Gospel Story Finder

As I surveyed the elderly people assembled for the nursing home sacrament meeting, I was worried.
Several patients appeared to be asleep. One woman cried, over and over, “I want to go home.” Most of those who were awake stared vaguely through clouded eyes. I wondered why our Young Men and Young Women had even come to present this sacrament meeting. Other than giving them the opportunity to partake of the sacrament, why did we bother?
One of the Young Men conducted the service. It would be like any other sacrament meeting with an opening hymn, opening prayer, sacrament hymn, the passing of the sacrament, speakers, and a closing hymn.
As we sang “Come, Come Ye Saints,” I noticed that one frail sister who, until this moment, had remained perfectly still, staring off into space, sang every word from memory. When the sacrament was passed, almost every patient partook. I began to realize that the patients knew what was going on.
Following the sacrament, Shawna, the Laurel president, spoke on enduring to the end. I wondered how her words would affect people who had endured more than we could possibly imagine.
I was distracted from my thoughts by a very real presence in the room. I felt the Spirit as strongly as I’ve ever felt it before. Then I noticed that nearly every elderly brother and sister had their eyes focused on Shawna. The Spirit had linked us together as brothers and sisters, children of our Heavenly Father.
A scripture came to my mind: “And now abideth faith, hope and charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity” (1 Cor. 13:13).
There may have been many reasons for that sacrament meeting, but the greatest of them was charity, the pure love of Christ.

In addition, because motherhood is physically and emotionally demanding, mothers should set realistic goals that allow for flexibility, remembering that “to every thing there is a season” (Ecclesiastes 3:1). Elizabeth, who gave birth to four daughters in a period of just a few years, said, “It isn’t feasible to quit doing housework and cooking when there are other children needing clean clothes and lunch. I found it helpful to do just a little bit each day—one load of laundry, cleaning the bathroom sink (instead of the whole bathroom), planning the meals, and having my husband do the shopping. Feeling productive, even if it’s just a little each day, is very encouraging.”

“But Mom, I don’t want to go to church today!” Trevor complained. “I want to stay home and play outside. We get a vacation from school, so why can’t we take a vacation from church too?”
Trevor’s mother smiled as she asked, “What do you think would happen if Heavenly Father took a vacation from watching over us and helping us? Besides, you have all the rest of the week to play outside.”
The next day Trevor did play outside. He played long and hard. Late in the afternoon, while he was racing his bicycle with his friends, he turned his head to see how far ahead of them he was. In that instant his bicycle hit a rock, and the next thing Trevor knew, he was in a hospital bed with a big cast on his left leg and a huge bandage on his head.
As Trevor lay there, his leg was held up by a chain and pulley. He couldn’t turn; he could only lie on his back. The doctors told him that he would have to lie that way for at least four weeks! His whole summer was ruined!
To just lie still in the big hospital bed was the hardest work that Trevor had ever done. His mom, dad, and sisters came to visit him every day. They brought books to read and cassette tapes and games that he could play while lying down. This helped, but each day still seemed like forever.
When Sunday came, Trevor knew that his family would go to church and wouldn’t come to see him till late afternoon. Trevor colored in his new coloring book, then read some of his books. Nothing feels right. This is Sunday, and I would be in church if I were home. That would feel right, he told himself.
Trevor thought about his Primary class. They’re probably in Sharing Time right now, singing some of my favorite songs. Maybe they’ll play that Bible story game that Sister Hinton taught us last week. Trevor wondered what Sister Norman’s lesson would be about today. Last week it had been about forgiveness. He really did like the lessons, even though it was hard to sit still sometimes. The more Trevor thought about church, the more he wished that he could be there.
The next week wasn’t any easier for Trevor. He kept thinking about not being able to go to church on Sunday. After lying still for days and days, sitting for three hours in church didn’t seem quite so impossible anymore.
When Sunday came again, the morning seemed to get longer and longer. Trevor looked at the clock on the wall. Sharing Time is just getting over, and everyone will be going to their classes. I bet the lesson’s a good one, Trevor thought sadly.
About ten minutes later Sister Norman appeared in the doorway! “Hello, Trevor. May we come in?” she asked.
“Wow! Yes! Yes!” Trevor shouted happily.
Sister Norman was followed by the other four children in Trevor’s Primary class. Each child carried cards and letters that all the children in Primary had made for Trevor during Sharing Time.
After a few minutes of visiting, Sister Norman said, “Trevor, we all missed you so much that we decided that Primary wasn’t Primary without you, and we decided to bring Primary to you today.”
The children all sat down around the bed while Sister Norman gave her lesson on kindness to others.
All too soon the lesson was over, and it was time for Trevor’s class to go. Before she left, Sister Norman said, “Trevor, if it’s all right with you, till you’re well, we’d like to visit you each week and give you the Primary lesson, just like we have done at the ward.”
“Oh,” Trevor said, “that would be just great! Thank you.”
After his class had left, Trevor thought, I’m glad that Primary doesn’t stop when we’re out of school. And I’m especially glad that Heavenly Father doesn’t take a vacation!

While I was serving as Area Supervisor in South America, a most unforgettable experience happened in Montevideo, Uruguay. I wanted to change some money because I was living in Brazil at the time, so Brother Carlos Pratt took me to a money exchange house in downtown Montevideo. He introduced me to one of the officials, and the official said they would change $1,000. I did not have $1,000 in cash and had only a check drawn on a bank in Salt Lake City. The exchange house had never done business with me before. In fact, they had never seen me before and could not expect to ever see me again. They had no way to verify if I had $1,000 on deposit in the bank upon which I had drawn the check. But they accepted my check without hesitation—based solely on the fact that I was a Mormon and that they had previously done business with other Mormons. Frankly, I was both grateful and pleased because of their confidence.

Everyone in his high school knew Bruce for his leadership as senior class president and his commitment to the Church. He had a way of injecting a big dose of fun and life into just about everything he touched. It might have been getting a bunch of friends together to take the local missionaries out to breakfast. Or planning the first senior class trip to Disneyland. Or yelling “Let’s be the nerd bus!” and herding kids onto the bus when arguments arose over who should go on which bus for a school trip. Or staying up all night to put together the program for a youth conference.
On top of all his activities, he still managed to keep a 4.0 grade point average and win a four-year scholarship to BYU. As one of his teachers wrote when Bruce was applying for a scholarship, “A room full of Bruce Drennans would put any teacher in seventh heaven.”
He was committed to going on a mission and influenced his friends to do the same. “He really encouraged me to go on a mission when I needed the encouragement at a certain time in my life,” said his friend Ed Belliston. “He was always a good example and brought out abilities in me that I didn’t know I had. After I left on my mission and I heard of his death, the memory of Bruce would get me fired up again. He made me work harder.” Dean Teach, another friend, told his friend Lisa Anderson that if it hadn’t been for Bruce, he wouldn’t have gone on his mission.

Brother Torales softly bears his testimony. He speaks of a loving Savior, of the Prophet Joseph Smith, of living prophets, of the gift of the Holy Ghost. Then he recounts to his family an experience that happened on a night such as this:
One dark evening, he and some of his children were walking home on a country road after teaching the gospel to neighbors. As they walked in the light of the moon and stars, they were listening to a cassette tape of the Tabernacle Choir.
“At that moment, I had what seemed to be a vision,” he says. “The heavens opened, and I saw a personage who I understood was the Lord. My family was walking through a scene of great war. People were fighting all around us. But with the Lord near, their fighting didn’t affect us. We walked right through it, unhurt. The Lord led us to a place that was very beautiful. I was filled with light and peace and with an indescribable joy. I imagine that is how it will feel to be in the presence of God.”
Then the scene closed, and President Torales found himself still walking in the moonlight with his children. They were unaware of what had just happened, so he described it to them. It has been a source of great hope for the family ever since.
“I believe it represented things in our lives and in the future,” says President Torales. “Even though there are wars and problems all around us, if we stay close to our Heavenly Father, we can walk through them and be blessed.”

Kaemin and Ikani (“Kolby”) I. already knew a lot about prophets. But visiting the North Visitors’ Center on Temple Square helped them see in a new way how prophets testify of Jesus Christ.
That day Kolby and Kaemin got to see life-size replicas of prophets from the scriptures. They learned that even though prophets live at different times, all prophets testify that Jesus Christ is our Savior and the Son of God.
After learning what prophets taught of Christ, Kolby and Kaemin walked up a spiral ramp to the top of the visitors’ center. There they saw a large statue of Jesus called the Christus. They listened to a recording of Jesus’s teachings. The things that the prophets taught about Jesus are the same things Jesus taught about Himself.

puddles, silent mirrors,
plunge all above
depth-ward, far;
and I, at edge, look down,
see the sky so
far below,
sneak quietly away,
fearful at the thought of
falling through.

2. Invite the bishop to come to some of your youth activities. I can remember going on a campout when I was a bishop and falling asleep in the back of the bus. Somewhere there is a picture of me asleep with my mouth open and a wild flower placed inside. My own sons were part of the practical joke. We all grew closer together when the youth enjoyed some relaxing time with me. If the bishop knows how much you want him to be with you, he will try to find time to be part of your special activities.

When school bus number 882 finally turned onto the dirt road, I had never felt happier to see our house.
I was still upset from the argument that had exploded between me and my friends three days earlier. Or should I say ex-friends? Now I thought of them as stubborn and selfish.
When the bus stopped, I marched down the aisle past Connie and Vicki, determined never to speak to them again.
That night I tossed and turned as contention filled my dreams.
By morning I had a headache. I also woke up late and had to hurry to get ready for school on time. I grabbed my books and slammed the front door without saying good-bye to my mom and little brothers and sisters as I ran to the bus stop, arriving just as the bus pulled up.
I walked quickly down the aisle, finding a seat away from Connie and Vicki. I could feel their eyes watching me, but I sat close to the window and pretended not to see them. I vowed that we would not be friends again until they changed.
I reached for my history book to read my assignment. I was surprised when I saw in my hands Pathways to Perfection by Elder Thomas S. Monson. I had grabbed the book by accident as I raced out of the house. It had fallen open to what I needed to read most: a chapter titled “Love As Jesus Loves.” The words seemed to be directed to me as I read Matthew 22:36–39:
“Master, which is the great commandment in the law?
“Jesus said unto him, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.
“This is the first and great commandment.” [Matt. 22:36–39]
Then these words penetrated my heart:
“And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.”
Those verses took on new meaning for me. Tears filled my eyes as I felt my Heavenly Father’s love for me. And I realized that it wasn’t Connie and Vicki who needed to change. It was me!
That morning on the bus I made a commitment to serve and love the Lord through loving those around me.

At age eight, LeGrand contracted some type of hip bone disease. For nine months he wore a plaster cast on his leg from shoetop to hip and around his waist, during which time he used crutches and missed a year of school. Later that year, still in the cast, he was attacked by a vicious ram. The animal came at him time and again as he braced against the fence and tried to ward off its attack with his hands. It was the plaster cast around his waist that is thought to have saved LeGrand’s life.

As a youth, Joseph personified the Apostle Paul’s admonition: “Children, obey your parents in the Lord: for this is right” (Eph. 6:1). He strictly obeyed his parents not from fear, but from deep love. His love and tenderness toward his parents can best be seen in an event from his childhood. Young Joseph had become infected with a serious and extremely painful leg disease. After several weeks of excruciating pain and many failed attempts by surgeons to alleviate it, doctors concluded that the leg must be amputated. But when young Joseph and Mother Smith objected, the doctors agreed to attempt one more operation. They insisted that Joseph be bound to the bed and that he must drink some wine or brandy to deaden the pain. Joseph’s response, recorded by his mother, Lucy Mack Smith, illustrates his confidence in his father and his tenderness toward his mother.
“‘No,’ exclaimed Joseph, ‘I will not touch one particle of liquor, neither will I be tied down; but I will tell you what I will do—I will have my father sit on the bed and hold me in his arms, and then I will do whatever is necessary in order to have the bone taken out.’ Looking at me, he said, ‘Mother, I want you to leave the room, for I know you cannot bear to see me suffer so; father can stand it, but you have carried me so much, and watched over me so long, you are almost worn out.’ Then looking up into my face, his eyes swimming in tears, he continued, ‘Now, mother, promise me that you will not stay, will you? The Lord will help me, and I shall get through with it’” (Lucy Mack Smith, History of Joseph Smith by His Mother, edited by Preston Nibley, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1958, page 57).

I am familiar with a ward that struggled with an ineffective ward council. It was difficult for the bishop to embrace the direction found in Handbook 2 because he was comfortable in his ways and liked his old patterns. After much counseling and training by a loving stake president, however, the bishop softened his heart, repented, and began in earnest to organize the ward council as instructed. He watched training videos available at LDS.org, he read sections 4 and 5 of Handbook 2, and he acted upon what he learned.
Members of the ward council quickly embraced the changes, and a spirit of love and unity settled on them as they focused on strengthening individuals and families. In every meeting, they spoke at length about investigators, new converts, less-active members, and members with needs. Their hearts began to be drawn out to these brothers and sisters, and miracles began to happen.
The bishop reported that almost immediately after these changes were made to the ward council, previously unknown less-active members began to attend church. These members said they suddenly felt moved upon to return to the Church. They said they had received a clear and compelling impression that they needed to once again associate with the Saints. They knew they would be loved and that they needed the support members would offer.
The bishop shared with me that he is certain Heavenly Father was just waiting for him to follow the counsel he had received and organize the ward council as instructed before He could put the desire into the hearts and minds of these less-active members to return to activity in the Church. The bishop realized that he needed to create the loving, nurturing environment these members needed before the Spirit would lead them back. His words remind me of the experience of Peter the fisherman:

Late one night lying in a hospital bed, this time as a patient and not as a physician, I read those verses over and over again. I pondered: “How is it done? For whom? What is required to qualify? Is it like forgiveness of sin? Do we have to earn His love and help?” As I pondered, I came to understand that during His mortal life Christ chose to experience pains and afflictions in order to understand us. Perhaps we also need to experience the depths of mortality in order to understand Him and our eternal purposes.13

I felt the encircling arms of His love that night.15 Tears watered my pillow in gratitude. Later, as I was reading in Matthew about Christ’s mortal ministry, I made another discovery: “When the even was come, they brought unto him many … and he … healed all that were sick.”16 He healed all that came to Him. None were turned away.

I worked four months this summer in the Old Faithful area in Yellowstone National Park, and the thing I missed most was being the first one to read the New Era. For those four months I was the last one, and it was a month late; but when it came, it was a real treat. Working in the park was like being out of contact with the outside world. There was no TV and very few radio stations that could be picked up, so when I finally received the New Era, it was the only entertainment available. There was also a lot of missionary work to be done there. Several nonmembers thumbed through the New Era and came up with many questions. Thanks again for a wonderful magazine.
Janice BloomerMesa, Arizona

Recently another General Authority was my partner for mission tours to dusty places. On occasion, when I returned from a morning shower, I found to my surprise that this considerate companion had shined my shoes. Gratefully I wondered if each of the thirty thousand missionaries now laboring in the Lord’s service would have, and be, as kind a friend as he was to me, thoughtfully rendering simple acts of courtesy to a companion.

Sister Fisher scared me. Whenever I saw her coming, I turned the other direction and hoped she wouldn’t see me.
The trouble had started three weeks ago. On my way to Primary, I stopped to play with the drinking fountain. The fountain wasn’t working right, and I knew it, but nobody else did. When ward members came by for a drink, I politely offered to press the button for them. Boy, were they surprised when the water overshot by about a foot and they got a face full of water!
Everyone fell for it but Sister Fisher. When I offered to hold the button for her, she whispered, “Hayley, don’t you think you’d better run on to Primary? You’re going to be late. Besides, I don’t want to be shot in the face by the drinking fountain.”
Red-faced, I ran to class. How had Sister Fisher known? I’d tricked everyone else.
But the fountain experience wasn’t the only thing different about her. Not only did she act scary, she looked scary. She had wild, frizzy hair that stuck out on the sides and was the color of a pumpkin. Honest—the color of a pumpkin! She wore thick, black-rimmed glasses and lots of smeared, red lipstick. And even though she was big and tall, her clothes made her look even taller. She always wore long skirts and high heels. She looked like she would fall off the heels, but she never did.
I knew I needed to get used to Sister Fisher’s odd looks, because she was my new Primary teacher! I couldn’t believe it—I’d gotten the scariest teacher in the whole Primary.
When Sunday came, I clung to my best friend, Marci. “What do you think of Sister Fisher?” I asked her.
Marci looked a little worried and said, “She’s strange. I’ve heard she wears a necklace with a real shark’s tooth on it. What do you think that means?”
“It means she’s weird,” I replied.
Just as I was going to tell Marci my ideas on why anybody would wear a shark’s tooth, class started. I sat up tall, determined to listen to every word. I was afraid Sister Fisher wouldn’t like me after the drinking fountain incident, so I thought it might help if I looked like I was interested.
“Good morning, boys and girls,” Sister Fisher said. “I’m happy to have you all in my class. We’re going to have a good time together.”
Easy for her to say, I thought to myself. We aren’t strange-looking.
Sister Fisher continued, “To start it off, let’s learn a little bit about each other. We’ll start with Hayley.”
Oh, no. Why does she have to start with me? I wondered. I just knew she was going to tell everyone that I was a mean girl who played tricks on all the grown-ups in the ward.
While I wondered what awful things she was going to say, Sister Fisher picked up a brown paper bag and pulled out a baby picture of me. “Here is Hayley when she was just six months old. Her mother told me that she was the happiest baby in the world. Wasn’t she cute?”
To my surprise, everyone agreed with Sister Fisher. I looked at the picture, and I had to admit that I had been a cute baby.
Next Sister Fisher brought out a picture of Jesus with the little children. It hung in my room because it was a picture of my favorite Bible story. “This is a beautiful picture, isn’t it, class? Hayley thinks so, and her parents told me that this picture helps her remember to pray. Hayley even reminds her parents to say family prayer. I could use someone like that at my house.”
I couldn’t believe it. Sister Fisher was saying nice things about me!
Sister Fisher reached in and grabbed the next thing—my pink piggy bank. “Hayley likes this bank because it’s her favorite color. She saves tithing in it, and her dad said that sometimes she even pays a little extra.”
Brian nudged me and wise-cracked, “Hey, Hayley-Whaley, next time why don’t you give your extra money to me?”
Everyone laughed, like they always do at Brian’s awful nickname for me. Sister Fisher calmly said, “Well, Brian, maybe she will. Hayley is a generous, kind girl.”
Sister Fisher knew just what to say to Brian. Amazing! Our last three teachers hadn’t known what to say to him.
She did Brian’s sack next and showed a raggedy, blue teddy bear, a soccer ball, and some pictures and said good things about him. After Brian’s sack, she showed stuff from bags and said nice things about each of the other members of the class. Marci’s bag even included a picture of the two of us, taken last year at summer camp.
Then Sister Fisher showed us her own bag! “This is a picture of my family,” she began. “I have two grown-up sons who live far away.”
Sister Fisher was a mother! I couldn’t believe it.
She showed other treasures from her bag. One was a dog-eared Book of Mormon she’d been given when she joined the Church four years ago. Another was an award she’d gotten for being the “Professor of the Year” at a college. And a shark’s tooth necklace!
The off-white tooth dangled on the end of a gold chain. It was huge! I’d have hated to see the shark it came from. It was pretty, if you didn’t know it was a tooth.
After she explained what it was, she said, “This necklace is special because my husband gave it to me before he died. He was fascinated by sharks. So whenever I look at this necklace, I think of him,”
Marci and I exchanged glances. I guess it wasn’t so weird, after all. Actually, Sister Fisher wasn’t so weird, after all, even if she had frizzy orange hair. And I guess she really needed the thick glasses. And maybe there were reasons for the other things I’d thought were weird. She didn’t seem to think what I wear and do are weird—she didn’t even tell on me about the water fountain. She was just a person, like everybody else. In fact, she was a nice person. She made me feel good.
When class was over, she hugged me and said, “Hayley, I’m happy I get to teach you.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’m glad you’re my new teacher.” And I meant it!

Tara let the soft strains of the prelude music wrap themselves around her. Slowly she felt herself relax. People whispered, feet scuffled, but she heard only the muted notes of the organ.
The bishop stood and welcomed everyone to sacrament meeting. Tara looked around. All around her were families—mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters. Everyone had someone. All except her. She was alone.
The Millers, who picked her up every week, had invited Tara to sit with their family, and Tara did, but it wasn’t the same as sitting with one’s very own family.
Tara listened to the talks and the prayers, but it was the music that touched her in a way she didn’t fully understand. She only knew that it made her feel warm and peaceful inside.
She’d been baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints six months ago. Since then, she’d attended church every Sunday. There was so much to learn that sometimes she felt overwhelmed.
But she kept coming back, wanting that sweet feeling she had whenever she entered the church. If only her parents would come with her, just once! If they did, they’d experience the same feelings she had. She just knew it.
She pushed away the thought. Her parents weren’t likely to ever come to church with her. They’d been against her joining the Church in the first place. They’d only agreed to let her be baptized because she’d asked them so many times. She was nearly ten now, they’d said, and old enough to make her own decisions.
This morning had been like every other Sunday morning since Tara had started going to church. Her mother had been tight-lipped with disapproval. Her father had barricaded himself behind the Sunday newspaper. Neither had spoken to her as she got ready. When she’d begged them to go with her, their answer was the same as it always had been: No.
In Primary, Tara felt the same spirit she’d had in sacrament meeting. Again, it was the music that sparked something inside her. Why wouldn’t Mom and Dad come and feel it too?
As the Primary children sang “I’m trying to be like Jesus,” tears started rolling down her cheeks. She brushed them away, hoping no one had noticed. She listened to the words. Had she been trying to be like Jesus in how she acted around her parents? Or had she been demanding that her parents believe as she did?
She grew uncomfortable, remembering how she’d tried to pressure them into coming to church with her. She wanted so much to share the gospel with her parents and have them by her side at church that she hadn’t been very loving or patient. Sometimes she even got mad at them for not coming.
During the ride home with the Miller family, she decided, I’m going to practice what the song says. I’m going to try to be like Jesus. She smiled as she let herself into the house.
Humming softly, she changed out of her Sunday clothes. She was still humming as she went downstairs.
She found her father in the living room, lying on the sofa with the newspaper tented over his head. She gently pushed it aside to give him a kiss.
He looked up. “What’s that for?”
“Because I love you and I’m happy.” She smiled at him and then went into the kitchen.
Her mother was stirring something on the stove. She looked up as Tara came in.
“Can I help?” Tara asked.
“Would you set the table, please?”
Tara hummed as she put plates, glasses, and silverware on the table.
“What’s that you’re humming?” her mother asked.
“A song I learned at church.” Tara hesitated. “Would you like to know the words?”
Her mother smiled. “If it makes you this happy, I think I would.”
Tara sang the words, her voice breaking on the last one.
“It’s a beautiful song,” her mother said, a little hitch in her voice. “Are all the songs at your church that pretty?”
“They’re all different,” Tara said. “But most of them make me feel this way.”
“What way is that?” Her mother stopped what she was doing and turned to Tara. She looked like she really wanted to know.
Tara chose her words carefully. “Happy inside. Kind of peaceful.”
Her mother pushed back a strand of hair. “I’d like some of that feeling for our whole family.”
As the family sat down to dinner, Tara felt her mother’s gaze on her. Hesitantly she asked, “Tara, would you give a blessing on the food?”
Tara looked up, surprised. Her family never said a prayer before a meal. She looked at her father. He nodded and said, “Your mother and I have been wanting to start having prayers in our family. This will be a good way to begin to do it, if that’s all right with you.”
Tara smiled peacefully as she bent her head. “Heavenly Father, we thank Thee …”

At a recent stake conference a woman handed me a similar letter. Her husband had also served in important Church callings for many years while addicted to pornography. She told of great difficulty in getting priesthood leaders to take this problem of pornography seriously: “I got all kinds of responses—like I was overreacting or it was my fault. The bishop we have now has been great. And now after 15 years my husband is trying to deal with his addiction, but now it is 15 years harder to quit for him and the loss has been incalculable.”

Such was my experience as pertains to President George H. Watson, who today serves as first counselor in the Naperville Illinois Stake presidency.
Brother Watson wrote a letter to me, never mailed, dated 3 October 1978, which tells of his conversion to the Church and of his baptism, which took place in the summer of 1959 in eastern Canada, where I served as the mission president at that time. I did not receive this letter until this past year, when it was carried to me by Elder John E. Fowler, who discovered its existence while visiting with the Watson family following a stake conference in Naperville. Both Brother Watson and I have some modest reluctance in sharing with you his private letter, but feeling the impression that the account would help to encourage many of you brethren participating in this worldwide priesthood meeting this evening, we shall do so.
I will conclude by reading President Watson’s own words. He wrote:
“Dear Elder Monson:
“This is a letter out of the blue. Its purpose is to thank you for the letters you wrote some twenty years ago—one to me and the other about me—and to let you know the effect they had on my life.
“My name is George Watson. In 1957, at the age of twenty-one, I emigrated from Ireland, where I had grown up, to Canada. The main purpose of going to Canada was to put together sufficient money to do postgraduate work at London University.
“The firm for which I worked was in Niagara Falls, and I found a room at the ridiculously inexpensive cost of $6.00 per week. The only drawback was that I had to drive the landlady—age seventy-three—to church each Sunday in St. Catharines, Ontario.
“I soon found this chore to be very annoying, as she used the twenty-five-minute drive to try to get me to see the missionaries from her church. I resisted this very effectively for better than a year, until one day she told me that there were two young ladies coming to supper, and would I care to join them. It is very difficult to be rude to lady missionaries!
“I did a great deal of thinking over the next few months and decided that although what eleven sets of missionaries were telling me felt right, I would have to give up too much, besides which I was fed up running my landlady to church. In order to stop her asking for the ride, I decided to take her half an hour late on the next Sunday and to go in and sit with her in an open-neck shirt, sneakers, and sports slacks. I thought this would embarrass her and she would not ask me again.
“My plan worked perfectly, except that she was not annoyed at being late, and I made as much impact as a damp squid. We arrived just as the Sunday School was splitting for class. I would not go into class and spent my time talking to a very fine man who was crippled and who ‘understood’ me. As I was to return to Ireland eight days later (July 1959), he suggested that I should join the Church on the Saturday before I left. He was to call and confirm this during the week, but I effectively countered this by not answering the phone all week. On Sunday, after a sleepless night, I phoned him to apologize and was baptized in Hamilton virtually on the way to the airport—knowing that I would never meet any Mormons in Ireland and that the Church would lose track of me.
“I have no idea, President Monson, where you found my address in Ireland, but on the Friday after I returned, I had a letter from you welcoming me into the Church, and on Sunday at 9:00 a.m. there was a knock on the door and a President Lynn stood on the doorstep saying he had had a letter from President Monson in Toronto asking him to watch over me.
“The next few months or years were traumatic. Three meetings on a Sunday were entirely unreasonable; no way would I speak in front of that group; they can’t expect more than 10 percent. Even more traumatic, my girlfriend set out to show me how ridiculous I was. She ended up being baptized.
“We now live in Illinois with three wonderful children. I often sit and ponder why the Lord has blessed us so greatly. We have all had reason to feel His sustaining hand in difficult times.
“Although it is unlikely that we will ever meet, I would like to very sincerely thank you for taking the trouble to write those two letters. They have completely changed the course of our lives. I am grateful for the knowledge of the Savior’s purpose in coming to earth, my relationship to Him, and what He expects of me. The courage and steadfastness of Joseph Smith, the Prophet, and the knowledge that he imparted to us will always be a source of inspiration to me. I am thrilled at the opportunity of serving in the Lord’s Church.
“May the Lord continue to bless you in His work, and thank you for the effect you have had on my life.”
“[signed] George Watson”
This past Christmas, when George Watson and his beloved Chloe came to Salt Lake City to visit two of their children and a son-in-law, they came to my office, that we might formally meet. They expressed their testimonies and again conveyed their thanks for all who had participated in this human drama, this miracle in our time. Tears flowed, prayers were offered, and gratitude conveyed.
It was an appropriate season of the year for our visit together, when all Christendom pauses for a brief moment and remembers Him—even Jesus Christ—who died that we might have eternal life. He who notes the fall of the sparrow surely orchestrated the search-and-rescue mission that brought the Watson family to His fold. May we ever be found in His service and on His errand is my humble prayer, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.