Gospel Story Finder

A few days later Richie loaded up his pillow and sleeping bag into the backseat of the station wagon. He ran into the house. “Come on, Mom. It’s time!”
“Just a minute, honey.”
“Mom, Uncle Dave said five thirty, and it’s five twenty-seven now. Let’s go!”
“OK!” Mom smiled. “I think someone is excited about his first camping trip.”
Mom dropped Richie off at his cousins’ house and gave him a hug and kiss good-bye. “Now, be sure to tell Uncle Dave thank you for letting you join them. Dress warm tonight, and be careful.”
Richie waved good-bye, anxious to leave for the camp-out. Soon he and his cousins were traveling up the narrow road that wound through the green canyon. Once they reached the camping ground, they all worked together to set up the tent and build a fire.
Richie marveled at the green fir trees that reached up into the sky. The sky grew dark, and twinkling stars appeared. “I’ve never seen so many stars,” he told his cousin Todd. “It’s like I just took a pair of dark glasses off and can really see what’s in the sky.”
“You can see so many stars now because we’re away from the lights of the city,” Todd explained. “City lights usually drown out most of the stars.”
After a tinfoil dinner of hamburgers and potatoes, everyone gathered to sing around the fire while Uncle Dave played his guitar. The smell from the campfire clung to Richie’s sweatshirt. The soothing sound of the music and a full stomach made it difficult for him to stay awake. He had to fight to keep his eyes open.
“It looks like you are all having a hard time staying awake,” Uncle Dave said. “Let’s call it a night.”
“Come on, Richie, let’s hit the sack,” Todd called. Richie followed him and Douglas into the tent. He snuggled into his fluffy red sleeping bag and quickly fell asleep.
A few hours later Richie awoke with a start. He blinked to adjust his eyes to the darkness, then remembered that he wasn’t in his bedroom but in a tent. The only sound was the steady hum of the crickets outside. His stomach felt queasy as the dream he had just had came back to him. I wish I was home, he thought. I wish I was in my own bed and that I could go get Dad.
He looked around. No one else in the tent was awake. Richie shivered. He didn’t want to wake Todd or Douglas. They were older, and he didn’t want them to think he was a crybaby. Still, the gnawing in his stomach didn’t go away, and the darkness seemed to surround him.
Thoughts of black bears and hungry mountain lions with fiery eyes filled his mind and added to the fear he already felt from his dream. If Dad were here, we could …
Richie quietly pulled himself onto his knees. “Heavenly Father,” he whispered into the darkness, “please help me to not be afraid. …”
When he finished his prayer, he felt warm and safe. As he climbed back into his cozy sleeping bag, he thought, I’m so glad that even if Dad isn’t here, I have another Father who can help, a Father who is always just a prayer away.

The next day, she and Jennie accompanied President McMurrin and other missionaries to Oldham, a manufacturing town east of Liverpool. In the evening, they formed a circle on a busy street corner, offered a prayer, and sang hymns until a large crowd formed around them. President McMurrin announced that a special meeting would be held the following day, and he invited everyone to come and hear preaching from “real live Mormon women.”
As he said this, a sick feeling crept over Inez. She was nervous about speaking to a large crowd. Still, as she stood among the missionaries in their silk hats and black suits, she had never been prouder to be a Latter-day Saint.4
The next evening, Inez trembled as she waited for her turn to speak. Having heard terrible lies about Latter-day Saint women, people were curious about her and the other women speaking at the meeting. Sarah Noall and Caroline Smith, the wife and sister-in-law of one of the missionaries, addressed the congregation first. Inez then spoke, despite her fear, and surprised herself by how well she did.
Inez and Jennie were soon assigned to labor in Cheltenham. They went door to door and frequently testified at street meetings. They also accepted invitations to meet with people in their homes. Listeners usually treated them well, although occasionally someone would mock them or accuse them of lying.
Inez and Jennie hoped to see more women serving missions. “We feel that the Lord is blessing us in our attempts to allay prejudice and spread the truth,” they reported to mission leaders. “We trust that many of the worthy young women in Zion will be permitted to enjoy the same privilege we now have, for we feel that they can do much good.”5

When my younger siblings are annoying me, I’ve learned to ask them kindly to stop and then I walk away for a few minutes. Then I come back with one of their favorite toys and play with them. Sometimes the most tempting way to handle things is by threat and force. Whenever I want to do this, I silently sing the lyrics to “If the Savior Stood Beside Me” (New Era, Aug. 2007, 8–10). That helps me keep calm and remember to love them. Another good song to sing is “Love One Another” (Hymns, no. 308).
Bria W., 12, Texas, USA

Daniel’s panic on the stage at the election convention did not come from shyness. It stems from a fear of microphones and cameras developed when he was interviewed over and over again by television reporters featuring him on TV as an adoptable child. Before the age of 11, he was adopted twice. Both adoptions were terminated. And he lived in many foster homes in between. Then the Larry King family of Bountiful adopted Daniel. He now happily belongs to a loving family of eight children. “I’m an uncle, too!” he proudly exclaims. When it’s mentioned to Daniel that he went through some hard times as a little boy, he says, “Yep,” (his face tenses, then relaxes) “but I got over ’em.”

On December 22, 1841, less than a day before Joseph Smith’s 36th birthday, 13 wagonloads of merchandise, purchased in St. Louis, Missouri, arrived in Nauvoo, Illinois. The Prophet was pleased to receive the goods because he was preparing to stock the shelves in his new general store.
The store’s double doors were opened for business on January 5, 1842, and Joseph was delighted with the response of the public. He wrote: “The store has been filled to overflowing, and I have stood behind the counter all day, dealing out goods as steady as any clerk you ever saw, to oblige those who were compelled to go without their usual Christmas and New Year’s dinners, for the want of a little sugar, molasses, raisins, …
“Our assortment is tolerably good—very good, considering the different purchases made by different individuals at different times and … I rejoice that we have been enabled to do as well as we have, for the hearts of many of the poor brethren and sisters will be made glad with those comforts which are now within their reach” (History of the Church, 4:491–92).

The selection of a site for the New Zealand Temple illustrates this point. President Wendell B. Mendenhall of the San Joaquin Stake was assigned by President David O. McKay to investigate possible temple sites in the lands of the South Seas. He investigated potential locations in Auckland, New Zealand, where the mission headquarters are located but felt no satisfaction.
“Then one day I felt I should go to Hamilton to visit the college. While in the car on the way, the whole thing came to me in an instant: The temple should be there by the college. The Church facilities for construction were already there, and that was the center of the population of the mission. Then, in my mind, I could see the area even before I arrived, and I could envision the hill where the temple should stand. As soon as I arrived at the college and drove over the top of the hill, my vision was confirmed. In my heart I felt that the Lord had especially made this hill for his temple, everything about it was so majestic and beautiful.” (Allie Howe, “A Temple in the South Pacific,” Improvement Era, Nov. 1955, p. 811.)

I recently had an experience that changed my idea of service. It started when a professor of mine gave everyone in the class a one dollar bill. Our assignment was to find someone who really needed help and find a way to serve them using just the dollar we were given.
I did not think much about the assignment. In fact, I gave my dollar to a little boy so he could get a snack while he waited for his parents.
The day the assignment was due, a girl got up to talk about her experience. She said that everyone in the class got together to do their service project because if they combined their dollars they would have more to help someone.
I felt completely out of place because I had no idea what they were talking about.
The girl walked over and put a cardboard box on my desk and then she said, “Ryanne, this class loves you for your strength. We each started out with just a dollar, but we were able to put our dollars together and collect some from other people to give to you to help you pay for your arthritis medicine.”
Each member of the class took turns going up to the front and telling me why they loved me. Then they took the money they had raised and placed it in the box.
There were only 10 people in my class, but all together they had raised a few hundred dollars because they cared about me. I was so touched. And I was so impressed and grateful for the thought they had put into the assignment and the caring they showed to me. I was very appreciative of the money because it would help me get medicines that I needed.
The point my professor was trying to make was that everyone is blessed with gifts and talents. It is up to each of us to come up with ways to share our gifts and talents to serve those around us (see Matthew 25:14–30). I learned how wonderful, sincere, and thoughtful service can be.
In my case, my classmates were able to find a way to use their dollars to impact my life. It was more than just the money; it was friendship.

Kyle sat on his parents’ bed and watched Dad take his temple bag out of the closet. Mom and Dad went to the temple every month. Kyle couldn’t wait until he turned 12 and could go to the temple with them. Then it could be their special family night!
But for now, Kyle got to spend the night at his grandparents’ house. And that was pretty great too. Grandpa and Grandma always did fun things, like watch movies and play board games. Kyle already had his bag packed.
Kyle watched as Dad reverently folded a white shirt and placed it in his bag. “Remind me what you’re doing at the temple?” he asked Dad.
“Well, you know how Grandma has been doing a lot of family history lately? She found out that temple work hasn’t been done for some of our ancestors. So we’re going to do their temple work tonight.”
Kyle nodded. He’d helped Grandma figure out how to use the family history website. They had typed in lots of names and dates and scanned and uploaded a stack of black-and-white photographs.
“What exactly is temple work?” Kyle asked.
Mom sat down next to Kyle on the edge of the bed.
“Well, you know what ‘covenants’ are.”
Kyle nodded. “Promises with Heavenly Father.”
“Right. You made a covenant when you were baptized. In the temple we make more covenants. But some of our relatives didn’t have a chance to make those covenants before they died. So we go to the temple to make those covenants and give them a chance to accept them.”
“We call it ‘temple work,’ but it really doesn’t feel like work,” Dad said as he zipped up his bag. “It feels like a blessing—a blessing for us and a blessing for them. Lots of Grandma’s relatives still need their temple work to be done.”
“I wish I could help them,” Kyle said.
Dad squeezed Kyle’s shoulder. “You can help them. In fact, you already have! Remember how exciting it was when you helped Grandma put the stories and pictures on the family history website?”
Kyle nodded. That had been fun!
“When you do that, you’re helping us get to know our family members better. And we can see who still needs help getting their temple work done. I hope you keep helping Grandma find more pictures and stories. And I really hope you help us keep it organized online!”
Kyle smiled. He was pretty good at using the computer.
Dad picked up his bag. “Let’s go to the living room and have a prayer before we leave. Then we’ll drop you off at Grandma and Grandpa’s.”
Kyle knelt at the sofa. He listened to Mom thank Heavenly Father for the temple and for family history work. Then she prayed for help to learn more about their ancestors so that they could do their temple work.
Kyle got a warm feeling as Mom prayed. He decided right then that he would make good choices so that he would be worthy to go to the temple with Mom and Dad when he was old enough. And in the meantime, he could help other members of his family have temple time too.

On top of my desk sits a bright blue beanbag. On each side is a yellow sun. The beanbag sits there to remind me of a personal miracle I call “Sunbeam love.”
It began with a call to teach Primary a few months after I returned to Church activity. My past struggles had led to renewed spiritual commitments, and I was eager to serve.
My first day teaching a group of Sunbeams convinced me I was far from ready. As I met the children, I was shocked at how far down I had to look to find the tops of their little heads. Their faces looked up at me apprehensively.
For an introduction I had planned a beanbag game—with an oversized beanbag I had made myself. With the first toss, I knew immediately I had overestimated the size of these children. The throw sent a wide-eyed girl sailing backwards as she bravely absorbed the bag’s impact.
At home that night, I pleaded with Heavenly Father for help. How do I relate to such tiny, tender beings? Suddenly my vision focused on a picture on my wall. It was a portrait of Jesus Christ holding a small child. I studied the expression of love depicted in Christ’s eyes. How much He must love children! How He desires to reassure them of His love! I then realized with perfect clarity that this was exactly what the Savior wanted me to do: to love them in a way that would reassure them of His love.
It was a simple answer. But to me, it seemed I had been asked to perform a miracle. Six painful years as a stepparent, followed by a divorce, had left my heart numb—especially to the idea of loving someone else’s children. Throughout the night I struggled to reconcile the conflict in my heart. It was only after hours of praying that the Spirit convinced me I could change.
From that Sunday forth, a personal miracle began to unfold. Each week during Primary, I was guided by the Spirit in the art of loving. And throughout the year, I was loved in return. There were excited waves across the chapel during sacrament meeting, shouted greetings from grocery store aisles, and gifts of oddly shaped cookies.
Panic set in as the year concluded and my glorious row of Sunbeams graduated. My heart ached wildly for my little friends. Feeling abandoned, I sat numbly, surrounded by eight tiny strangers.
Then came the introductory beanbag game. As I picked up the worn, oversized bag, I paused, remembering a similar Sunday a year before. How overwhelmed I had felt then! And how far I had come! The memories attending this familiar beanbag fueled me with hope. As I met each pair of bright eyes, I saw their pleading looks, “Please love me, too.”
And so I did.

A group of sisters in Caracas, Venezuela, acted with compassion when they visited a nursing home as part of a service project. They took cookies and a drink to share with the women there. But when they saw the women—with disheveled hair and nearly without clothing, slumped in chairs with expressionless faces—they felt what the women must be feeling and acted immediately. They gathered clothing and helped dress the women. Then they cleaned faces and bodies and combed hair. After bringing dignity to these women, they held hands with them, talked with them, and shared their refreshments.

Recently I received a letter from a friend of over 50 years who is not a member of our church. I had sent him some gospel-related reading, to which he responded: “Initially it was hard for me to follow the meaning of typical Mormon jargon, such as agency. Possibly a short vocabulary page would be helpful.”
I was surprised he did not understand what we mean by the word agency. I went to an online dictionary. Of the 10 definitions and usages of the word agency, none expressed the idea of making choices to act. We teach that agency is the ability and privilege God gives us to choose and “to act for [ourselves] and not to be acted upon.” Agency is to act with accountability and responsibility for our actions. Our agency is essential to the plan of salvation. With it we are “free to choose liberty and eternal life, through the great Mediator of all men, or to choose captivity and death, according to the captivity and power of the devil.”
The words of a familiar hymn teach us this principle very clearly:
Know this, that ev’ry soul is free
To choose his life and what he’ll be;
For this eternal truth is giv’n:
That God will force no man to heav’n.
To answer my friend’s question and the questions of good men and women everywhere, let me share with you more of what we know about this meaning of agency.
Before we came to this earth, Heavenly Father presented His plan of salvation—a plan to come to earth and receive a body, choose to act between good and evil, and progress to become like Him and live with Him forever.
Our agency—our ability to choose and act for ourselves—was an essential element of this plan. Without agency we would be unable to make right choices and progress. Yet with agency we could make wrong choices, commit sin, and lose the opportunity to be with Heavenly Father again. For this reason a Savior would be provided to suffer for our sins and redeem us if we would repent. By His infinite Atonement, He brought about “the plan of mercy, to appease the demands of justice.”
After Heavenly Father presented His plan, Lucifer stepped forward, saying, “Send me, … and I will redeem all mankind, that [not even] one soul shall … be lost … ; wherefore give me thine honor.” This plan was rejected by our Father, for it would have denied us our agency. Indeed, it was a plan of rebellion.
Then Jesus Christ, Heavenly Father’s “Beloved and Chosen [Son] from the beginning,” exercised His agency to say, “Father, thy will be done, and the glory be thine forever.” He would be our Savior—the Savior of the world.
Because of Lucifer’s rebellion, a great spiritual conflict ensued. Each of Heavenly Father’s children had the opportunity to exercise the agency Heavenly Father had given him or her. We chose to have faith in the Savior Jesus Christ—to come unto Him, follow Him, and accept the plan Heavenly Father presented for our sakes. But a third of Heavenly Father’s children did not have faith to follow the Savior and chose to follow Lucifer, or Satan, instead.
And God said, “Wherefore, because that Satan rebelled against me, and sought to destroy the agency of man, which I, the Lord God, had given him, … I caused that he should be cast down.” Those who followed Satan lost the opportunity to receive a mortal body, live on earth, and progress. Because of the way they used their agency, they lost their agency.
Today the only power Satan and his followers have is the power to tempt and try us. Their only joy is to make us “miserable like unto [themselves].” Their only happiness comes when we are disobedient to the Lord’s commandments.
But think of it: in our premortal state we chose to follow the Savior Jesus Christ! And because we did, we were allowed to come to earth. I testify that by making the same choice to follow the Savior now, while we are here on earth, we will obtain an even greater blessing in the eternities. But let it be known: we must continue to choose to follow the Savior. Eternity is at stake, and our wise use of agency and our actions are essential that we might have eternal life.
Throughout His life our Savior showed us how to use our agency. As a boy in Jerusalem, He deliberately chose to “be about [His] Father’s business.” In His ministry, He obediently chose “to do the will of [His] Father.” In Gethsemane, He chose to suffer all things, saying, “Not my will, but thine, be done. And there appeared an angel unto him from heaven, strengthening him.” On the cross, He chose to love His enemies, praying, “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.” And then, so that He could finally demonstrate that He was choosing for Himself, He was left alone. “[Father,] why hast thou forsaken me?” He asked. At last, He exercised His agency to act, enduring to the end, until He could say, “It is finished.”
Though He “was in all points tempted like as we are,” with every choice and every action He exercised the agency to be our Savior—to break the chains of sin and death for us. And by His perfect life, He taught us that when we choose to do the will of our Heavenly Father, our agency is preserved, our opportunities increase, and we progress.
Evidence of this truth is found throughout the scriptures. Job lost everything he had yet chose to remain faithful, and he gained the eternal blessings of God. Mary and Joseph chose to follow the warning of an angel to flee into Egypt, and the life of the Savior was preserved. Joseph Smith chose to follow the instructions of Moroni, and the Restoration unfolded as prophesied. Whenever we choose to come unto Christ, take His name upon us, and follow His servants, we progress along the path to eternal life.
In our mortal journey, it is helpful to remember that the opposite is also true: when we don’t keep the commandments or follow the promptings of the Holy Ghost, our opportunities are reduced; our abilities to act and progress are diminished. When Cain took his brother’s life because he loved Satan more than God, his spiritual progress was stopped.
In my youth I learned an important lesson about how our actions may limit our freedom. One day my father assigned me to varnish a wooden floor. I made the choice to begin at the door and work my way into the room. When I was almost finished, I realized I had left myself no way to get out. There was no window or door on the other side. I had literally painted myself into a corner. I had no place to go. I was stuck.
Whenever we disobey, we spiritually paint ourselves into a corner and are captive to our choices. Though we are spiritually stuck, there is always a way back. Like repentance, turning around and walking across a newly varnished floor means more work—a lot of resanding and refinishing! Returning to the Lord isn’t easy, but it is worth it.
As we understand the challenge of repenting, we appreciate the blessings of the Holy Ghost to guide our agency and Heavenly Father, who gives us commandments and strengthens and sustains us in keeping them. We also understand how obedience to the commandments ultimately protects our agency.
For example, when we hearken to the Word of Wisdom, we escape the captivity of poor health and addiction to substances that literally rob us of our ability to act for ourselves.
As we obey the counsel to avoid and get out of debt now, we use our agency and obtain the liberty to use our disposable income for helping and blessing others.
When we follow the prophets’ counsel to hold family home evening, family prayer, and family scripture study, our homes become an incubator for our children’s spiritual growth. There we teach them the gospel, bear our testimonies, express our love, and listen as they share their feelings and experiences. By our righteous choices and actions, we liberate them from darkness by increasing their ability to walk in the light.
The world teaches many falsehoods about agency. Many think we should “eat, drink, and be merry; … and if it so be that we are guilty, God will beat us with a few stripes, and at last we shall be saved.” Others embrace secularism and deny God. They convince themselves that there is no “opposition in all things” and, therefore, “whatsoever a man [does is] no crime.” This “destroy[s] the wisdom of God and his eternal purposes.”
Contrary to the world’s secular teaching, the scriptures teach us that we do have agency, and our righteous exercise of agency always makes a difference in the opportunities we have and our ability to act upon them and progress eternally.
For example, through the prophet Samuel, the Lord gave a clear commandment to King Saul:
“The Lord sent me to anoint thee to be king … : now therefore hearken thou unto the voice … of the Lord. …
“… Go and smite Amalek, and utterly destroy all that they have.”
But Saul did not follow the Lord’s commandment. He practiced what I call “selective obedience.” Relying on his own wisdom, he spared the life of King Agag and brought back the best of the sheep, oxen, and other animals.
The Lord revealed this to the prophet Samuel and sent him to remove Saul from being king. When the prophet arrived, Saul said, “I have performed the commandment of the Lord.” But the prophet knew otherwise, saying, “What meaneth then this bleating of the sheep in mine ears, and the lowing of the oxen which I hear?”
Saul excused himself by blaming others, saying the people had kept the animals in order to make sacrifices to the Lord. The prophet’s answer was clear: “Hath the Lord as great delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices, as in obeying the voice of the Lord? Behold, to obey is better than sacrifice, and to hearken [to the commandments of the Lord] than the fat of rams.”
Finally, Saul confessed, saying, “I have sinned: for I have transgressed the commandment of the Lord, and thy words: because I feared the people, and obeyed their voice.” Because Saul did not hearken with exactness—because he chose to be selectively obedient—he lost the opportunity and the agency to be king.
My brothers and sisters, are we hearkening with exactness to the voice of the Lord and His prophets? Or, like Saul, are we practicing selective obedience and fearing the judgments of men?
I acknowledge that all of us make mistakes. The scriptures teach us, “All have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.” For those who find themselves captive to past unrighteous choices, stuck in a dark corner, without all the blessings available by the righteous exercise of agency, we love you. Come back! Come out of the dark corner and into the light. Even if you have to walk across a newly varnished floor, it is worth it. Trust that “through the Atonement of Christ, all mankind [including you and me] may be saved, by obedience to the laws and ordinances of the Gospel.”
As the hour of the Atonement was upon Him, the Savior offered His great Intercessory Prayer and spoke of each of us, saying: “Father, I will that they also, whom thou hast given me, be with me where I am; that they may behold my glory, which thou hast given me.” “And this is life eternal, that they might know thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent.”
I bear my special witness that They live. When we exercise our agency in righteousness, we come to know Them, become more like Them, and prepare ourselves for that day when “every knee shall bow, and every tongue confess” that Jesus is our Savior. May we continue to follow Him and our Eternal Father, as we did in the beginning, I pray in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

As a young missionary I was assigned to a small island of about 700 inhabitants in a remote area of the South Pacific. To me the heat was oppressive, the mosquitoes were terrible, the mud was everywhere, the language was impossible, and the food was—well, “different.”

After a few months our island was struck by a powerful hurricane. The devastation was massive. Crops were ruined, lives were lost, housing was blown away, and the telegraph station—our only link to the outside world—was destroyed. A small government boat normally came every month or two, so we rationed our food to last four or five weeks, hoping the boat would come. But no boat came. Every day we became weaker. There were acts of great kindness, but as the sixth and seventh weeks passed with very little food, our strength slipped noticeably. My native companion, Feki, helped me in every way he could, but as the eighth week commenced, I had no energy. I just sat under the shade of a tree and prayed and read scriptures and spent hours and hours pondering the things of eternity.

The ninth week began with little outward change. However, there was a great inward change. I felt the Lord’s love more deeply than ever before and learned firsthand that His love “is the most desirable above all things … yea, and the most joyous to the soul” (1 Ne. 11:22–23).

I was pretty much skin and bones by now. I remember watching, with deep reverence, my heart beating, my lungs breathing, and thinking what a marvelous body God has created to house our equally marvelous spirit! The thought of a permanent union of these two elements, made possible through the Savior’s love, atoning sacrifice, and Resurrection, was so inspiring and satisfying that any physical discomfort faded into oblivion.

When we understand who God is, who we are, how He loves us, and what His plan is for us, fear evaporates. When we get the tiniest glimpse of these truths, our concern over worldly things vanishes. To think we actually fall for Satan’s lies that power, fame, or wealth is important is truly laughable—or would be were it not so sad.

I learned that just as rockets must overcome the pull of gravity to roar into space, so we must overcome the pull of the world to soar into the eternal realms of understanding and love. I realized my mortal life might end there, but there was no panic. I knew life would continue, and whether here or there didn’t really matter. What did matter was how much love I had in my heart. I knew I needed more! I knew that our joy now and forever is inextricably tied to our capacity to love.

As these thoughts filled and lifted my soul, I gradually became aware of some excited voices. My companion Feki’s eyes were dancing as he said, “Kolipoki, a boat has arrived, and it is full of food. We are saved! Aren’t you excited?” I wasn’t sure, but since the boat had come, that must be God’s answer, so yes, I was happy. Feki gave me some food and said, “Here, eat.” I hesitated. I looked at the food. I looked at Feki. I looked into the sky and closed my eyes.

I felt something very deep. I was grateful my life here would go on as before; still, there was a wistful feeling—a subtle sense of postponement, as when darkness closes the brilliant colors of a perfect sunset and you realize you must wait for another evening to again enjoy such beauty.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to open my eyes, but when I did I realized that God’s love had changed everything. The heat, the mud, the mosquitoes, the people, the language, the food were no longer challenges. Those who had tried to harm me were no longer my enemies. Everyone was my brother or sister. Being filled with God’s love is the most joyous of all things and is worth every cost.

São Paulo, Brazil—Jose Evandro Pontalti was close to fulfilling the dream of most Brazilian boys to become a professional soccer player, when he decided to serve a full-time mission.
Jose was playing for a minor league soccer team in Cambara, Brazil, when the team trainer, Brother Alcides dos Santos Goncalves, introduced him to the Church. Brother Goncalves would discuss the Bible, family relations, and similar topics with the team. Then he moved away.
Jose began to read the Book of Mormon and soon gained a testimony. The Church was not organized in Cambara so he had to travel to Bauru, near São Paulo, and to be baptized.
While in Bauru, he played in a soccer competition, was named the team’s best player, and received an offer from the Regatas do Flamengo, a professional team. After some months as a reserve team member preparing to turn professional at age twenty-one, he decided to serve a mission. Despite arguments from the club owner and coaches that he could be giving up a promising career, Jose would not change his mind.
Even though some people don’t understand his decision, says Elder Pontalti, “I am very happy to be serving in the São Paulo South Mission.”

Joel Herd of Rock Springs, Wyoming, responded quickly and correctly when a fellow student began choking on something he swallowed while in the school cafeteria. Joel applied the Heimlich maneuver he learned in his Boy Scouts first aid classes. The obstruction was cleared, and the student resumed breathing. Teachers nearby were called over, but by the time they arrived, Joel had taken care of the situation.

The meals were cooked over open fires in blackened pots and long-handled frying pans. After tea was over and the dishes were cleaned up and put away, the various patrol fires were ringed with boys and leaders. They sat on logs with their arms clasped around their knees, “yarning” about the gospel, cricket, the bad drought in Tasmania, and whether or not any of the political parties would accept Dick Smith’s offer of a one-million-dollar donation to stop the building of the Franklin Dam. American sports also interested them. “What about you, Brother Kelly? Do you like to play gridiron?” they would ask.
Though everyone had his favorite activities, most agreed that the most successful part of the whole camp was the wonderful associations that were forged in the warm glow of campfire conversations, in the hot dust of the island’s trails, and in the friendly warmth of patrol and tent group prayers.
“At first the camp appeared boring, but by the second day things became all right. I hardly knew anybody from the other patrols at first, but by the end of the camp I had made many new friends,” said David Scott, from Launceston.
“The camp drew us all a lot closer to our leaders, and it made us all work as a group in order to eat or have activities. The camp succeeded. It brought the young men and leaders together and helped to unify the stake Scout force,” said Matthew Parsons, from Glenorchy.
Every leader enjoyed his associations with the young men of the camp. They seemed pleased when the boys wanted to tell them about their troubles and hopes for life.
“I’ve enjoyed getting to really know the boys I’ve been called to watch over. It has helped me to know their strengths, and this camp really opened up the lines of communication between us,” said Bishop Triffith, Devonport.
The young men left the camp with new friends, better associations with their priesthood leaders, and in many cases stronger interests in the gospel of Jesus Christ and the Scouting program. The first all-Tasmanian LDS Scout camp on Maria Island was over, and everyone agreed that it had been a smashing success.

I’m very happy with my name, Janetta Ann McBride. Brigham Young gave me that name and blessed me when I was a baby. He was one of the elders who visited at my parents’ home in Church Town, England, where I was born on Christmas Eve in 1839. It isn’t everyone who can claim that a prophet gave them a name and a blessing.
My father was originally from Scotland. He came to England for work. There he met my mother and married her. They joined the Church just a few years later.
When I was six years old, my family moved to Island of Bute, Scotland. I at-tended the School of Industry, where I learned how to sew and keep house. I graduated when I was eleven years old. That’s when most children began working to help their family with expenses.
I, too, would have gone straight to work, except I got sick. Instead, I was sent to live with my grandmother by the seashore. It was thought that the sea air would be good for my health. It must have been, because I got well. But Grandmother had a serious accident one day and died. By that time, my family had moved back to England, and I moved there to live with them.
At the age of fourteen, I was apprenticed to a dressmaker and learned how to make beautiful dresses. I worked for her for two years. Then my family made the decision to move to America. Times were hard in England. Jobs and food were both scarce. Also a call had gone out from the Church for the Saints to gather to Zion.
At age sixteen, I was the oldest of the children in our family. Heber had just turned thirteen. Ether was eight, Peter six, and Margaret was still a baby, not quite two years old. We loved the Lord with all our hearts. We had been commanded to gather to Zion, and so we began our journey, one step at a time. Little did we know what would face us on the journey ahead. I think, though, that even if we had known, we still would have gone.
The Church had a special fund at that time that loaned money to members for travel to Salt Lake City, Utah. In 1856, however, there wasn’t much money in it. To cut expenses, it was decided that my family, along with many others, would travel across the plains by handcart. The journey from Liverpool, England, to Salt Lake City would then only cost about forty-five dollars per person—much less than the cost of using wagons and ox teams to cross the plains.
But first we had to sail to America!
I was excited when my family packed up their belongings and headed for Liverpool. It was a great seaport, teeming with ships of every kind. I loved watching the ships being loaded and unloaded with every kind of article you could imagine. Spices from India scented the air. Passenger ships were a hive of activity as their holds were loaded with food and water. There was so much to see!
Our ship was the Horizon, a good ship. We had fine weather all the way across the Atlantic, except for a few days when it was so foggy that we couldn’t even get candles to burn! On June 30, 1856, we safely landed in Boston, Massachusetts. We were thrilled to be in the land where the gospel had been restored!
I don’t think any of us had any idea how big America really was. When we landed in Boston, we didn’t realize that our long journey was just beginning, rather than nearing its end.
From Boston, we traveled to Iowa City, Iowa, by railroad. The new railroad saved us weeks of traveling by wagon. The cattle cars were crowded, but we endured the journey well. The train stopped in Buffalo, New York, on the Fourth of July. We could only watch the people celebrate. How I wanted to join them!
Finally we arrived in Iowa City. From the train station, we walked three miles in rain and mud to the place where we were to meet the Church’s agent in charge of organizing the trek. We had been assured that everything would be ready for us when we arrived, but it wasn’t. The handcarts hadn’t even been built! We camped and worked at preparing for the journey until all was ready.
Eventually the handcarts were obtained, and our family was assigned to Captain Edward Martin’s company. Near the end of July 1856, we cheerfully began our journey to Zion. Our family had three carts when we started out. Each cart could carry about 120 pounds of baggage, 100 pounds of flour, cooking utensils, and additional food. There were 576 people in our company. I’d never been with so many members of the Church!
Pulling the handcarts wasn’t bad at first. But many of them broke down because they were built of green wood. We pulled those carts three hundred miles to Florence, Nebraska. The last members of our company, and the Willie company, arrived there on August 22. As soon as we arrived, there was some disagreement as to whether we should continue on. Some said that it was too late in the year. They felt that we should set up a winter camp in Florence and wait until spring to travel to Salt Lake City. But most of the Saints were for starting immediately. After much discussion, it was decided to continue on. We were anxious to finish our long journey. About a thousand miles remained ahead of us, but we had already come so many miles that another thousand seemed like a short trip. We didn’t know that the worst part of our journey was still ahead.

The Saints in Johannesburg reach out to each other and to those around them. For example, when the house of Ross’s friend Tumi flooded, many friends from church helped clean up the water and cheer up the family. “This was a turning point for Tumi’s mom, who wasn’t a member,” explains Ross. “She started seeing the missionaries, and today she is a member and a Relief Society teacher.” Such loving watchcare is fairly typical, as the South African members see each other as brothers and sisters. “We involve ourselves as though it was our problem,” Ross says.

Leaving behind relatives, a culture, and a land they loved must have been a daunting sacrifice, but the hardships were in many ways just beginning. Arriving in Calgary with only a suitcase, a baby buggy, and CAD $32, my parents were in great need.
The Canadian members immediately started serving my family, generously providing help with transportation, shopping, and finding a home to rent. Within a week my parents and my grandma had a home furnished with beds, a table and chairs, a couch, a crib, bedding, dishes, and even some food in the cupboards. My mother wrote in her journal how surprising and thrilling it was to see these unexpected furnishings and how grateful she was for the service given.
Along with deep feelings of gratitude, however, were other emotions. Culture shock was very real and difficult to deal with. The first year of living in Calgary was filled with English classes and frigid walks to work for Dad. They were doing everything possible to establish a sense of home, but still this was a trying time with so much change. The Saints of their new ward in Calgary worked through the language barrier to become a support system to the newly arrived members. Each Sunday my family gained strength as they attended sacrament meeting to renew their covenants, relying on the Spirit to teach them English.
Our family of five was sealed together in the Cardston Alberta Temple in October 1976. My mother had set her sights on this day over 20 years earlier and finally, in a country and language that she would have never imagined as a youth, her prayers were answered. I was then almost eight years old, and I have wonderful memories of my parents’ sparkling eyes and smiles as we children entered the sealing room.
My grandmother was also at the temple that day. I recall her excitement at seeing the temple lights as we had arrived in Cardston. Years later, after retiring from her job in Calgary, she moved to Cardston and gave many hours of service in the temple. She loved to play the organ and help inspire reverence there. Her testimony and love for the Savior was evidenced through her kindness to everyone around her. She is to me an example of a strong Latter-day Saint woman.
I feel overwhelming gratitude to my parents—the pioneers in my family—for their sacrifices of career, extended family, homeland, and possessions. It seems they gave up so much, but the Lord has so abundantly blessed them—and their posterity—for living the principles of the gospel.

“I want you to knock all the cement off these steel posts,” the boss said as he handed me the sledgehammer and stood back to watch me begin. Anxious to impress him with my eagerness for the task, I planted my feet in a wide stance, raised the sledgehammer high above my head, and brought it down hard on the barrel-sized keg of cement caked on the first leg of the extracted guardrail.
Six … seven … eight solid follow-up strokes to the same spot, but all I could feel was the stunning reverberation up the handle of the sledgehammer. Not a single chip of the hard cement seemed to yield under the blows. After resting the hammerhead on the ground for a moment and rubbing my right shoulder, again I raised the hammer high above my head and repeated the effort, but with no better result.
I felt a little embarrassed as the boss watched a minute longer. Then, starting to walk toward the tool shop, he said, “I’ll get you something that may help.”
As I had arrived for work that morning wearing ankle-high work shoes, with cowhide gloves dangling from the back pocket of my denims, I had wondered, as I had on the two previous mornings, if this would be my last day on the job. I hoped not. With only three months before I would enter the mission home, I needed every penny I could earn to help cover my mission expenses, for the first few months at least.
Dad said no sacrifice by the family would be too great for the privilege of supporting me in the mission field, and he meant it. He knew what that kind of sacrifice was. I remember how the family had spread margarine on the bread and then scraped most of it off again while my older brother Ron was in the mission field. I also sensed dad’s special gratitude when occasionally I was able to spare a few dollars of the earnings from my part-time job to add to what was sent to Ron.
Yes, I knew it would mean sacrifice, gladly offered. I also knew I had to do all I could.
I took a firmer grasp on the handle, holding it a little lower this time to get a better weight advantage from the heavy steel head. Several more strokes, and now I could feel myself becoming angry. How could I strike any harder? Why didn’t the cement break?
“I hope he doesn’t get back before I’ve shown some kind of progress,” I said to myself, glancing toward the tool shop.
When I had told the boss on Monday morning that I had quit school to work for a few months so I could go on a mission, I had hoped he would be kind of proud of me. Instead he had said, “Why do you want to waste your time like that?” Ever since then he had seemed bent on going out of his way to make snide comments about the Church and other crude remarks that, I suspected, were designed to shock me. But he was the boss and the one who would let me stay or let me go.
I had been much more comfortable last week when I first got this job and was helping Bert Godfrey lay a brick wall to replace an old wooden one that had burned down. How could I help but like that leather-faced but kindhearted man who had served three missions, two of them building missions.
The company had hired me for ten days, mostly to help build that wall. But Bert and I had worked so well together that we had finished it in a week. He didn’t seem to mind that I was a bit clumsy and lacked experience. He knew I was trying and he knew why. He just kept talking to me about serving the Lord.
Bert hadn’t told me that the real boss was on vacation, and it had come as a surprise when I showed up for work the next Monday morning. So far, though, my strategy seemed to be working. Although I was earning more than I had ever earned before, I figured that if I worked so hard that I was worth still more than they were paying me, maybe the boss would feel he just couldn’t afford to let me go.
I looked again at the long I-beam rail with 13 steel legs extending from it like a giant comb with most of its teeth missing. It had long ago served as a bumper guard, preventing cars in the parking lot from hitting the adjacent building. It had been installed by digging 13 large holes in the ground in a straight line, spaced at eight-foot intervals. A steel post was cemented into each hole, and the connecting bumper rail welded to each post. Recently the entire rail had been removed by having two large Hysters extract the whole thing in one piece, and it was lying in the driveway with each post encased in a barrel-sized cement block.
As I heard boots scuff the loose gravel on the asphalt pavement leading from the tool shop, I let loose a wild flurry of blows. I was glad that a few beads of sweat had formed on my forehead. “Here, try this,” the boss said as he handed me a heavier sledgehammer. That wasn’t quite the kind of help I had in mind.
I smiled as I traded him the smaller hammer, but I could tell that he sensed it wasn’t a completely honest smile. He watched me for a few minutes more, and then without further comment, turned away to supervise the crew working on the remodeling project in the steel fabrication plant.
“The only difference between the hammers is that this one is heavier and harder to lift,” I grumbled silently as the steel head collided with the stonehard cement. Finally one small chunk broke off. After several more strokes my arms started to ache, but the cement still remained intact.
At this rate I knew it would take me three days to complete the job. I also knew that if I didn’t show substantial progress by noon, I’d be out of a job and back standing in the labor lines at the Employment Security Office taking any kind of work available. Three days of that had made me especially anxious to keep this job.
Besides, it was 1954, and thousands of striking workers with families to feed were looking for short-term, full-time employment. How was a 20-year-old youth going to compete with them for the few jobs available?
It took only a few more hard but unsuccessful strokes to persuade me that I had reached my limit and that it was time for me to treat the problem as one needing more strength and wisdom than I possessed.
Resting the heavy hammer on the ground and trying to compose my anger and frustration, I felt the need and desire to discuss the problem with the Lord. Without either kneeling or closing my eyes, I started praying aloud to the Lord and explaining the task I faced. In a conversational but sincere way I reminded him that I wasn’t asking for the money so I could buy a yellow convertible. He had called me on a mission, and I knew he wanted me to go. This job had already been an answer to my prayers, but I needed to keep it. I didn’t expect him to send a host of angels from heaven with sledgehammers, but I knew he could help me.
Never in my life has a prayer been answered more immediately or clearly. Suddenly my mind was filled with a thought so lucid and strong that my heart started pounding. It was a simple solution, as I later considered it. To brighter or more experienced minds it might have occurred earlier, but to me it came as a direct answer to my prayer.
The compelling instruction said to me, “Instead of striking the cement, strike the steel.”
Still not fathoming exactly why, I raised the hammer and brought it crashing down five or six times on the steel post right next to the cement. As a large section of the cement cracked into big chunks and fell off, I realized that the blows to the steel had started a series of strong vibrations that were transmitted all along the steel shaft.
I quickly forgot the weight of the hammer. With new energy I struck the steel again and again, then moved on to the next post, amazed at the magnification of my efforts as the steel vibrated and the cement cracked.
Less than two hours later I had removed the cement from all 13 posts and stacked the large chunks in a pile. With the sledgehammer on my shoulder and a prayer of gratitude in my heart, I went to find the boss.
“I’ll need some help moving the railing out of the driveway,” I said, trying to conceal the excitement I felt inside. Thinking I was giving up on the project, he motioned me to follow him to the parking lot.
As we rounded the corner of the building and he saw the railing and the pile of cement, he stopped quite suddenly. His eyes blinked and opened wide. His chin started to drop a bit. For a full minute he stood silently, looking first at the railing, then at the cement. After a moment more he turned, motioned me to follow him again, and said, “Come on, I’ll give you another job.”
Nothing more was said about the incident, but the following morning when I arrived for work, he simply said, “Lloyd, you’re welcome to stay on as long as you like.”
I worked there for nearly three months before entering the mission home. He then let me come back to work again for another ten days until I departed with my group for the mission field. Never after that memorable morning did he, in my presence, make a disparaging remark about the Church or my plans to serve a mission.
Many times since that day the Lord has helped me strike the steel instead of the cement in solving other problems. But as I departed for the mission field in late November 1954, I knew that I was called of the Lord. I knew that he was listening to my prayers. And I knew for myself that he would give no commandment save he would prepare a way for it to be accomplished.

A few years ago late on an April afternoon, three other men and I got out of a small dugout boat at Agua Azul, Chiapas, Mexico, on the Usumacinta River. We entered a small one-motor plane to fly hundreds of miles westward to Tuxtla, Chiapas, on the Grijalva River.
In order to reach Tuxtla, which we had left that morning, President Ernest A. Strong from Springville, Utah, Gareth W. Lowe, manager of the New World Archaeological Foundation, William A. (Bill) Devenish, and I had to fly over one of the most dense jungles in the world and over ranges of mountains.
Heavy black clouds had settled over the jungles. We anticipated that we might run into trouble. For safety’s sake our pilot, Bill, flew the plane very high to get above the clouds. We could not see the ground at any time through the dense clouds. The radio frequency at the Tuxtla airport did not match that on our plane, and so our pilot had to estimate our course back to Tuxtla.
We had traveled a few hours when darkness came on with the immediacy it does in the tropics. Suddenly, the Holy Spirit told me that we had crossed the Grijalva River and were headed westward away from Tuxtla toward a range of mountains and that if we did not change our course quickly we would all get killed.
I immediately told Bill that we were going the wrong direction, that we had crossed the Grijalva River some distance up the river south of Tuxtla. Bill tried to determine the proper course, but because of the turbulent weather conditions, he was unable to do so.
A very depressing, dark feeling came over me. It was a feeling of gloom and despair. I said to President Strong, “We are going to be killed if we keep going in this direction. We’re headed for destruction. If Bill doesn’t change the direction of the plane soon, we will crash.”
President Strong said that he had an oppressive feeling also. We were sitting in the back seat, and Bill heard our conversation. He asked, “President Hunter, which direction do you think we ought to go?”
I quickly replied, “Turn immediately to the right and go north.”
Bill turned the plane to the right. A sweet, peaceful feeling came into my heart, and the Holy Spirit let me know that all would be well. I said, “Everything will be all right with us now. We shall arrive safely at Tuxtla without any mishap.” We had not traveled very long before we saw lights shining from Tuxtla. We circled over the small, dirt airstrip with the lanterns showing us where to land. It was by now very dark.
Our plane landed safely. We observed that there were three or four hundred people at the airstrip. President Strong’s son, Bert, also a stake president, was there and was very delighted to see us back safe. We asked Bert why so many people had collected at the airstrip that evening. He informed us that three Mexicans had gone in a two-motor plane across the jungles and mountains to the Usumacinta River that morning about the time we had flown there. They had not returned and the people of Tuxtla were out waiting for them. Some months later Gareth Lowe wrote informing us that the Mexican plane and its occupants had hit a mountain, and all were killed.
Thus, our lives were spared by heeding the directions given to us by the Holy Spirit. When we arrived at our hotel, we kneeled down and thanked God for his guidance and for saving our lives.