Gospel Story Finder

Twenty-four years ago this next October, I received a long-distance telephone call at our home in Chicago. The caller in Salt Lake City asked if I planned to attend general conference, which convened the next morning. To this I answered, “No,” whereupon he asked if I could. I responded, “I suppose I can if you want me to.” The caller said, “The President of the Church would like to see you tomorrow morning at 8:00 in his office. Now have a good night’s sleep because it will be your last.” After some twenty-four years, it looks as though I may get that good night’s sleep—perhaps.
These years have been the most challenging and rewarding years of my life. I have had the indescribable blessing of being tutored every week, with few exceptions, by four Presidents of the Church and eight different Counselors in the First Presidency, and of course, for eleven years of that time, by a wonderful Presiding Bishop, John H. Vandenberg. It was a great blessing to serve with Elder Robert L. Simpson as Counselors to Bishop Vandenberg. Words cannot adequately express my love and my appreciation for my own faithful Counselors, Elder Vaughn J. Featherstone, Bishop H. Burke Peterson, and Bishop J. Richard Clarke, for their loyalty to me personally, and for their outstanding contribution to the Church during these thirteen years. We’ve been abundantly blessed by men and women of great faith and commitment—both here at home and from all over the world—who joined with us in response to the assignment from the First Presidency to accomplish the temporal work of the kingdom in these latter days. I express my heartfelt appreciation and gratitude to all, wherever they may be, and thank them for the blessing of being associated with them.

“Matthew,” sighed Mom, “you promised to clean your room right after school. Now it’s time for your den meeting, and you haven’t done a thing.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I forgot,” said Matthew contritely. “I promise I’ll do it tomorrow.”
“I hope so,” she replied.
The den meeting was especially good. They made plastic skeletons with bones that actually moved.
“Please pass in your dues now,” said the den mother.
“Oh, no!” declared Matthew. “I’m sorry. I forgot. I’ll bring mine next time.”
“Please do, Matthew,” she said.
Matthew awoke the next morning to the sound of the garbage truck rumbling past his house.
“Matthew,” called Mom, “did you put the garbage out last night?”
“Oh, no!” he groaned. “I’m sorry. I forgot. I’ll do it next week, I promise.”
“But the cans are full now,” said Mom.
The next afternoon, Matthew’s teacher said, “Pass in your math homework, please. This assignment is worth one hundred points.”
“Oh, no!” wailed Matthew, hitting his forehead with his hand. “I forgot.”
“There will be no makeups,” said the teacher firmly.
On Sunday Matthew was startled to hear the Primary president say, “Matthew Lewis will give us a talk now.”
“Oh, no,” he whispered as he walked to the microphone. His face got very red. “I—I,” he stammered, “I’m sorry. I don’t have a talk ready. I forgot.”
He sat down, hunching over so that no one could see his face.
“You can give a talk next month, Matthew,” the Primary president said kindly.
“Hey, Matthew,” said Tom, poking him in the ribs as they entered their classroom, “that was a great talk. Why don’t you give the same one next month?” The boys around Matthew broke out in laughter. During the class, Matthew struggled to hold his tears back. He was the first one out the door after the closing prayer.
At home Matthew quickly changed into jeans and a T-shirt, then went into the backyard. Crawling under the low-hanging branches of a huge bush, he settled himself against the heavy, main stem and let the tears come freely.
What can I do? he wondered, miserable. I forget everything! Other people remember. What’s the matter with me? He tore at a leaf. Maybe I should pray, he thought. It seemed like such a good idea that Matthew immediately bowed his head. “Heavenly Father,” he said earnestly, “I forget everything. I want to stop. Please help me to remember.”
Matthew felt so good after his prayer that he couldn’t sit still another second. Bursting out from under the bush, he somersaulted all the way to the house. “I’m never going to forget another thing!” he bragged at dinner.
“I’m glad to hear that,” said Mom.
On Monday morning, Matthew’s teacher asked for his book order. “Today is the last day,” she said.
Matthew was astonished as the truth sunk in. “I—I forgot,” he stammered. How did I forget? he wondered. I was sure it wouldn’t happen again!
On Tuesday morning Matthew awoke from a deep sleep and sat bolt upright. The garbage truck was rumbling around the corner. He felt cold all over. “I forgot again!” He whispered. “What’s wrong with me?” He felt very ashamed when he saw the empty cans sitting by the curb. Dad must have put them out before he left for work.
On Wednesday his den mother phoned. “We missed you at this week’s meeting, Matthew. Were you sick?”
“Sick?” said Matthew. “No.” But he was beginning to feel sick. “I guess I forgot.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. We passed off our physical fitness requirements. Maybe you can do yours with your dad.”
“OK,” said Matthew.
But Matthew knew that getting his physical fitness badge was only part of his problem. “Dad,” he asked after dinner, “can you help me?”
“I’ll try, Matthew. Let’s talk about it while we do the dishes,” answered Dad. “What’s the matter?”
“I forget everything. I don’t mean to, but it just keeps happening,” explained Matthew, dumping dirty silverware into the sudsy water.
“What have you done to stop forgetting?” asked Dad.
“I prayed,” said Matthew. “I asked Heavenly Father to help me remember.”
“Did He?” asked Dad.
“No,” said Matthew, “and I don’t understand. You always say He answers prayers.”
“He does, Matthew, but in His way. Once Oliver Cowdery had trouble trying to translate. Why don’t you read section nine of the Doctrine and Covenants and find out why he had trouble and decide if something similar is happening to you. Then come back and we’ll work out a plan to help you, OK?”
After the dishes were finished, Matthew went to his room and read about Oliver Cowdery. Matthew looked thoughtful as he finished reading.
On Sunday morning three weeks later Matthew stood behind the microphone in Primary. His hair was neatly combed, his shoes freshly polished, and his face scrubbed and shining. “When Sister Jordan asked me to give a talk last month, I promised that I would,” he began. “You probably remember what happened.”
Several boys on the back row snickered.
“I was pretty embarrassed about forgetting it. I was forgetting a lot of other things too. I wanted to stop, so I prayed and asked Heavenly Father to help me remember.
“What happened really surprised me. We’ve all been taught that Heavenly Father answers prayers. I was sure that He would answer mine, but I just kept right on forgetting everything.
“Then I read in the Doctrine and Covenants about Oliver Cowdery. He wanted to translate some records, but he couldn’t seem to do it. In section nine, verses seven and eight, the Lord told him why: ‘Behold, you have not understood; you have supposed that I would give it unto you, when you took no thought save it was to ask me.
“‘But, behold, I say unto you, that you must study it out in your mind.’ [D&C 9:7–8]
“I knew I had acted just like Oliver Cowdery. I expected the Lord to do all my work for me. Well, Dad helped me ‘study out’ my problem. I got a calendar, and Heavenly Father helped me remember to write my promises on it. I still have to read it and do all the things I promised to do, but I don’t forget very much anymore, and I feel a lot better about myself now.”
Matthew felt happy when he finished his talk. And there were Mom and Dad in the back of the room, smiling proudly.

I learned from my wife the importance of expressions of love. Early in our marriage, often I would open my scriptures to give a message in a meeting, and I would find an affectionate, supportive note Jeanene had slipped into the pages. Sometimes they were so tender that I could hardly talk. Those precious notes from a loving wife were and continue to be a priceless treasure of comfort and inspiration.

The Prophet went to visit his aunt and uncle. His uncle and his cousins were sick with the fever and chills.
Joseph, your uncle has the worst of it. I fear for his life.
Here, Uncle, have my shoes.
But, Joseph, what will you wear?
Joseph rode home without his shoes.
He sent for his uncle and had him brought to his home.
He will heal better at my house. Emma will take good care of him.
He also sent many supplies to help the rest of the family recover.
Thank you, Joseph. Thank you.
The Prophet’s genuine love for others saved his uncle’s life and eased his aunt’s burdens.

When I came home for a quick weekend visit, I asked Todd about his adventure. He was kind of quiet until he started talking about his mission and the money he’d saved. When I asked him about his job, I was surprised at his answer.

“The fun house? Oh, I quit that.”

I felt a little let down. So much for the new-and-improved Todd who was sticking to hard jobs.

“How come?” I asked.

“Well, I was working a lot of Sundays, and I realized my priorities were out of whack. I mean, Jolene only ever looked at me like I was a reflection of one of those fun house mirrors, you know, with eight-foot legs and no body or a giant forehead and hardly any face. And I was like that. I was only thinking about entertaining myself, not about anyone else.”

I smiled. It was the new-and-improved Todd.

“I guess my nursery kids taught me about being concerned about others and sharing. I should have figured this out years ago. Guess I’m a slow learner,” he said, grinning at me.

I said, only half sarcastically, “Todd, who knew you were such a lovely human being?” I punched him in the shoulder.

It started in the late 1970s and early 1980s when I moved from Eleuthera, Bahamas to the capital of New Providence to live with my mother’s brother and his family.
We lived in a neighborhood called Mount Vernon and it was there that I met Marge and Larry McCombs and their two children, Mark, and Dienna. Our two families struck up an immediate friendship and we were soon invited to Church. Never mind the fact that my family was generations deep in the Seventh-day Adventist belief and I was attending a school they sponsored.
The moment I entered the rental home on West Bay Street that doubled as the meetinghouse and home for the missionaries, I felt the Spirit for the first time in my life and I was converted.
When my family saw how involved I was becoming in the Church they insisted that I stop attending. To honor my parents, exactly as The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was teaching me, I decided to continue my attendance with my family at the Seventh Day Adventist church on Saturday, and then also attend church on Sunday with the McCombs family. This worked for a little while but when I was about 14, my family put an end to my Sunday attendance. The Spirit was burning strong in my heart, and I was thankful for the McCombs, Church leaders and fellow students that continued to invite me to a seminary class.
After I turned 18 years old, I asked Larry to baptize me. I was baptized in their pool after a Sunday evening seminary class. Anton Ferrier, who was the branch president at the time, conferred the gift of the Holy Ghost upon me. It was a perfect day for the completion of the long-awaited blessing of baptism.
I then went on to attend Brigham Young University-Hawaii, without the support of my family. I did not hear from them for the next few years but as I reached out to them, forgiveness blossomed. My father sent money to help me complete my schooling towards a bachelor’s degree in social work and I continued to be blessed as I chose to serve in the Texas Corpus Christi Mission, Spanish speaking.
I have never regretted my decision in 37 years. I know this gospel to be true and it has continuously blessed my life. I notice the Lord’s hand in my life through people like the McComb family and others, and hope that my light of the gospel is bright enough to encourage others to feel the Savior’s love. I encourage you to look for those who share His love and then listen for the Spirit and trust your feelings, because this is where true joy can be found.

In the country of Angola, opposition threatened to thwart the desire of faithful and obedient Saints to see the gospel take root in their land. The Lord had sent His servants to open the door to missionary work, but on the eve of their scheduled travel, visas still had not been granted. When Church representatives visited immigration officials about the delay, they were turned away.
With approval from the First Presidency to dedicate Angola for missionary work, Elder D. Todd Christofferson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and others awaited word in Johannesburg, South Africa. At the same time, faithful member Paulina Lassalete da Cunha Gonçalves tried to open what seemed to be a closing door. She hoped to obtain letters of invitation that would grant permission for the Church party to enter Angola. Once there, they could then obtain necessary visas.
Within minutes of government offices closing in Angola, Elder Christofferson assembled with those waiting in the Africa Southeast Area offices. Then, kneeling in prayer, he asked Heavenly Father to intervene. In that same hour, immediately following his prayer of faith, the letters of invitation were signed. A loving Father in Heaven had prepared the way for the day of dedication. At the request of Elder Christofferson, a humble prayer of thanks was offered for the granted miracle.4

Let me share with you a personal experience on preparation. I grew up on a farm just south and a little west of Rexburg in the Lewisville area. My Father farmed and raised hay, grain, and potatoes. Oh, and yes we six boys, as we became old enough, milked several cows. My Dad's philosophy was I don't milk cows to get rich; I milk cows to raise boys. I really didn't like the farm work or milking the cows. It was a trial to me as was the farm work, but I did my share.

One day I spoke to my father about finding a different job than the work on the farm. He promised to talk with one of the bishops in our Stake about my desire. The following day he told me to stop by the tire store in Rigby. The tire store was only a few blocks from the school. I anxiously awaited the time to visit the store and check on this new opportunity to work. Mr. Pieper greeted me and after a short visit told me I could report to work the next afternoon. I was thrilled as I anticipated a salary and no more farm work. However, I soon found out that I had not understood the fine print in my Dad's plan. There was still work on the farm to be accomplished, and the cows were still part of my responsibility. Many times after work at the tire store I would walk the three miles home and help my brothers with the milking. I loved the work at the store; and following my mission, I was released by my Stake President, President Pieper. We visited about plans to return to school, and I must say I really didn't know what I wanted to do with my life as far as a vocation. He encouraged me to return to work, while I made my decisions.

One day President Pieper took me aside to visit about a change in my employment. Mr. Newton, the owner of the Rexburg tire store, was in desperate need of help. His employee had broken his leg on the job and he was not able to conduct business as usual. President Pieper asked, "If I would be willing to help out in Rexburg for the next few months." He also said, "I will continue to pay your wage until Mr. Newton is back on his feet. Then he asked, "How soon can you be ready to leave for Rexburg and do you have your lunch?" Then President Pieper said with a twinkle in his eye, "You never know when opportunity may knock, and you need to be prepared to open the door."

These experiences working for my Father, President Pieper, and Paul Newton prepared me for a comfortable place to make my livelihood. I truly like people and enjoyed serving people and helping them to be safe and comfortable as they traveled the highways of this great nation. We never know when opportunity may knock and we need to be prepared to open the door.

After 12 years of marriage and with six young children, I found myself separated from my husband. My husband’s mother continued to live with our family, but with one exception, my children never saw their father again.
The children were too young to understand fully what was happening to our family, and I tried to shelter them as much as I could from the pain I was feeling. But within a few weeks of separating from my husband, I felt vulnerable, empty, and alone. Although I was surrounded by people in my Philippine hometown, I often found myself weeping, longing for the comfort of someone to confide in. Assailed by doubts, I felt as though I were living in a haze. I couldn’t think or plan clearly. And yet I knew I had to be strong for the sake of my children. I felt that the burden of their welfare rested solely upon my shoulders.
Humbled and desperate, I knelt and asked Heavenly Father for three favors: good health, a clear mind, and emotional strength devoid of self-pity and selfishness.
My prayers were answered. In spite of difficult economic conditions in the Philippines, I was blessed with a good income. The harder I was able to work, the more money I earned. Our temporal needs were met, and I found the clarity of mind and the emotional strength I needed to be both mother and father to my children.
I gave my children love and affection and as much attention as possible. I devoted Sundays and holidays solely to them. I taught them not to look back in anger, nor forward in fear, but to look around in awareness. They learned not to hate anyone, especially their absent father.
They also learned to share with one another and build family solidarity. We exchanged ideas and valued each other’s differing points of view. We rejoiced in one another’s victories and comforted each other in our defeats. We were a united family—cooking, cleaning, laughing, sharing, and above all praying together.
Seven years after my separation, four of my children and I became members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The teachings of the Church honed and polished my children, further cultivating their talents. They learned more patience and understanding. As they grew older they also discovered leadership skills and other abilities they did not know they had. They enjoyed peace and a sense of belonging. My children often turned to Church leaders for educational, emotional, and spiritual counsel. They were devoted to their callings and eagerly engaged in Church activities. I watched them thrive as they grew spiritually and developed social skills.
My son and three daughters served as full-time missionaries. They have continued to grow and develop into wonderful people.
My trials have helped me to become stronger and grow in ways I may not have otherwise. Many times I was weary, but in those times of great need my Heavenly Father gave me rest, guided my footsteps, and filled my soul with His love.
I have been abundantly blessed. I cherish my beautiful family. Out of our great adversity, we have emerged triumphant. But we owe everything to our Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ. For Their influence in our lives we are eternally grateful.

I’ll never forget the day I met my bishop after that lonely January night in my motel room. My friend who had given me the Book of Mormon helped me get in touch with him. When I met the bishop in his office before church, I told him about my past, and I was prepared for him to say that they didn’t need someone like me in their ward.
Instead, he invited me to go into sacrament meeting.
So I did. I was convinced that I had the word convict tattooed across my forehead and that when I walked in, everyone would shun me. But that didn’t happen. Instead, I found the most welcoming people I had ever encountered. The next Sunday, I came back. Not long after I began attending church, a counselor in the bishopric asked if I would speak about forgiveness in sacrament meeting.
“Me? Talk about forgiveness?” I asked. But when he affirmed that he meant it, I took on the assignment. When I spoke to the congregation, I was sure they would only see me as a former convict. But the longer I talked, the more confident I became, and afterward I was met with nothing but love from these members, who greeted me with a hug or a handshake. That day I truly felt what it was to “love thy neighbour as thyself” (Matthew 22:39).
More importantly, I finally understood that when the Savior suffered in the Garden of Gethsemane and bled from every pore (see Mosiah 3:7; Doctrine and Covenants 19:18–19), He was bleeding for me too. This was a turning point—even though I had accepted the truth of the Book of Mormon and had invited Jesus Christ into my life, I was convinced that I was not going to be invited to heaven. I could not be forgiven. His Atonement was for everyone else, but not for me—because of what I had done.
But in this moment, I realized that I could be forgiven. This knowledge helped me move forward with my life. After more meetings with the missionaries, I was baptized in March 2012—my first step on the covenant path. Although I previously wouldn’t have thought it possible, I was able to marry a wonderful woman from my ward. We were sealed in the Salt Lake Temple in June 2013.

Grandma came to visit when Dad took Momma to the hospital to have the new baby. Since I’m the oldest, I knew I could help Grandma a lot. I showed her where the plates and glasses went and which blankie Susie needed for her nap. I told her that Annie preferred cheese sandwiches to peanut butter and jelly. I helped set the table and clean up the dirty dishes.
“Joshua, you are so helpful,” Grandma said.
After dinner, Grandma read stories from Susie and Annie’s fairy-tale books. Then she let me pick out some stories from my favorite dinosaur books.
“I never get tired of reading about brontosauruses, tyrannosauruses, and triceratops,” Grandma said. “And that reminds me of something.” Grandma walked over to her suitcase and opened it. She pulled out a fossil with the print of a leaf preserved in a rock. “I found this on the farm,” she said, handing it to me.
At bedtime, Grandma helped us read the scriptures before family prayer.
In the morning, Dad called to say he was bringing Momma and our new baby home. We all hurried to finish up our chores. My sisters and I stacked the toys in the toy box and washed and dried the dishes. Grandma mopped and vacuumed floors and finished folding the clothes she had washed.
We were getting tired after all our work. Grandma sat down on the bed and picked up a pillow to fluff it up. Suddenly the seam on one side of the pillow split open, and feathers scattered everywhere. Grandma tried to stuff the feathers back in, but they flew around her like a blizzard of snow. Susie and Annie squealed and ran through the storm of feathers. I forgot I was supposed to be helping and joined in, sending more feathers swirling across the floor.
Grandma grabbed a broom and dustpan, but sweeping only scattered the feathers more. Grandma sank into a chair and wiped her forehead with her handkerchief.
I stopped running and looked at Grandma. She had worked so hard, and now Momma would come home to a big mess. I stopped galloping around and told Susie and Annie we needed to help Grandma clean up. I found a large paper bag, and we started gathering up handfuls, but feathers still littered the room.
I got the vacuum and turned it on. Whoosh! The vacuum sucked up feathers like fall leaves swirling into a leaf catcher. Then my sisters and I went out on the porch and plucked feathers out of our hair.
Grandma looked relieved. “Thank you, Joshua,” she said. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
When Momma arrived home, we crowded around to hug her.
“Did the neighbors’ chickens escape from their henhouse?” she asked. “I saw a few feathers on the porch.”
Grandma and I looked at each other and laughed as we all went to meet the new baby brother Dad was holding in a bundle of blankets.

A couple of years ago a humor columnist for a local newspaper wrote on a serious and thought-provoking subject. I quote from this article: “Being a go-to-church Mormon in Utah means living so close to fellow ward members that not much happens that the entire congregation doesn’t know about in five minutes tops.”
He continues: “This kind of cheek-to-jowl living can be intrusive. … It also happens to be one of our greatest strengths.”
The author goes on to say: “At work on Tuesday, I caught the noon news broadcast on television. A van had been obliterated in a traffic crash. A young mother and two small children were being rushed to emergency rooms by helicopter and ambulance. … Hours later I learned that the van belonged to the young couple living across the street from me in Herriman, Eric and Jeana Quigley.
“Not only do I see the Quigleys in church, … we ate dinner with them at a neighborhood party the night before the crash. Our grandkids played with daughters Bianca and Miranda. …
“Fourteen-month-old Miranda suffered serious head injuries and died three days later at Primary Children’s Hospital.
“Here’s where all that nosiness … pays off. Although the accident occurred several miles from home, the dust literally had not settled before someone from the ward stopped and was pulling through the wreckage. The rest of the ward knew about it before the cops and paramedics showed up.
“Ward members went to all three hospitals, contacted Eric at work and organized into labor squads. People who didn’t get in on the immediate-need level were frantic for some way to help.
“In 48 hours, the Quigley yard was mowed, home cleaned, laundry done, refrigerator stocked, relatives fed and a trust fund set up at a local bank. We would have given their dog a bath if they had one.”
The author concludes with this insightful comment: “There is a positive side to the congregational microscope my ward lives under. … What happens to a few happens to all” (Robert Kirby, “Well-Being of Others Is Our Business,” Salt Lake Tribune, July 30, 2005, p. C1).

It has been nearly three years since I received one of those dreaded early-morning phone calls. My younger brother Steve had suffered a massive heart attack and died during the night. In an instant, and without warning, my most trusted friend was gone.
During the next few days many who loved Steve and his wife and children traveled to their home in Colorado. But it wasn’t until after the funeral that I realized that seven dear friends of mine had made the long trip from Salt Lake City to attend the service. Not one of them had ever met my brother. They had come to support me. You can imagine my emotions as they encircled me and one of them said, “We just didn’t want you to be alone today.” In word and deed, they taught a divine principle. It is not good, nor is it intended, for any of us to be alone.

In general conference a year ago, Elder Don R. Clarke of the Seventy told how his grandfather went blind and could no longer care for his farm on his own. He received a notice requiring him to make a $195 mortgage payment, something that seemed impossible given the family’s reduced circumstances. Then a miracle occurred. Elder Clarke’s grandfather later wrote:

I shall never forget that cold evening, just before Christmas of 1919. It looked as though we would lose the farm. My daughter, Gladys, laid a slip of paper in my hand and said, “This came in the mail today.” I took it to her mother and asked her what it was. This is what my wife read to me, “Dear Brother Larsen, I’ve had you on my mind all day today. I am wondering if you are in financial trouble. If you are, I have $200 you may have.” The letter was signed “Jim Drinkwater.” Jim was a small, crippled man, and he would have been the last man on earth that anyone would have thought had that much money on hand. I went to his house that night and he said, “Brother Larsen, I received a wireless message from heaven this morning, and I could not get you off my mind all day. I was sure you were in financial trouble.” Brother Drinkwater gave me $200 and we sent the $195 to the mortgage company, and with the extra $5 we bought boots and clothes for the children. Santa Claus did come that year.[11]

Jim Drinkwater, the “small, crippled man,” demonstrated true love. How easy it might have been for him to wallow in self-pity or to think of the comforts he could buy with his money. Instead, he prepared himself by righteous living to be in tune with the Spirit of the Lord. He had selfless intent, and when the “wireless message from heaven” came, he took selfless action.

In the early stages of my friendship with Michelle, all I knew about her was that her values were much stronger than those any of my other friends had. It wasn’t until I was invited to her house for a family home evening that I found out she was a Mormon.
At this family home evening I was introduced to the gospel by two wonderful missionaries. When they asked if I wanted to hear the discussions, I was filled with an unfamiliar but comfortable feeling. I accepted.
After I had received the discussions and had many of my concerns resolved, I set a date for baptism. But, even though I felt good about my decision, I wanted some kind of confirmation that I was doing the right thing. I started to search desperately for the answer to my question, “Is the Church true?” I prayed morning, noon, and night, but I didn’t seem to be getting an answer.
Then I met Davie Wilden, a Church member. After spending many hours together talking and reading, we decided it was time to pray. We knelt, and Davie prayed first, asking Heavenly Father to help me; then it was my turn to pray.
I had just begun my prayer when I heard a voice. It said, “Say sorry. Just say sorry.”
I prayed with all my heart for Heavenly Father to forgive my sins. I felt a warm, tingly feeling come right down through my arms and seem to pierce me to the very center. Five days later I was baptized.
Since then, my testimony of the gospel has grown stronger and stronger. Exactly one year and two days after I was baptized, I entered the New Zealand MTC, having been called on a mission to Perth, Australia. I now experience the same joy as the people who taught me the gospel by sharing my testimony with others.

After a few years of marriage, Sandra and I had our third child, a little boy named Stephen who was born just three days before Christmas. When he was born, he could not inflate his lungs. He had a valiant little spirit about him. He fought for life, but the doctors said it wasn’t likely he would live. Our bishop invited the ward to join their prayers with ours for our son.
The greatest gift that special Christmas Eve was being able to give him a blessing. After the blessing, I felt prompted to go to Sandra’s hospital room and tell her Stephen was going to be just fine and that she shouldn’t worry. On Christmas morning, the doctors told us Stephen was going to be OK. They had no idea what had happened. It was a miracle. I’m so grateful for the power of the priesthood. We consider Stephen’s survival to be one of our family’s greatest Christmas gifts.

Youth in the Walla Walla Washington Stake participated in a service-project youth conference last summer, but most youth will agree that it’s hard to say who had more fun—those who gave service or those who received it. They visited a camp for disabled children at a nearby mountain retreat and helped with a day of sports, craft activities, and a dance.
The highlight of the evening was a “prom,” complete with modest formal dresses for the girls and boutonnieres for the boys. Because some of the campers have hearing impairments, the music was played full-blast—something that both the hearing and nonhearing participants seemed to enjoy.
At the conclusion of the day, when the campers were off to their cabins, the LDS youth prepared to leave by holding a testimony meeting. They agreed that going to the camp wasn’t just a service experience; it was a fun experience—one they want to repeat very soon.

A year later, another child, César, turned eight years old. “We knew from reading Gospel Principles that he needed to be baptized,” Sister Torales says. “So we took him to Encarnación.” But when they arrived at the place where they had been baptized a year earlier—a rented house used as a meetinghouse—they were shocked to discover that the Church was no longer there. “We didn’t know where else to go, so we frantically looked everywhere for another house with the name of the Church on it. But we couldn’t find it. After two days of looking, we had to return home.”
But losing contact with the Church didn’t weaken their testimonies of the gospel. They continued studying the scriptures and worshiping as a family. A year later, Brother and Sister Torales took César to Encarnación again, filled with faith that this time they would be led to the Church so their son could be baptized.
When they arrived in the city, they weren’t sure where to start looking. “Then we saw a milkman with his horsedrawn cart,” she says. “My husband said that since the milkman probably delivered milk throughout the whole city, maybe he would know where the Church met. The man said he didn’t know, but he called to his companion, who did know. ‘Do you want to go there?’ the second man asked. So we got up into his cart, and he took us.”
They discovered that the branch had moved from the small house into a large new building. It was Sunday, and the members were gathered in sacrament meeting. To their great joy, Brother and Sister Torales and César were able to meet many members and to attend their first meeting of the Church. “The branch president told us they were going to have a district conference there in four months. He told us to come back then and we could baptize César.” In four months, the entire family returned to Encarnación, attended the conference, and witnessed César’s baptism.

A more recent example, former Eastern States Mission President James H. Moyle, writing in the 1940s, pointed out how his call to be a deacon actually changed his boyhood behavior. When called by his bishop to be a deacon, young James, who had been hanging around with the rougher boys in the ward, hesitated briefly and then accepted:
“I gradually broke away from the roughs, and so devoted myself to the duties of deacon that the bishop said I was the best in the ward. We cleaned out the meetinghouse, swept, mopped, and dusted, filled the coal-oil lamps, trimmed the wicks, made the fire, did all the janitorial work, and put the house in order generally, and looked after the door and entrance. … We took our turns cleaning the meetinghouse and had to do it frequently. I was very conscientious about it, and never thereafter allowed myself to be wayward or irreligious.”

In the spring of 1899 Jennie Brimhall and Inez Knight were busy packing their clothes for a trip to Europe. The two young women had been school friends at Brigham Young Academy (later Brigham Young University), and they were looking forward to a vacation together and a chance to see Inez’s brothers, who were missionaries in England.
Lucy Jane Brimhall Amanda Inez Knight
In the middle of their vacation preparations, their bishop told the girls that he wanted to have a chat with them. Bishop Keeler asked Inez and Jennie not to go on their planned vacation but to continue packing their things and go on a mission instead!
Young Mormon women had never before been asked to go out and knock on doors and preach on street corners like Mormon men missionaries. However, after overcoming their surprise, Inez and Jennie willingly answered the call to serve as the first sister missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They went to Great Britain just a few weeks after they were called.
When they left their homes in Provo, Utah, Jennie and Inez didn’t know when they would return, because there was no “usual” time for sister missionaries to be gone. The length of their service might be several months, or it might be several years. They knew that the mission president in Europe had seen what fine work many women did in teaching the gospel, that he had requested that women missionaries be sent out as well as men, and that the prophet had agreed. Jennie and Inez also knew that they each had a testimony that they wanted to share.
When the young women disembarked in Liverpool, England, Inez’s brothers Ray and Will were there to meet them. After a brief but happy reunion, the young ladies were sent off on their own to preach the gospel in various towns.
Some of their first missionary experiences were at street meetings, during which a small group of missionaries would stand on a busy street corner and sing hymns or preach a sermon. As people stopped to listen, the missionaries talked with them and invited them to attend regular church meetings, or the missionaries made appointments to teach the people in their homes.
Inez wrote in her journal about one night when she helped at five different street meetings. She wrote that the Mormon elders, who wore tall silk hats and nice black suits, “stood like brave soldiers on the street, … telling people the Gospel truths. I was never prouder to know that I was numbered with the Latter-day Saints.”
The young women were effective in teaching the restored gospel. One man later wrote that when he heard Sister Jennie Brimhall speak as a missionary, he was an unbeliever and didn’t want to listen. But he couldn’t forget her sincere words and lovely expression. Finally, twenty years later, he investigated the gospel and became a member of the Church.
After serving eight months in England, Sister Brimhall was sent home because of poor health. Sister Knight, however, continued to work as a missionary for more than two years, and several more sisters were sent to England to labor with her.
The 1890s were not easy years to be a missionary in England. Some people there were telling false stories about the Mormons and stirring up trouble for the missionaries.
One night Sister Knight was out teaching a family with her new companion, Sister Chipman. A group of rowdies saw them and stirred up so much trouble with the neighbors by telling lies about the Mormons that a mob followed the sisters through the streets, calling them names and throwing rocks at windows and trash at the young ladies. Elder Ray Knight had been sent to walk them home, but the situation became so dangerous that three policemen had to escort the missionaries to the police station for their safety. Even though they were bruised and soiled with garbage, the sisters were not ready to give up. Instead, while they waited inside the police station for the crowd to go away, they discussed the gospel with the policemen. Later the chief of police helped the missionaries slip out the back door so that they could walk home safely.
Despite such trying experiences, Inez wrote in her journal again and again about the many friendships that she made with the English people. She was impressed with the many sacrifices the British members of the Church made to help the missionaries.
After their missions, both Jennie and Inez returned to Provo, married, and raised families. They remained friends and were active in the Red Cross and community political activities. They will always be remembered, because when they were called to serve the Lord, they served willingly and whole-heartedly.