.