Gospel Story Finder

The summer of 1870 in the valley of the Great Salt Lake was a good time to be alive and to be sixteen years old! The original settlement was becoming a bustling city, and there was work for a willing and able hand. That’s just what young Robert Hemphill Gillespie was. Bob had gained a reputation as a good hand with horses and cattle and as a hard worker.
Bob already had a fine horse and the necessary gear for it. This was quite an accomplishment for such a young man, especially one who had been on his own with no home or parents since he was nine. He had proven himself to be trustworthy and dependable, and people liked to hire him.
One fine June day, Bob accepted a job that required him to cross a hundred miles of the Great Salt Lake Desert. Today, one can cross this desert in a comfortable, air-conditioned car on a fine paved highway in less than two hours. But on that day 130 years ago, it was just Bob and his horse with the sand, heat, lizards, snakes, and only the water he carried with him. Friends had told him to “be sure and take along some water,” so he filled a three-quart canteen and set off.
Now, Bob had never crossed a desert before and didn’t realize the danger of needing water and having no place to get it. He used up all that he had before even half the distance was covered. When he and his horse began to really suffer, Bob figured they still had about sixty miles to go.
He thought, Oh, if only I had saved some of the water! It was warm, but it was wet! If only I hadn’t hung the canteen strap over my shoulder, where it was so handy, I might have just a little left now!
He became very aware of how hot it was that June. He thought of all those swallows of water he had kept taking, not in real need as he was now! In desperate hope, he turned the canteen upside down above his mouth once more. The water really was all gone! Fear made him urge his horse to go faster—for a while. Then he noticed that his horse was sweating, so he slowed it down.
Soon his tongue had swelled so much that he couldn’t close his mouth. His fine horse was suffering, too. Strings of saliva hung from its mouth. We have to have water! Bob said to himself.
He thought he could see a small cabin off to the side of the trail up in some small hills. He couldn’t believe it! A cabin. A cabin meant there would be water! He immediately turned his mount in that direction. Riding up to the cabin, he found it deserted. There was a hole in the ground nearby, like an old well or a mining shaft. It was walled around with cedar logs. There appeared to be a little water about thirty feet down, so Bob climbed down inside. Sure enough, there was a little water! There were also some dead birds, a dead rabbit, and maggots! The water was bad. Sorrowing, Bob climbed back out, mounted his horse, and took to the trail again.
He remembered his mother teaching him to pray many years ago when he was a small child. He had not prayed for quite some time but decided to do it then. Looking around for a suitable place, he left the trail again. He found a large, low place that must have been either a wash made by runoff water long ago or a buffalo wallow. He dismounted, knelt, and began to pray, pleading for water: “For a drink, Lord. Yes, and a drink for my poor horse, too! My fine, good horse! Please, Lord!”
Bob thought of rain. “God, canst thou send rain, please?” he prayed. “Please forgive me, Lord, but we need a drink. Please make it rain. Thank thee, Lord. Amen.”
Having finished his prayer, Bob felt a little better. He climbed back up on his horse and rode off again, still filled with thoughts of the heat, his thirst, and his horse’s thirst. Oh, my poor horse! He agonized. I love my horse. I love my horse!
Recalling that he had asked for rain, Bob began to scan the sky for clouds. All he could find was one small cloud, far over on the southwest edge of the horizon. It seemed only about as big as a saddle blanket. He watched that cloud closely, wondering and thinking. After a bit, he noticed a little wind coming toward him from the direction of that little cloud. Could it be that it was drifting their way? It did seem a bit larger now, too. “Yes, Lord,” he said aloud, “I prayed for rain.”
Soon a drop of water hit his hand, another hit the saddle horn, another hit the horse, and another hit his hand. Suddenly there came a cloudburst from that little puff of a cloud! Within a few minutes, water was coursing down the trail and in the little ravine beside the trail, reaching almost to the horse’s knees! The horse bowed his head and drank. Bob dismounted, lay on his belly, and drank his fill of the muddy water. Then he refilled his canteen. Refreshed, he and his mount continued on their way.
After riding just a short distance, the trail and the ground all around were hot, dry, and dusty again. It was then that Bob fully realized what had happened. Halting his horse, he again dismounted and knelt on the dusty trail. Again he prayed with a full heart: “Thank Thee, Lord, for making the rain from a small cloud in the desert in June, so my horse and I could get a drink.”
Bob told this experience many times to his children and grandchildren, until he died at the age of eighty-six. They never tired of hearing it and have passed it on to their children and grandchildren. The thrilling moment was when he bore his testimony: “Now, children, don’t ever let anyone make you believe that the Lord can’t answer your prayer, for I know that He can!”

I had been serving as a full-time missionary in Argentina for only two months when word arrived that my younger, and only, sister was engaged. Rebecca and I were close growing up and had dreamed of each other’s weddings, but now I would miss hers.
My parents sent me plans, pictures, menus, and schedules, but I still felt left out, alone, and far away. Missionary work was hard and slow. I found myself wondering what I was doing so far from home, and I became confused about what I was supposed to accomplish.
Nevertheless, I knew that the Lord had called me to serve, and I had a strong testimony of prayer and the power of the priesthood. I received a blessing of comfort that promised me I was where I needed to be.
As missionaries we often shared the exhortation found in Moroni 10:4–5. I believed firmly in the promise of those verses—that if I asked God, my Eternal Father, in the name of Jesus Christ, I could know the truth of all things by the power of the Holy Ghost. I prayed diligently to know whether I had done the right thing by coming to Argentina instead of remaining at home, where I would have been helping my sister prepare for her wedding. As her wedding drew closer, my prayers became increasingly heartfelt. I felt the reassuring influence of the Spirit, but I still hoped for an answer.
Two weeks before the wedding, my companion and I were walking home from a lunch appointment with members of the branch in which we served. The branch was in a little town in central Argentina, where people observed the midday custom of siesta. At that time of day there was usually no one about.
As we walked along, however, a young man called to us. Because many young men teased us, we ignored him and continued walking. When he called again, I felt a prompting to answer him.
His name was Horacio, and he wanted to know if we were friends with two young women who had been reading the Book of Mormon with his cousin. He told us he had felt something special while the sisters, who also served in our branch, were reading. He wanted to know if he could come to our church.
As we taught Horacio with the help of local members, he quickly grew to love the gospel. He changed his life as he grew in the gospel, but his family raised objections and his friends rejected him. Nevertheless, Horacio felt the love of the Lord and desired to follow Him. I had some of the most special experiences of my mission teaching Horacio.
As my family sat in the Oakland California Temple watching my sister complete one of the ordinances that would help prepare her for the celestial kingdom, I sat in a little chapel in General Pico, Argentina, waiting for Horacio to complete an interview in preparation for receiving his first saving ordinance—baptism. My sister had been able to prepare for her ordinances without my help, but Horacio might not have been able to do the same. He needed my companion and me to teach him the gospel, and I needed him to remind me of my true purpose as a missionary—helping bring souls to Christ.
As I prepared to leave Argentina at the end of my mission, Horacio was preparing to serve his own mission. Through him, Heavenly Father had answered my prayers and then sent Horacio to answer the prayers of others.

Training to be a helicopter pilot isn’t an opportunity that most people get. But when Pierre O., 24, decided to enlist in the French Army, he got just that. Now in his second year of the four-year training, Pierre is doing his best to live as an example of the believers, despite his environment.
Stationed about an hour and a half outside of Bordeaux, in southwestern France, Pierre is far from his friends, family, and hometown of Rennes. The nearest meetinghouse is an hour away, meaning that he doesn’t get to interact much with members during the week. “It’s not easy to be a member of the Church in the army,” Pierre says, “because there are a lot of temptations and it’s really just two opposite worlds. You’re judged a lot in the army not based on what you do but on who you are.” Pierre wants those around him to see that he doesn’t drink alcohol, smoke, view pornography, or party—commonplace activities in the army—because of who he is: a member of the Church. While he struggles to earn the respect of those around him, prayer and scripture study help keep his testimony strong. “I try to not go to sleep without having read my scriptures first,” he explains, “and I try to pray whenever I can.”
“Reading the scriptures and praying helped me a lot during all of my schooling to know that God exists, that He is there—without really understanding the rest of the gospel,” Pierre explains. “I just knew that God was there, and so that helped me to stay on the right path.”
That foundation of scripture study sustained Pierre throughout all his schooling and even now through his army training. Before enlisting, Pierre served a mission in Montreal, Quebec, Canada, where his testimony and understanding of the gospel were solidified.
“The scriptures are one of the most tangible ways Heavenly Father answers us,” he says.
Through his daily prayer and scripture study, Pierre is able not only to receive inspiration but also to be an example to those in his army unit. While he and his classmates may not have much in common besides their national pride, Pierre knows that by following the teachings of the scriptures, he will be someone they can respect because of and not in spite of his beliefs.

In the spring of 1972, President Spencer W. Kimball, who was serving as the Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, was very ill. Throat cancer had returned, and his heart was threatening to fail due to a clogged artery and a malfunctioning valve. He was seventy-seven years old. The cancer was stopped with cobalt treatments, and his physicians recommended a complex surgical procedure on his heart, with only some chance of success.
In a meeting with his doctors and President Harold B. Lee of the First Presidency, President Kimball said wearily, “I am an old man and ready to die.” He wondered whether, at his age, it made sense to fight so hard to extend his life when, perhaps, his time had come. President Lee arose and said with power, “Spencer, you have been called! You are not to die! You are to do everything you need to do to care for yourself and continue to live.”
Spencer did not give up and die. He was not a man who gave up, no matter how difficult the task.
The surgery was performed and was successful. While he was recovering, President Joseph Fielding Smith passed away. Eighteen months later, President Harold B. Lee also passed away, and Spencer W. Kimball became the twelfth President of the Church. Considering his age and health history, most people expected his administration to be a brief “caretaker” period. But instead, it was a vigorous time of miracles. For the next twelve years, in the words of Elder Neal A. Maxwell, “one often got the feeling that [President Kimball] was always on the next ridge waiting for the Church to catch up. Though he smiled at us and beckoned us, he would like to have seen us move more than just a bit faster.”
He talked about the importance of missionary work and challenged us to “lengthen our stride.” He said, “It seems to me that the Lord chose his words when he said ‘every nation,’ ‘every land,’ ‘uttermost bounds of the earth,’ ‘every tongue,’ ‘every people,’ ‘every soul,’ ‘all the world,’ ‘many lands.’” He urged us to pray that the hearts of leaders of oppressive governments would be softened and that they would allow the missionaries to come into their lands. The number of missionaries doubled, and nearly three million people came into the Church. At the time of his death, 60 percent of the stakes in the Church had been created during his time as President.
He stressed the importance of temple work, and the number of temples rose from fifteen to thirty-seven, with several others announced or under construction.
He discussed the importance of the family as the basic unit of the Church, and a new Sunday meeting schedule was introduced to give families more time together.
A new English hymnbook was published; it became a standard for many language editions that later followed.
He taught the importance of scripture study, and new editions of the standard works with more extensive cross-referencing and a better topical guide were published. Individuals and families were encouraged to study the scriptures. Two revelations were added to the scriptures—the vision of the celestial kingdom given to Joseph Smith (D&C 137) and the vision of the redemption of the dead given to President Joseph F. Smith (D&C 138).
The First Quorum of the Seventy was formally organized and expanded, so that there were more General Authorities to handle the responsibilities of a rapidly growing worldwide church. Men from half a dozen nations were called to that Quorum. All the General Authorities, including President Kimball, traveled extensively, and area conferences were held in many cities on six continents.
But perhaps the most exciting moment occurred in June 1978 when the Lord revealed that the time had come to extend the priesthood to worthy men of all races. (See OD 2.)
Every good teacher knows that one of the best ways to get the attention of students is to whisper. President Kimball whispered, not because he wanted to, but because cancer had taken most of his vocal cords. And he got our attention! We listened raptly to his inspired counsel:
“I find that when I get casual in my relationships with divinity and when it seems that no divine ear is listening and no divine voice is speaking, that I am far, far away. If I immerse myself in the scriptures the distance narrows and spirituality returns.”
“Grow all the food that you possibly can on your own property.”
“We ask you to clean up your homes and your farms. … Make our properties a thing of beauty to behold.”
“Every person should keep a journal and every person can keep a journal.”
“Suffering can make saints of people as they learn patience, long-suffering, and self-mastery.”
“Marriage can be successful as long as selfishness does not enter in.”
“The spectacle of a nation praying is more awe-inspiring, more powerful, than the explosion of an atomic bomb.”
“Security is not born of inexhaustible wealth but of unquenchable faith.”
“I know that Jesus Christ is the Son of the living God and that he was crucified for the sins of the world. He is my friend, my Savior, my Lord, my God.”
Surely the Lord had prepared Spencer W. Kimball for just this time, had known of his unique talents, had seen him grow through many trials, and knew that he was the man who could lead the Church in a time of such growth and excitement.
He was born 28 March 1894 in Salt Lake City, the sixth child of Andrew and Olive Woolley Kimball. When he was three years old, his father was called to be president of the St. Joseph Stake in southeastern Arizona, so the family made the four-day move south.
Spencer thrived in the Gila Valley, but he also learned sorrow. There his mother died when he was just eleven years old. Four of his sisters also died.
The first World War thwarted his hopes for more advanced education, but he served a mission in the central United States and later married Camilla Eyring, who was a school teacher. They had three sons and a daughter. He established his own insurance business, was active in community affairs, and served in Church callings as diverse as music director, stake clerk, and stake president.
One youthful experience tells us much about his personality and abilities. When Spencer was fourteen, he attended a meeting in which the speaker asked how many in the congregation had read the Bible. He felt miserable that he could not raise his hand. He wrote, “That very night at the conclusion of the sermon I walked to my home a block away and climbed up to my little attic room in the top of the house and lighted a coal-oil lamp that was on the little table, and I read the first chapters of Genesis. A year later I closed the Bible, having read every chapter in that big and glorious book.”
He learned to work hard and long on his father’s farm, and he was not one to give up easily. When he was called to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles in 1943, he was shocked, overwhelmed, and humbled. In his first talk as an Apostle at the October 1943 general conference, he testified:
“I remember reading that Jacob wrestled all night, ‘until the breaking of the day,’ for a blessing; and I want to tell you that for eighty-five nights I have gone through that experience, wrestling for a blessing. Eighty-five times, the breaking of the day has found me on my knees praying to the Lord to help me and strengthen me and make me equal to this great responsibility that has come to me.”
The announcement of the June 1978 revelation also illustrates his patience: “We have pleaded long and earnestly in behalf of these, our faithful brethren, spending many hours in the Upper Room of the Temple supplicating the Lord for divine guidance.
“He has heard our prayers, and by revelation has confirmed that the long-promised day has come when every faithful, worthy man in the Church may receive the holy priesthood” (OD 2).
Perhaps Spencer W. Kimball’s patience and tenacity were just the qualities needed to bring about this great blessing from the Lord.
In a speech to a group of servicemen shortly after he had been called to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, Elder Kimball expressed his feeling of humility and wonder that such a call could come to him. But then he said, “I don’t know exactly why the Lord has called me, but I have one talent to offer. My father taught me how to work; and if the Lord can use a worker, I’m available.”
He became a legend for his energy, his long working hours, and the way he applied his motto—“Do It”—to himself. But always evident in his life was his great love of people. In fact, he often described himself by saying, “I love people.”
He had a special love for the Lamanites. In his patriarchal blessing he was told, “You will preach the gospel to many people, but more especially to the Lamanites.”
As a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, he was given responsibility for the Indian mission and later for the South American missions. President George Albert Smith gave him a special charge to look after the Indians throughout the world.
Stories abound of his kind acts and thoughtfulness. One snowy day when many airline flights had been canceled, thousands were stranded in a busy airport. A young mother and her two-year-old child waited in line after line trying to buy a ticket. The child was tired and hungry, and the mother was pregnant and could not carry her child. As the child sat whimpering on the floor, the mother moved her along with her foot. As people behind her in the line muttered and criticized, the young mother wanted to cry.
Then a man approached her with a kind smile on his face, “Young lady, it appears to me that you need a little help.” He took the child in his arms, comforted her, and gave her a stick of chewing gum. After he told the other people of the woman’s plight, they agreed to let her go to the front of the line. The man took her to her flight. As she boarded the plane, she thought, “What a wonderful man, and I don’t even know his name.” A few days later, she saw his picture in a newspaper and learned that he was Elder Spencer W. Kimball of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
On another occasion, a bishop in South America asked if Elder Kimball could bless a dying man in the hospital between stake conference sessions. They raced to the hospital and ran up the stairs and down the hall. As they entered the room, the bishop recalled, “There was an amazing change. Elder Kimball seemed to have all the time in the world.” They visited unhurriedly, administered to the man, and took their leave. Once out the door, they ran to the car and sped back to the conference.
Many people, sick in the hospital, were blessed and comforted by a much sicker Spencer Kimball during his many hospital stays. He once said, “My life is like my shoes—to be worn out in service.”
He spent a great deal of time counseling those who had become weakened by sin or were struggling with adversity. The sorrow and joy he shared with them inspired his books The Miracle of Forgiveness and Faith Precedes the Miracle, which have, in turn, inspired many more members of the Church.
Had Spencer W. Kimball died at the age of seventy-seven, he would have lived a marvelous life as a missionary, husband, father, businessman, stake clerk, stake president, and, for thirty years, Apostle. His many struggles with poor health, his acts of kindness, his loving wisdom would have stood as a monument to him.
But, at an age when most people retire and take their ease, he was given the greatest challenge a man could have. He accepted a calling he never expected to have and magnified it in such a way that millions of people, living and dead, were blessed.

Some years ago when Aldin Porter was president of the Boise North Stake, he dropped by the home of Glen Clayton, who was the Scoutmaster in his ward. Glen and his son were working together repairing a bicycle. President Porter stood and talked to them for a few minutes and then left. Several hours later he returned and the father and son were still working on the bike together. President Porter said, “Glen, with the wages you make per hour you could have bought a new bike, considering the time you have spent repairing this old one.”

Glen stood up and said, “I’m not repairing a bike, I’m training a boy!”

That year twenty-one boys achieved the rank of Eagle Scout in Glen’s troop. Impact teachers do not teach lessons, they teach souls.

About two months before I concluded my mission in February 1980, my mission president allowed my companion and me to travel overnight with stake members from Rio de Janeiro to the temple in São Paulo so I could be endowed and sealed to my parents. Like my parents, I had waited years for the promised blessings of temple ordinances and covenants.
That experience changed my vision of the future and gave me my first glimpse of the truthfulness of President Russell M. Nelson’s recent words: “Time in the temple will help you to think celestial and to catch a vision of who you really are, who you can become, and the kind of life you can have forever.”
My brief time in the temple on that occasion deeply influenced the remainder of my missionary service. With that new vision, testifying of the temple and the importance of God’s plan for families also had a lasting impact on my life.

Laresa had new shoes. They were not just ordinary new shoes. They were shiny black with gold buckles, but what was special about them was that they made music whenever she walked. “Squeak, squeakity, squeak, squeak,” they sang out wherever she went.
Laresa smiled and sang “La, la-ti-de, la, la,” as she walked down the sidewalk, up the stairs, and into the library.
Miss Page was sitting at the front desk reading. “Quiet, please!” she whispered, peeking over her horn-rimmed glasses.
Laresa had forgotten to be quiet in the library. She stopped singing and tiptoed over to the picture book shelf. But her shoes kept on singing, “Squeak, squeakity, squeak, squeak.”
Miss Page put down her book and stared. Two freckle-faced boys at the reading table stared. A lady in a green hat peeked around the bookshelf.
Laresa smiled. “It’s my new shoes,” she whispered.
Laresa quickly found a book and hurried to the front desk. “Squeak, squeakity, squeak, squeak,” the shoes sang.
“My, my,” Miss Page sighed, still looking over her glasses, “you really must get those shoes fixed. They are just too noisy.”
“Yes, Miss Page,” Laresa answered. But inside she felt sad that Miss Page could only hear the noise and not the music.
Laresa opened the door and left. “Squeak, squeakity, squeak, squeak,” the shoes sang. “La, la-ti-de, la, la,” Laresa sang all the way home.
“Hello, Mother,” she called out as she entered the kitchen.
“Hello, Laresa,” Mother answered.
“Squeak, squeakity, squeak, squeak,” the shoes sang as Laresa walked over to the cookie jar.
“My, but your new shoes certainly are noisy,” Mother said.
“It’s not noise; it’s music. Can’t you hear it?” Laresa walked around in a circle singing along with the music of her shoes.
“Singing shoes!” Mother exclaimed. “Well, well!” And she shook her head.
Laresa smiled. “Aren’t they nice?”
“They certainly are, but I think we’d better get them fixed. They are just a wee bit loud.”
Laresa looked at the shiny black shoes. “Do we have to?” she asked.
“I’m afraid so,” Mother answered. “Musical shoes aren’t very good for church and school.”
“And the library!” Laresa sighed.
“I have to do some errands,” Mother told Laresa. “Come with me now and we’ll stop at the shoe repair shop.”
Soon Laresa and Mother were at the shoe repair shop. Mr. Sole was a fat little man with a happy twinkle in his blue eyes. Mother explained the problem to the shoe repair man.
“Walk over to the mirror, Laresa,” Mr. Sole instructed.
Laresa walked as carefully as she could, but the music still rang out loud, “Squeak, squeakity, squeak, squeak.”
“Oh, my,” Mr. Sole said. “In all my years I’ve never heard a pair of musical shoes!”
Laresa smiled. “Can you hear the music too?”
“Of course. La, la-ti-de, la, la,” Mr. Sole sang.
“Oh, yes! That’s it exactly!” Laresa cried.
“But,” Mr. Sole interrupted, “I know what your mother means. Musical shoes just aren’t wanted in some places.”
Sadly Laresa took off the shoes and gave them to Mr. Sole.
“It will only take a minute,” he said.
And that’s all it took. Soon Mr. Sole was back with the shoes in his hand. “Here,” he said. Then leaning down so that only Laresa could hear, he whispered, “I couldn’t ruin such beautiful shoes. I just made their music a little softer.”
Laresa smiled and Mr. Sole winked back. Mother and Laresa left the shop and walked to the car.
“That’s much better,” Mother said.
Laresa smiled and then she listened carefully. The music was very, very, very soft, but she could hear it whenever she wanted to listen.
“Squeak, squeakity, squeak, squeak,” the singing shoes softly sang all the way to the car. And Laresa happily sang along with them, “La, la-ti-de, la, la.”

As I look back over my life and remember the difficult decisions, one stands out far more than others: Should I go on a mission? Mom and dad want me to go. The bishop tells me I should go. Some of my friends are going, but others tell me it would be a mistake. They say: “Think of the fun you’ll miss.” “What about your education?” “How about your girl friend?” It just seems that there is so much going on that I can’t give up two years. What should I do?
Why should you serve a mission? Several things come to my mind as I think about the answer to this searching question. Surely, the answer is easy: The Lord says you should; the prophet has given repeated emphasis to this; your family, Church leaders, and others encourage you to serve—but they are not you. I remember how good I felt, from the inside out, from the bottom of my feet to the top of my head, when I finally said yes. I received a confirmation from the Lord that what I had done was good. It was right, and I knew it. For once in my life I had started thinking about others instead of only myself, and that gave me a feeling I have yearned for every day of my life since. It’s rewarding to give of yourself that others might be blessed. This is one of the reasons why our Savior made the following statement: “And he that taketh not his cross, and followeth after me, is not worthy of me. He that findeth his life shall lose it; and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.” (Matt. 10:38–39.)

It was her first day on the job as a dietary aid for a nursing home. Dawn Dyrhaug, 15, of Arlington Heights, Illinois, could have hesitated when she heard the sound of someone choking. What if she did something wrong? She could have held back, but she didn’t.
Dawn went into action. She knew she had only about four minutes to dislodge the food that prevented Clara Lieptz from breathing. Help might not arrive in time. Besides she had been trained to help.
She clasped her hands below the elderly lady’s rib cage in the Heimlich Maneuver. Dawn had learned that in many cases it would be necessary to repeat the procedure. To her relief, however, repeated attempts were not necessary.
In the days following the incident, Clara introduced Dawn as the girl who saved her life. Dawn felt good. For four years during YW girls’ camp with her stake, she had learned lifesaving techniques and first aid.
For having the know-how and exhibiting the courage to use it, Dawn will receive the American Red Cross Certificate of Merit signed by President Reagan and Illinois Governor Thompson.
Dawn is a member of the Northwest Second Ward, Schaumburg Illinois Stake.

Several months ago, Sister Sitati and I were in the home of a member family. The topic of ministering, just announced by President Russell M. Nelson, came up. The father wondered in what ways ministering would be the same or different from home teaching.
As the discussion progressed, Sister Sitati suggested that we do a mock ministering visit and learn from it. The suggestion was accepted, and so Sister Sitati and I became a ministering companionship and the family of six—comprising (not their real names) father Jack, mother Cindy, twenty-year-old son Amos, sixteen-year-old daughter Winnie, thirteen-year-old son Paul, and nine-year-old daughter Charity—became our assigned family for the purpose of the mock ministering visit.
The conversation went something like this:
Elder Sitati: Jack, Cindy, and children, Sister Sitati and I are thrilled to be assigned as your ministering brother and sister. Thank you everyone for making the time to meet with us in your home today.
Sister Sitati: After praying about it, we felt that on this first ministering visit, we want to explore together with you where you feel you currently stand temporally and spiritually as a family and individually and where you want to be.
Cindy: I think temporally, the Lord has blessed us, and we are very grateful. Quite frankly, we are all in different places in our spiritual progress, and so each one of us will likely have a different answer to where they are.
Elder Sitati: Let us begin with family prayer. How do you feel about how that is going?
Jack: Our schedules are crazy. For most of the week, because of the different activities in which we are involved, some of us are coming—while others are going—and it is difficult to find time to be together for family prayer.
Sister Sitati: How do you feel about continuing that way?
Jack: Clearly, we can do better. We want to do better. Today for example, we were able to coordinate our schedules so we could all be here at this time for your visit. So, we will try and coordinate better, to be together more often.
Elder Sitati: How can we help you to be better coordinated as a family?
Cindy: I would love it if Sister Sitati could call from time to time and just ask how we are doing with praying together.
Sister Sitati: What about reading the Book of Mormon daily?
Cindy: I think the same approach we use for prayer will work.
Eelder Sitati: Are there any other aspects of your discipleship that you wish to improve as a family?
Jack: Cindy is quite diligent with temple attendance, and the girls often go with her to do proxy baptisms. I have been a bit careless and have been without a current temple recommend for the last few months.
Elder Sitati: How can we help?
Jack: Your question is enough! I will repent and go and see the bishop next week.
Sister Sitati: What if we could plan to go to the temple together with your family?
Winnie: I would love that!
Cindy: Jack, would you like us to look at some possible dates?
Jack: Yes, of course. We can coordinate that over the phone. But the first week of next month looks like a good possibility. I will have renewed my temple recommend by then.
Elder Sitati: Amos, you have been quiet. How are things going with you?
Amos: Well, I don’t know. I don’t seem to feel much of anything these days.
Sister Sitati: What are the things that capture your interest, in which you find that you are usually fully engaged?
Amos: I like biking, especially going up and down mountain trails.
Elder Sitati: One of our sons likes mountain biking as a hobby. He is a member of a national internet biking community that you may be interested in. We would be happy to connect you with him.
Sister Sitati: Amos, the bishop mentioned that you have been thinking about going on mission lately.
Amos: Yes, but I am not sure. I don’t want to go just because of the bishop or my parents!
Sister Sitati: You don’t have to. Have you considered the covenant you made with the Lord when you received the priesthood? What did you promise you would do for the blessings the Lord offers you as a priesthood holder?
Amos: To serve Him.
Elder Sitati: And from Moroni 7:13 and 7:17, you can learn why you are not sure about serving, and then do something about it. Would you like to read it and let me know what you find out?
Amos: Sure. I can text you?
Elder Sitati: Yes, sure. Here is my cell phone number.
Sister Sitati: What about you Winnie, Paul, and Charity? Are you working on any personal spiritual goals?
Winnie: I am working on some goals in Personal Progress. Mum is helping me.
Sister Sitati: Excellent! (Looking at Paul.)
Paul: Boys don’t do Personal Progress!
Elder Sitati: You are right Paul. They do something else.
Paul: Last year, one of the teachers talked about Duty to God. When I looked at the book, the stuff in there was boring!
Elder Sitati: Most things are boring until we take an interest and really try them out. Then the Holy Ghost can help us. (Looking at Jack) I am sure your dad can help you.
Jack: Of course. I should have done that earlier, but my priorities were kind of upside down.
Charity: In Primary, we are memorizing the Articles of Faith. I can say them without reading up to number seven!
Sister Sitati: Excellent! (Gets up and hugs Charity.)
Elder Sitati: Well, that is the end of our short mock ministering home visit. What do you think? You all did so well!
A spirited discussion followed on the merits of the ministering approach versus message-based home teaching.
Each family or person to whom we minister is unique and has a specific set of needs. Our role as ministers is to—under influence of the Spirit—discover those needs, offer some solutions, and commit, as needed, to new behaviors. The mock visit above is but one way in which ministers can learn our duties and fulfill the sacred responsibilities with which we have been entrusted.
Postscript: As I have reflected back on that true experience from time to time since arriving in the Africa South East Area, I have felt that our conversation with Jack, Cindy, and the family could have been greatly enriched if we had used a resource like the pocket size 2019 Area Plan card that has been provided to every member.

My dad insisted he was not an alcoholic. He said he only drank beer and you couldn’t be an alcoholic if you only drank beer. I believed it for a long time because I loved him. Maybe he believed it himself.
My dad would sometimes disappear for two or three days and then come home drunk.
He never just smiled and said, “I’m going to go get drunk.” He always left when he was angry.
Many things made him angry.
If I cried he would get angry.
If I asked too many questions he would get angry.
If I didn’t say the right thing he would get angry.
Sometimes I didn’t say anything for fear I would say the wrong thing. Then he would be angry because I wasn’t talking.
Usually he started drinking Friday night. Toward the end of each week I tried very hard to be good. I thought if I didn’t do anything wrong he wouldn’t get angry and go drink.
Occasionally he didn’t drink on Friday. I thought it must be because I had been good.
My mother encouraged this way of thinking.
I tried very hard to be good, but he kept on drinking. I thought it was all my fault.
I prayed he wouldn’t get drunk again. He kept drinking. I thought my Heavenly Father didn’t make him stop because I wasn’t good enough.
I remember trying to do everything perfectly. I didn’t want to “make trouble” at home. As I look back, I realize I have always tried to earn people’s acceptance. If I did things well enough, they would like me in spite of my father’s drinking.
My mom came from a very religious family. They went to church together. They did a lot of fun things together. I loved to hear her talk about when she was a child. I would pretend that I had been a child then too. It must have hurt her a lot to live with a man who got drunk.
She was ashamed of his drinking. She told me over and over not to tell anyone. “It’s a secret,” she’d say.
I loved her. I kept her secret. But it was lonely. I thought I was the only young person in the Church who had this kind of home.
What a relief it would have been for me to share the burden, to know that I was not alone.
At sacrament meeting I watched other families sit together. I watched them smile at each other. I wanted my dad to be there. I wanted our family to sit together.
But he never came to church. He said they didn’t like him because he drank beer. My ward had parties for fathers and their children. I helped plan these parties. I never got to go to them.
On Father’s Day our ward gave rosebuds to all the fathers. I helped pick every rosebud in our garden. My dad didn’t come to the meeting.
I hated it when they talked about temple marriage at church. I hated hearing my family was different. I knew as long as my father drank we could not go to the temple. I loved my mother. I loved my dad. I wanted to be with them forever. It’s very difficult to sit in class when they are teaching about the temple.
I just kept going to church. I decided I would not drink. I decided I would be married in the temple.
I’m an adult now, and I definitely don’t drink. I have been married in the temple, and I’m happy that my children are sealed to me.
I was afraid a lot.
I was afraid my dad would kill himself while driving drunk. I was afraid he’d kill someone else when he was driving drunk.
Late at night I would lie in my bed with all the lights out. I would wait and wait to hear his car pull in. I’d pray over and over, “Please help him get home safely. Please don’t let him hit anyone.”
In the morning I’d look at how the car was parked in the driveway. Sometimes it would be barely an inch from the house. Sometimes it would be over into the neighbor’s flowers.
I was afraid he’d embarrass me. He did. He’d wake up from sleeping off a drunk and not really be sober. He’d stumble out of the bedroom. He’d stink of beer. He’d say dumb things. I hated it.
My real friends still liked me. Still, it was embarrassing.
I was afraid my parents would get a divorce. Many times they would have fights when my dad drank. He had a black leather suitcase in his closet. He’d get it out and start packing his clothes. If it were daytime I’d run out of the house. One day I took my dad’s white pocketknife with me. I wanted to have something of his if he left.
Sometimes I was afraid my parents would not get a divorce. I was afraid they would keep living together and I would never have a home that was nice. I thought my mother and I could go live with my grandparents. It sounded so safe.
The movies and television show handsome men and beautiful women drinking. These people do clever and funny things.
My dad didn’t do clever things. He did disgusting things. He would wet the bed. I would have to strip off the sheets and blankets. Then it was my job to turn over that big, blue, wet mattress. I would grab hold for all I was worth. I pulled. I pushed. It would spring back at me. The wet smelly thing would be in my face.
He threw up. He threw up and then threw up some more. My bedroom was next to the bathroom. I would bury my head in my pillow. I didn’t like that sickening smell.
Sometimes my dad would walk around without clothes on when he was drunk.
He never hit me when he was drunk. But lots of people do get mean when they drink. They hit their children and abuse their families.
Now I’m an adult I can forgive him. I know now that alcoholism requires treatment. He did the best he could do without help. But I didn’t forgive him while we were living in the same house.
It was Christmas Eve. I sat by our tree. I remember the sparkling icicles and the glowing red and white lights. I was sad my dad wasn’t home. He was drinking at some bar.
It’s not the way I wanted Christmas to be.
Drinking ruined birthdays. It ruined Thanksgiving. It ruined New Year’s and Easter and other days.
Holidays were often the saddest, loneliest, most painful times of the year. On those days the contrast was sharp and bitter between how life could and should be and how it really was.
Most people do the best they can.
I believe my dad did his best. Maybe he could have done better if he had joined Alcoholics Anonymous. Perhaps a hospital for alcoholics might have helped. Maybe going to a counselor would have helped. But he didn’t get help.
Living with him was very difficult. Living with him was disgusting sometimes. Living with him was embarrassing sometimes. Living with him was sad many times.
Sometimes I was ashamed of him. Sometimes I was scared of him.
Other times I felt angry when our Mormon neighbors didn’t seem to like him. I knew he was a good person when he was sober. Why couldn’t other people see it?
One of my children asked me what I did for fun when I was a child. Initially I didn’t have an answer. Of course, I had some good times. But the strongest memories all involve alcohol.
Alcohol steals childhood. Instead of a parade of carefree days, there is premature responsibility. Instead of happiness, there is anger and fear and guilt. Instead of openness and trust there is secrecy. Often there is estrangement from the Church.
But I survived, and others can too, if we all help. I hope we will.

Laurent B. of France remembers how it feels to be the one asking the questions. As a 15-year-old teenager attending Church meetings for the first time, he was impressed with the happiness of the members, especially the youth.
“I had lots of questions,” he says. “Unlike the students at my school, they didn’t smoke or drink and the young men and young women showed great respect for each other. Everyone seemed to have a sense of direction and purpose, and that was very attractive to me.”
He made friends with Jean-Michel L., 16, and his sister, Eve, 14. “They explained that the Word of Wisdom provides principles for healthy living,” Laurent recalls. “They shared their feelings about chastity and explained that it is a commandment from Heavenly Father, who wants us to be faithful husbands and wives for eternity.
“Not only did they explain their standards to me, but I saw firsthand that they lived what they believed,” Laurent says. “When you keep the commandments it makes you happy, and your happiness will help people want to know why you live that way.”
Laurent’s experience taught him that reciting a bunch of standard answers isn’t the best way to share what you know. The best way is to live what you believe. Then as the scripture says, “be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you” (1 Peter 3:15).

What can we as leaders do to reverse this trend? The place to begin is at the headwaters of the Aaronic Priesthood stream. There is an ancient proverb which purports to correctly determine the sanity of an individual. A person is shown a stream of water flowing into a stagnant pond. He is given a bucket and asked to commence to drain the pond. If he first takes steps to effectively dam the inflow to the pond, he is adjudged sane. If on the other hand he ignores the inflow and tries to empty the pond bucket by bucket, he is designated as insane.
The bishop, by revelation, is the president of the Aaronic Priesthood and is president of the priests quorum in his ward. He cannot delegate these God-given responsibilities. However, he can place accountability with those called as quorum advisers, men who can touch the lives of boys.
The bishop’s counselors, other ward officers and teachers, and particularly the fathers and the mothers of our young men can be of immeasurable help. Also very effective can be the service rendered by Aaronic Priesthood quorum presidencies.
This, then, is our goal: to save every young man, thereby assuring a worthy husband for each of our young women, strong Melchizedek Priesthood quorums, and a missionary force trained and capable of accomplishing what the Lord expects.
A wise first step is to guide each deacon to a spiritual awareness of the sacredness of his ordained calling. In one ward, this lesson was effectively taught pertaining to the collection of fast offerings.
On fast day the ward members were visited by deacons and teachers so that each family could make a contribution. The deacons were a bit disgruntled, having to arise earlier than usual to fulfill this assignment.
The inspiration came for the bishopric to take a busload of the deacons and teachers to Welfare Square here in Salt Lake City. Here they saw needy children receiving new shoes and other items of clothing. Here they witnessed empty baskets being filled with groceries. There was no money exchanged. One brief comment was made: “Young men, this is what the money you collect on fast day provides—even food, clothing, and shelter.” The Aaronic Priesthood young men smiled more, stepped higher, and served with a willing mind in the filling of their assignments.
A question: Is every ordained teacher given the assignment to home teach? What an opportunity to prepare for a mission. What a privilege to learn the discipline of duty. A boy will automatically turn from concern for self when he is assigned to “watch over” others.
And what of the priests? These young men have the opportunity to bless the sacrament, to continue their home teaching duties, and to participate in the sacred ordinance of baptism.
I remember as a deacon watching the priests as they would officiate at the sacrament table. One priest by the name of Barry had a lovely voice and would read the sacrament prayers with clear diction—as though he were competing in a speech contest. The other members of the ward, particularly the older sisters, would compliment him on his “golden voice.” I think he became a bit proud. Jack, another priest in the ward, was hearing impaired, which caused his speech to be unnatural in its sound. We deacons would twitter at times when Jack would bless the emblems. How we dared to do so is beyond me, for Jack had hands like a bear and could have crushed any one of us.
On one occasion Barry, with the beautiful voice, and Jack, with the awkward delivery, were assigned together at the sacrament table. The hymn was sung; the two priests broke the bread. Barry knelt to pray, and we closed our eyes. But nothing happened. Soon we deacons opened our eyes to see what was causing the delay. I shall ever remember the picture of Barry frantically searching the table for the little white card on which were printed the sacrament prayers. It was nowhere to be found. What to do? Barry’s face turned pink and then crimson as the congregation began to look in his direction.
Then Jack, with that bearlike hand, reached up and gently tugged Barry back onto the bench. He himself then knelt on the little footstool and began to pray: “O God, the Eternal Father, we ask thee in the name of thy Son, Jesus Christ, to bless and sanctify this bread to the souls of all those who partake of it.” He continued the prayer, and the bread was passed. Jack also blessed the water, and it was passed. What respect we deacons gained that day for Jack, who though handicapped in speech, had memorized the sacred prayers! Barry, too, had a new appreciation for Jack. A lasting bond of friendship had been established.
Beyond the influence of the bishopric and the Aaronic Priesthood quorum advisers is the impact of the home. Help of parents, when enlisted wisely, can frequently make the difference between success and failure. A survey we conducted recently reveals that the influence of the home is a dominant factor in determining missionary service and temple marriage.
I know in my experience of only three wards with a full complement of 48 priests. These wards were presided over by Joseph B. Wirthlin, Alfred B. Smith, and Alvin R. Dyer. Almost without exception, each young man filled a mission and married in the temple. One of the keys to their success was to call to service as Aaronic Priesthood advisers men who were models for the young men to follow. An ideal model is a returned missionary, fresh from his mission and filled with testimony, where a young Aaronic Priesthood holder can say, “That’s the man I want to follow.”
As we dam off that inflow of Aaronic Priesthood streaming into the pool of prospective elders, we will solve more problems than we realize. We will ensure that every young man will more likely than not go on a mission and will marry in the temple. Then there will not be that disproportionate number of worthy young women with few worthy young men to select as an eternal companion. We are not talking about a boy; we’re talking about husbands, fathers, grandfathers, patriarchs to their own families. Let’s put a solid foundation beneath our Aaronic Priesthood young men.
Let us not overlook the adult converts to the Church who receive the Aaronic Priesthood but who are not ordained to the office of elder in a timely fashion. They then join the brethren who remain in that stagnant pool of inactivity. There are those wards and stakes which have rescued vast numbers of fine men who had felt trapped by no outlet in the pond. In traveling the Church, I kept records of those units which had caught the vision of this rescue effort. All of them had similar experiences. They learned that the rescue work is best done one-on-one and at the ward level. The bishop has to be involved, for isn’t he the president of the Aaronic Priesthood as well as the presiding high priest of his ward?
Worthy and well-prepared instructors must be called to help in such a critical effort. Brethren, prayerfully analyze your situation and then call to the colors those whom the Lord has prepared to go forth to serve and to save. “Remember the worth of souls is great in the sight of God.” Ponder the joy that comes to a wife and children when Daddy sees the light, mends his ways, and follows in the footsteps of Jesus Christ our Lord.
An example of true love and inspired teaching was found in the life of the late James Collier, who had through his personal efforts reactivated a large number of brethren in Bountiful, Utah. I was invited by Brother Collier to address those who had now been ordained elders and who, with their wives and families, had been to the Salt Lake Temple to receive those eternal covenants and blessings for which they had so earnestly strived.
At the banquet honoring this achievement, I could see and I could feel the love that Jim had for those whom he had taught and rescued and the love they had for him. Unfortunately, Jim Collier at that time was afflicted with a terminal illness and had to persuade the doctors to allow him to leave the hospital to attend this final night of recognition.
As Jim stood at the pulpit, a large smile came over his face. With emotion he expressed his love to the group. There wasn’t a dry eye to be found. Brother Collier quipped, “Everyone wants to go to the celestial kingdom, but no one wants to die to get there.” Then, lowering his voice, Jim continued, “I’m prepared to go, and I will be there waiting on the other side to greet each of you, my beloved friends.”
Jim returned to the hospital. His funeral service was held just a short time later.
In fulfilling our responsibility to those who bear the Aaronic Priesthood, both the youth and the prospective elders, I urge that we remember that there is no need for us to walk alone. We can look up and reach out for divine help. “The recognition of [a] power higher than man … does not in any sense debase him. If in his faith he ascribes beneficence and high purpose to the power which is superior to himself, he envisions a higher destiny and nobler attributes for his kind and is stimulated and encouraged in the struggle of existence. … He must seek[,] believing, praying, and hoping that he will find. No such sincere, prayerful effort will go unrequited—that is the very constitution of the philosophy of faith.” So taught President Stephen L Richards.
A line from the delightful play The King and I gives us encouragement in our labors. The King of Siam lay dying. With him is Anna, his English tutor, whose son asks her the question, “Was he as good … as he could have been?” Anna answers wistfully, “I don’t think any man has ever been as good … as he could have been—but this one [really] tried.”
The Prophet Joseph declared, “Happiness is the object and design of our existence; and will be the end thereof, if we pursue the path that leads to it; and this path is virtue, uprightness, faithfulness, holiness, and keeping all the commandments of God.”
Let us walk these clearly defined paths. To help us do so we can follow the shortest sermon in the world. It can be found on a common traffic sign. It reads, “Keep Right.”
This advice was found and followed by Joe, who had been asked to get up at six in the morning and drive a crippled child 50 miles to a hospital. He didn’t want to do it, but he didn’t know how to say no. A woman carried the child out to the car and set him next to the driver’s seat, mumbling thanks through her tears. Joe said everything would be all right and drove off quickly.
After a mile or so, the child inquired shyly, “You’re God, aren’t you?”
“I’m afraid not, little fellow,” replied Joe.
“I thought you must be God,” said the child. “I heard Mother praying next to my bed and asking God to help me get to the hospital, so I could get well and play with the other boys. Do you work for God?”
“Sometimes, I guess,” said Joe, “but not regularly. I think I’m going to work for Him a lot more from now on.”
My brethren, will you? Will I? Will we? I pray humbly, yet earnestly, that we will.
In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, amen.

I grew up in what some of you might call a boring farming community: Virden, New Mexico, population 135. One summer night when I was a boy, my cousins, some friends, and I were looking for ways to create some excitement. Someone suggested we play a harmless prank on a neighbor. My conscience whispered it was wrong, but I didn’t have the courage to resist the enthusiastic response of the group.
After performing our mischievous act, we sprinted down the dark country road to make our escape, laughing and congratulating ourselves as we ran. Suddenly, one of the group stumbled, crying out, “Oh no, I kicked a cat!” Almost instantly we felt a very fine mist settle over us. It carried a horrible odor. What my friend thought was a cat was actually a skunk. It had sprayed us in self-defense. Very few odors are as nauseating as skunk spray, and we smelled terrible.
Dejectedly we went home in search of a little parental comfort for our pitiful plight. As we stepped inside the kitchen door, Mom took one sniff and shooed us out into the yard. We were cast out of our home. Then she launched the cleansing process. She burned our clothes. Then, it seemed that every home remedy or concoction in the community was volunteered in our behalf. Among them, we endured a variety of baths: first tomato juice, then cow’s milk, and even harsh homemade lye soap. But the stench remained. Even my dad’s powerful aftershave lotion could not overpower the stench. For days we were condemned to eat outside under a tree, sleep outdoors in a tent, and ride in the back of the pickup truck.
After a while, naively thinking the smell was gone, we tried to approach some normal-smelling girls. They would not allow us within yards, shattering our fragile teenage egos!
Now, I must admit that being sprayed by a skunk is not a common consequence of sin. Most consequences are not as immediate or dramatic. But sooner or later, for all sin, a consequence will be paid.
At times, consequences of sin may appear to be very subtle to the sinner. We may even convince ourselves, as we did before approaching the girls, that no one will be able to detect our sins and that they are well concealed. But always to our Heavenly Father and often to spiritually sensitive leaders, parents, and friends, our sins are glaringly apparent.
God has declared, “He that sinneth and repenteth not shall be cast out” (D&C 42:28). Just as my cousins and I were “cast out” of our earthly home as a consequence of our prank, we will be cast out of our Heavenly Father’s home if we do not repent.
“When we undertake to cover our sins,” as I tried to do with my dad’s aftershave lotion, “the heavens withdraw themselves; [and] the Spirit of the Lord is grieved” (D&C 121:37). We lose our spiritual gifts. The Lord has declared, “He that repents not, from him shall be taken even the light which he has received” (D&C 1:33).
Each one of us has the Light of Christ, or a conscience. It constantly prompts us to choose good. Good choices yield good consequences. On the other hand, delaying repentance and continuing to commit sin is like continuing to kick the skunk. The stench will become stronger with each sin, alienating us further and further from God and those we love. Soon we could become like Laman and Lemuel, who, after continually making bad choices, became “past feeling” and could no longer feel the “still small voice” (1 Nephi 17:45).
If I had responded to my conscience when it first whispered that the prank was wrong, I would have avoided the whole stinking ordeal.

Another learning experience happened after I graduated from high school in Lima. I went to Ricks College on a basketball scholarship. I had the opportunity to go to other schools, but I went to Ricks because my parents moved nearby. Basketball and baseball were all that I was concerned with at that age. I loved playing. The fall that I arrived, to help me with my finances, my coach got me a job outside of Rexburg, working at a beet dump. The first day of work, I rode there on a motorcycle with another team member. On October 15, 1951, we finished work at 10:30 P.M. and were coming back into town, going about fifty miles (80 k) an hour. It was storming, and we ran head-on into a car. I was thrown about seventy feet through the air and landed on my back on the pavement. As I flew over the top of the car, my right foot went through the windshield. I broke a number of bones and came within a fraction of having cut off my right foot.
At the hospital, the doctors decided that they would have to amputate my foot. My mother stepped forward and said, “Not until he’s received a blessing.” So my bishop and my stepfather gave me a blessing. My bishop told me that I would keep my foot and that I would be able to run and enjoy many of the things I’d always loved. The doctors then decided to try to save the foot. After they operated, I was in bed for three months, then spent six months on crutches, waiting for my foot to heal. It did. I never was able to compete in sports as I had before, but I could still play.

How grateful I am for the power of example. The New Era truly sets a good example for the youth of today—our leaders of tomorrow. I’m thankful to a friend of mine who set an example for me four years ago when I was 18 by asking me if I would listen to the missionaries. I did and was shortly thereafter baptized. Now I am on a mission serving the Lord—supported by my non-LDS family. I hope I am setting an example for them. Thank you, Mike Johnson, for sharing the gospel.
Elder Chris D. AxentyIdaho Pocatello Mission

Family—what a sacred name for those we love the most. If someone asked you to name the greatest thing about your family, what would it be? I know that most families, including mine, are not perfect, but every day we are trying to be more kind and thoughtful to each other. This past month my father died. I learned many lessons from my dad. He had such great faith. He said, “Dying is just like walking into another room.” The day he died, I thought: My dad died today! This was his last day on earth! He has just walked into another room. It was such a sweet, sacred experience for my family and me.

The first day of his mission, Samuel walked 25 miles (40 km). He visited four homes, but no one wanted to buy a copy of the Book of Mormon. Hungry, tired, and discouraged, he stopped that night at an inn. Samuel asked the innkeeper if he would like to buy a copy of the Book of Mormon.

“I do not know,” said the innkeeper. “How did you get hold of it?”

“It was translated by my brother, from some gold plates that he found buried in the earth,” Samuel explained.

“You liar! Get out of my house—you shan’t stay one minute with your books,” said the innkeeper. So the Church’s first missionary slept that night under an apple tree on the cold, damp ground.3

“Let’s grab the gear. It’s fishing time!” Dad said.
Hayden grinned as he looked around. Everything was bright and buzzing. They had the whole lake to themselves!
Following Dad, Hayden walked behind the car and lifted the big fishing tackle box out of the trunk. It was heavy, but he didn’t mind. He’d carry one twice this heavy if it meant fishing with Dad.
Fishing poles rattled together as Dad pulled them out. “Looks like Dan fell asleep,” he said. “Will you wake him up?”
Hayden held back a sigh. “Uh, sure.”
He’d almost forgotten that his little brother, Dan, had come too. Dan was always running around and talking loudly. He’d scare all the fish away!
He looked in the open window. “Dan, time to wake up.”
But Dan was still fast asleep.
Hayden paused. With any luck, Dan might sleep right through the whole trip.
Hayden quietly hauled the tackle box to Dad’s fishing spot on the shore.
“Here’s the bait, worms and all!”
Dad took the tackle box from him. “Great, thanks.” Then Dad looked up. “Where’s your brother?”
Hayden glanced at the car. All of a sudden he wondered how he would feel if he woke up alone in a new place. Not good, Hayden decided. In fact, he’d probably feel pretty scared. And Dan was only five.
“Just a second, Dad. I’ll be right back.” But when he looked in the car, Dan was gone!
Hayden couldn’t hear the buzzing insects any more. Everything seemed to go quiet.
“Dan’s not here!” Hayden yelled.
Dad hurried over and quickly checked the car.
“He’s probably just looking for us,” Dad said. “It’s only been a minute. He won’t be far.”
Hayden tried to stay calm, but his stomach was turning somersaults. “Can I say a prayer?”
“I think that’s a very good idea.”
Hayden thanked Heavenly Father for his little brother and asked that they would find Dan right away so that he wouldn’t feel afraid.
When Hayden finished, his heart stopped feeling so tight.
Dad put a hand on Hayden’s shoulder. “What if you were Dan? Where would you go?”
Hayden noticed the door on the other side of the car was open. Dan probably hadn’t seen them on the shore. Hayden pointed to a trail nearby. “I’d probably start walking that way,” he said.
They hurried along the trail.
Every second felt slow and heavy. As he walked, Hayden kept saying prayers in his heart. After a few steps, they came around a bend in the trail and saw Dan up ahead.
“Dan!” Hayden shouted.
Dan spun around and smiled. “Hey, where did you guys go?”
Time sped up again. Hayden raced to Dan and hugged him tight.
“I’m so glad we found you,” Hayden said. He said a quick prayer of thanks in his heart.
Dan just grinned. “Where are the fish?”
“Come on, I’ll show you,” Hayden said. His feet were itching to run to the lake. “Let’s see who can catch the first fish. I’ll help you bait your hook.”

Indio High School’s water polo team was surprising everybody. The Southern California 3-A championship game was half over, and they were thrashing the El Dorado Hawks, 7–3. Indio’s Rajahs were considered a Cinderella club, strong on teamwork but lacking the polish and size necessary to pull off an upset. Yet somehow they were winning the game!
Calvin Lowell, 17, braced himself at the edge of the pool, ready to sprint to the center. (In water polo each quarter begins when the referee tosses the ball to the middle of the water, and players swim toward it in a scramble for possession.) He knew El Dorado would come out fighting.
Cal looked up at his father, Dr. John Lowell, who was standing near one of the diving boards, ready to shout encouragement. It wasn’t just another case of a proud spectator cheering on his boy. Cal’s father is the Indio coach.
The whistle shrieked. Waves foamed and churned. One blazing shot after another skittered into the net, despite flailing arms and lunging defensive maneuvers. Two of Indio’s top players fouled out. The lead narrowed to 8–7. Each team scored again quickly. Then with two minutes and 36 seconds remaining in the fourth quarter, an El Dorado forward slapped the ball from the goalie’s hand and it floated into the net to knot the score at 9–9.
Coach Lowell bowed his head. Ignoring thousands of screaming fans, he said a silent prayer. He knew the Lord couldn’t promise a victory, but he hoped that each player would perform to the best of his ability. A new strategy came into his head, and he called a time out.
He gathered the players around him and counseled them to avoid the congested area just in front of the goals, concentrating on outside shots. Play resumed. The tactic worked perfectly, but the man who wound up free with the ball was the team’s poorest marksman. “Not him,” Coach Lowell wanted to shout. “Anybody but …”
The ball slammed into the goal’s canvas backing. Indio led again, 10–9. The same play worked twice more with other Indio shooters, while the Hawks tallied only one more point. The seconds timer read zero. The championship game was over, and the Rajahs had won, 12–10!