Gospel Story Finder

Just about every day, you can find Stella and her family visiting the landlady in their apartment building. They aren’t related to her, but Stella and her brother call her “Grandma Cecilia.”
Stella says, “She is 83 years old, and she doesn’t have any children of her own.” Stella and her family noticed she needed help and decided to “adopt” her.
Stella always lends a helping hand by sweeping and mopping Grandma Cecilia’s floor. Having a clean home is an important way to stay healthy. So Stella is doing something that really helps Grandma Cecilia. “Jesus Christ served others,” says Stella, “so that inspired me to serve her. I know that Jesus Christ and His Father are happy when I serve.”
Stella followed Jesus by helping her neighbor. Turn the page to read a story about how Jesus helped others.

When I was younger, I followed bad examples. I was curious to do the things my friends were doing. But I started feeling lost and sad. To make things worse, my family went through a lot of trials. My mom was diagnosed with a serious illness, and my brother tried to take his own life.
With all of this going on, I lost faith. It was hard to go to church because I didn’t feel like I belonged. But after a while, my leaders’ lessons made me realize that I still believed, even though my testimony was weak.
I had to work hard to stop doing and even thinking about things I knew were bad for me. I often prayed for the Lord’s help as I repented. Then one day, I found a photo of when I was a little girl and President Russell M. Nelson visited our ward. He was carrying me. I knew the photo was a reminder that God was looking out for me.
I know Jesus Christ sacrificed Himself for my sins. He can sustain us through hard things and help us find the right path, even if we get lost for a time.
Maria O., Ecuador

My family sat in father’s hospital room in a hospital in Boise, Idaho, and waited anxiously. The doctors hadn’t yet diagnosed father’s sickness, but we all knew he was terribly ill. After father had been sick for a month, mother called my brother Rich home from Brigham Young University to give father a blessing. We had done everything medically possible to help father, and this was our only hope.
We were all gathered together, and I had my own prayer in my heart. I had been on my knees more in that last month than I ever had in my entire life. I hadn’t slept much and didn’t feel physically well. My nerves were worn, and I was always restless. Although I did not know the nature of father’s illness, I had this horrible feeling that he was going to die.
After a few minutes, Rich laid his hands on father’s head and began the blessing. We were all hoping that Rich would promise a restoration of father’s health; however, Rich never once promised father that he would recover. He did tell father that peace would be with him and his family and that we would be comforted.
I left the room with tears in my eyes. My brother Keith drove me home. I went to my bedroom to be by myself and think. While sitting there I felt something good come over me, and I knew that I would be okay. I still felt that father wouldn’t live, but I felt a reassurance that I hadn’t experienced before.
Within the next week the doctors discovered that father’s illness was bone cancer. I again felt nervous and afraid. The months that followed were like a horrible nightmare. I cried myself to sleep at nights and wondered if the pain from the whole ordeal would ever go away.
Six months after the blessing, father died in his hospital bed. I was at home when he died, and my brother Steve called from the hospital to tell me of his passing. I went to my room and began to cry. I didn’t know how to feel. I only felt empty.
As I lay on my bed thinking of what my future would be like without my father, I began to feel cheated. I was only 14 years old at the time, and I didn’t think it seemed fair that I should have to give up my father when I was so young. I felt a deep sense of loss.
Then a peaceful, calm feeling came over me. It was similar to the feeling I had experienced the day of father’s blessing months before. This peacefulness was accompanied by a sense of relief. I felt father’s spirit, and I knew his love was still with me and always would be. I realized that night that although my father could be taken away physically, his spirit and love would never be taken from me. I knew that my father wasn’t gone forever. His inspiration and guidance would continue to be with me throughout my life.
Now, five years later, I realize even more the love that both my Heavenly Father and my earthly father have for me. I have often felt my earthly father near. I have felt the reassuring comfort of his spirit many times and know he has not left me alone.

My husband’s great-grandfather Henry Clegg Jr. was a finisher. He joined the Church with his family when the first LDS missionaries went to Preston, England. Henry had a view of his destination in his mind as he and his wife, Hannah, and their two young boys immigrated to Utah. Henry left his older parents, who were too feeble to make such a long and arduous journey, knowing he would never see them again.
While crossing the plains, Hannah contracted cholera and died. She was laid to rest in an unmarked grave. The company then moved on, and at 6:00 in the evening, Henry’s youngest son also died. Henry retraced his steps to Hannah’s grave, placed his young son in his wife’s arms, and reburied the two of them together. Henry then had to return to the wagon train, now five miles away. Suffering from cholera himself, Henry described his condition as being at death’s door while realizing he still had 1,000 miles to walk. Amazingly he continued forward, putting one foot in front of the other. He stopped writing in his journal for several weeks after losing his dear Hannah and little son. I was struck with the words he used when he did start writing again: “Still moving.”
When he finally reached the gathering place of the Saints, he began a new family. He kept the faith. He continued his story. Most remarkably, his heartache over the burial of his sweetheart and son gave birth to our family’s legacy of moving forward, of finishing.
Henry Clegg was still moving forward to live among the faithful Saints, to take his place, to raise a righteous family, to serve his neighbor. He had that picture in his mind even when his heart was breaking. I heard a Primary child from Ghana answer the question “What does it mean to choose the right every day?” with, “It means to follow the Lord and Savior every day and do your best even when it is hard.” This modern pioneer boy knew President Hinckley’s admonition. He knew about keeping commandments every day. He understood that his own story would unfold simply by putting one foot in front of the other, one day at a time.

“Ethan,” Dad called, “stay here on the path next to me.”
Five-year-old Ethan frowned. He loved hiking with Dad, but he didn’t want to stay on the boring old trail. There was much more to see alongside the stream.
“Come here,” Dad called again. “You might stumble and fall in those tall weeds.”
Obediently, Ethan bounded toward Dad. But as he walked, his eyes kept wandering off the trail. It wasn’t long before he saw a fallen tree and scampered toward it. Climbing on top of it he cried, “Look at me, Dad!”
Dad shook his head. “Didn’t I tell you to stay on the trail?” Ethan groaned and shuffled back toward Dad.
As they hiked, they soon came to a section of the stream lined by large boulders. Each rock looked as if it had been carefully stacked in place to hold back the soil. Ethan pointed. “Look, Dad!”
Dad nodded. “Interesting rock formation, isn’t it? I guess it wouldn’t hurt to have a look.”
Grinning, Ethan bolted toward the stream and leaped onto a boulder. Dad followed. Ethan hopped from boulder to boulder, as if playing hopscotch, until he was standing on the highest one. He watched the stream swirl and cascade over rocks below, enjoying the sight—until he heard a terrible sound.
Hiss, rattle, rattle, rattle.
There, wedged between two rocks near Ethan’s feet, was a rattlesnake.
“Daddy!” Ethan cried.
Dad was on the other side of the rattlesnake and couldn’t reach Ethan to help him. “Don’t move!” he yelled.
Ethan trembled. The only way back to the trail was to hop down the rocks the way he had come, and he was afraid that the snake could move much faster than he could. What if he startled the snake and it struck him? The snake glared at him, flicking its tongue.
“Jump in the stream,” a voice spoke to his mind. Still watching the snake, he thought about the cold, muddy water and the jagged rocks below. “Jump in the stream!” the voice said again. So Ethan took a flying leap off the boulder and landed with a splash. Dad jumped in right after him, scooped him up, and helped him to shore. Ethan hugged Dad tight, his heart pounding.
“I wanted to tell you to jump, but I didn’t dare because I thought you might get hurt,” Dad said. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”
“The Holy Ghost told me to jump,” Ethan said. “At first I didn’t listen, but then He told me again.”
“Obeying those promptings saved your life, son.” Dad looked at Ethan thoughtfully. “If I had listened to the Holy Ghost in the first place, we wouldn’t have been in danger.”
“What do you mean, Dad?”
“As we walked away from the trail, I saw something move in the grass,” Dad said. “I thought it was a mouse or a chipmunk. Suddenly, I remembered a story I read in the newspaper a few days ago about a man who recently died from a rattlesnake bite. The thought didn’t make sense to me, so I ignored it. If I had been listening, I would have recognized that the Spirit was trying to warn me.”
Ethan hugged Dad tighter, shivering to think what could have happened. “We should have stayed on the trail,” he murmured. “It’s safer.”
Dad nodded. “That’s true in life too. Even when we can’t see danger, Heavenly Father knows where the devil is lying in wait to corner us. The only safe way is to stay on the marked path.”
Ethan silently vowed to always obey. As he followed his parents, the prophets, and the Holy Ghost, he’d be safe from the worst serpent of all.

My testimony continued to grow the next year as we read the Doctrine and Covenants. I obtained a testimony that Joseph Smith was a prophet. I also decided to follow his example and ask God if the Church is true. Although I already had conviction in my heart, one afternoon I found myself alone and sincerely prayed. As I did, I realized that the testimony I was asking for had been developing as I studied the scriptures and attended seminary.
The Lord opened my mind and my heart that year, and I understood the Doctrine and Covenants as I never had before. I also learned of the great value of souls (see D&C 18:10–16) and began to share my growing testimony with those who did not know about the gospel, including my father.

Sometime later, I was home one evening with my brothers and sisters. We heard a whining noise coming from outside. We went to the window and peered out into the darkness. Soon, Major, our large German shepherd, passed through the light from the window. We could see that something was terribly wrong! Fearfully my older brother and I went outside and were able to get Major back into the light and see why he was trembling in pain. He had had an encounter with a porcupine, and countless quills had been thrust into his nose, mouth, tongue, and chest.
Immediately we went inside to call for my father to come home. He had been working late at the college. He came quickly, examined Major, and sadly announced, “We will probably have to put him to sleep.” We understood what that meant, and, through our tears, we said, “If you’re going to put Major to sleep, you will have to put us to sleep first.”
Dad had no other choice but to pull out the quills one by one. We watched in agony as Major winced and howled in pain as each quill tore away some of his flesh.
It wasn’t long until he had fully recovered and was back on duty, faithfully protecting us and our farm from all intruders. Unfortunately, some months later, he had another encounter with a porcupine and had to suffer all that pain again.

Just about four months ago a missionary was released from one of our Australia-New Zealand missions and in the following report talks about the Lord’s interest payments or dividends received following an investment of two years in His service. The missionary writes:

“First and foremost, I learned the importance and power of prayer—I learned to communicate with the Lord, and how to recognize His answers—even when He says no. I learned about having implicit faith and trust in the Lord, something I never had before. I learned to heed the promptings of the Holy Ghost. I also developed the gift of discernment. I had this to a degree before, but in the mission field I learned how to use it properly. Most important of all, I learned about myself, what I could really do.

“I found an ability to communicate with other people,” he continues, “and that has been a major milestone in my life. Since finishing my mission, I can walk across campus with my head held high, and look others in the eye. I am now at ease with people; I can face situations. I am not afraid to speak my piece—and I can do it appropriately. I find myself much more organized and tidy—Mom can’t believe it’s me! I can work harder and accomplish more. I have always cared for others, but now I know how to show my concern. I don’t fall apart as easily as I used to; so you could say without question, I have changed significantly, thanks to my mission.”

Now listen to this part: “As I awaited my hour of release, I received a witness that the Lord was pleased with my effort. It was thrilling when I talked to the mission president, especially when he looked me in the eye and said, ‘I am proud of you.’ That was reward enough for me. What a great feeling to look back and know that I gave the Lord the best that was in me! It brings a satisfaction and a peace that can come in no other way.”

Here’s another choice bit: “I was very nervous about my homecoming talk in sacrament meeting. I wanted to say the right things. Since that special Sunday evening, my bishop writes me down here at the “Y” [Brigham Young University] and tells me that there are three young people in the ward beginning to plan for missions as a direct result of my talk!”

And finally: “Not once have I ever regretted accepting the call to go on a mission. It is the most worthwhile thing I ever did. I am even thankful for the hard times, for they strengthened my character and helped me to at least begin to be the person my Heavenly Father would have me be. I learned so much more than I could have learned if I had stayed home. The Church is true without a doubt, and I am so thankful just to be a member. I am so thankful for the relationship which I have developed with the Savior, for it is an outgrowth of my mission and nothing else.”

“Mom,” Nancy asked, as she carefully put her toothbrush back into the holder and started for her bedroom, “who can I invite to my baptism Saturday?”
“Well, your dad and I will be there and the rest of your Primary class, so just about anybody else, I suppose.”
“But my teacher said that I should invite a ‘special friend,’ and all my special friends are already going to be there.”
“Why don’t we ask Heavenly Father for some help?” her mother suggested, and they knelt beside the bed.
The next day was Friday, and it was a busy one for Nancy. She came in from school and immediately started her weekend homework. She would be too busy to do it Saturday, and tonight Sister Johnson, her Primary teacher, had invited her to dinner. Nancy had never been to Sister Johnson’s home before, so she was quite excited about the evening, and it was hard to keep her mind on her homework.
At last she was through, and it was time to go. “Have you thought of a special friend to ask to your baptism tomorrow?” Nancy’s mother asked as they drove to her teacher’s house.
“No, I haven’t,” Nancy slowly replied, “but I know that Heavenly Father will help me think of someone before it’s too late.”
The Johnsons lived in a small home with a pretty yard. Their children were grown, but the house had the warmth and friendliness that people who love children bring to any place they live.
When Sister Johnson introduced her husband to Nancy, Nancy asked, “Are you coming to my baptism tomorrow?”
“No.”
Mr. Johnson’s reply was short but not angry, so Nancy then asked, “Why don’t you come to church with your wife?”
Mr. Johnson looked a bit uncomfortable as he explained to his young guest that since he wasn’t a member, he didn’t go to church.
Nancy thought for a minute. Then she asked, “Mr. Johnson, do you believe that Jesus is Heavenly Father’s Son?”
He looked startled as he answered, “Certainly.”
“Well, do you have something that you have to repent of—” Suddenly realizing that what she’d asked was none of her business, Nancy turned very red and started to apologize.
But Mr. Johnson was really nice about it. “Nancy,” he said thoughtfully, “I suppose everybody has some sin or wrongdoing that they should get squared away on, but I doubt that I have anything terrible to repent of.”
“Then why don’t you get baptized too?”
Mr. Johnson smiled patiently at her. “It’s just not that simple, young lady,” he said. “Your church asks you to believe a lot more than the fact that Jesus is the Son of God.”
“Oh,” Nancy said. “But the things that we learn in Primary are all things that Jesus wants us to know, aren’t they?”
“From what I know about what my wife teaches in Primary, they are,” Mr. Johnson acknowledged cautiously.
“Then all you have to do is pray about it, and the Holy Ghost will tell you that it’s right. Then you can be baptized!”
“Nancy, I’ve had the missionary discussions, and I simply don’t know for sure.”
The call to supper came just then, and the subject was dropped. Sister Johnson had fixed Nancy’s favorite foods, and Mr. Johnson told many interesting stories about his childhood while they ate.
Soon it was time for the Johnsons to drive Nancy home. As they pulled into her driveway, Nancy remembered her prayer. She turned to Mr. Johnson and said, “Your wife said that I should invite a special friend to my baptism tomorrow. Will you be my special friend and come?”
As Nancy waited anxiously for his answer, he was quiet for a moment. Then he smiled at her and said, “I’d be honored to.”
That evening as she prepared for bed, Nancy knelt and thanked Heavenly Father for helping her find a special friend to invite to her baptism.
Saturday afternoon Nancy and her family went to the meetinghouse. She and her father sat in their white clothes in the front row by the baptismal font, ready for the big event. As Nancy looked for the Johnsons, she saw the bishop come in and, to her surprise, he was dressed in white also. As he shook her hand, she asked, “Bishop, why are you dressed that way? Isn’t Dad going to baptize me?”
“Oh yes,” smiled Bishop Guthridge. “I’m going to baptize someone else.”
“Who?” Nancy asked. “I thought that I was the only one getting baptized today.”
“A special friend,” responded the bishop, with a twinkle in his eye. He nodded toward the doorway, where the Johnsons were coming in. Mr. Johnson was wearing white pants and a white shirt!
As they sat down next to Nancy, the bishop went to the front of the room to start the services. “We’d like to welcome you to our baptisms today,” he said. “You all know that this is Nancy’s big day, but you probably didn’t know that I got a call early this morning from Brother Johnson. It seems that he is a ‘special friend’ to someone who taught him last night how to know that the gospel is true, and he wants to be baptized too. So today will be extra special for two people, their families, and for all of us.”

The big glass jar had the words “Fill Your Life with Service” on the side. Each week the young women and their leaders from the Titusville Ward in Florida anonymously wrote down the acts of service they had given during the week. The slips of paper were then rolled, taped, and placed in the jar. The young women used yellow paper, and the leaders used green. Plus, on one Mutual night for each of the six months of the project the young women held a service activity.
The first month focused on service to family, week two on friends, and then the priesthood, neighbors, community, and the world. The slips of paper revealed all kinds of service: “I helped my brother with his homework,” “I baked my friend a cake,” “I volunteered at the animal shelter,” “I sent some mail to missionaries from our ward.”
Jessica Crook, a Beehive, said, “I think the activities helped all of us understand more about helping and serving others.” In the end there were more yellow papers than green, so the young women were rewarded with a dinner prepared and served by their leaders.

Levi didn’t have his mind on Primary that Sunday. He was still angry with his older brother, Jason.
Jason had just gotten his driver’s license. Last week, he had run over Levi’s bike, even though Levi had carefully parked it at the side of the garage. Levi had saved his own money to buy the bike. It had taken a long time.
“I’m really sorry. I’ll fix it up just like new,” Jason promised.
Levi looked at the crumpled fender. “It won’t be the same.”
Jason apologized again, but Levi refused to listen. “If you weren’t such a crummy driver, you wouldn’t have wrecked my bike.”
“I told you I’d fix the bike.” Jason didn’t sound so sorry now.
Levi stomped off, locking himself in his room for the rest of the afternoon and coming out only when Mom insisted he join the family for dinner.
That was last Wednesday. Levi had held onto his grudge for four days. It bothered him, being angry at Jason. Still, he didn’t feel like forgiving his brother.
After opening exercises and singing time, Sister McClure, the second counselor in the Primary presidency, presented Sharing Time to the older children. Starting with Levi’s class, she passed around a small paper cup. “Take one and pass it on,” she said.
Levi reached inside the cup and found it filled with pebbles.
“Put a pebble into your shoe,” she said. “Now try walking in place.”
Levi lifted up his foot and brought it down again. The little stone felt funny against his foot. He tried to move it to a more comfortable spot, but it kept rubbing against his foot.
“Now reverently walk around the room,” Sister McClure instructed.
Some of the children started giggling but stopped when Sister McClure reminded them to be reverent. A couple of the younger children started to limp and bent down to remove their stones.
Levi kept the pebble in his shoe. It began to feel a lot bigger as he walked.
After a few minutes, Sister McClure told the children to take their seats and remove the pebbles from their shoes. Once more, she passed around the paper cup and asked the children to put the pebbles inside.
Then she explained, “Those little pebbles are like the feelings we have when we don’t forgive someone who has offended us. They can start out small but then feel bigger and bigger.”
“What if the person who did something to hurt us isn’t really sorry?” Levi wanted to know.
“Sometimes we need to forgive, even when the other person doesn’t apologize or repent,” Sister McClure responded.
Sister McClure told a story about a time when the Prophet Joseph Smith forgave one of his friends who had betrayed him. Levi felt a lump in his throat as he listened to how the Prophet had forgiven William W. Phelps, even though Brother Phelps had conspired with the mobs who persecuted the Church and its leaders.
Levi thought about Sister McClure’s lesson during the rest of Primary. Following dinner that evening, when his parents asked family members what they had learned in church, Levi told them about the pebbles.
“How did your foot feel by the time you took the pebble out?” his dad asked.
“My foot was a little sore,” Levi admitted. “Sister McClure compared walking around with a pebble in your shoe to carrying a grudge and refusing to forgive someone who offended you.”
“It sounds like one of Mom’s object lessons,” his little sister, Annie, said.
Everyone laughed. The whole family knew that Mom liked to use objects in the lessons she gave for family home evening.
Before he went to bed, Levi knocked on Jason’s door. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a jerk,” he said when Jason opened the door. “I know you didn’t mean to run over my bike.”
“Hey, I’m the one who’s sorry.” Jason pulled Levi into a bear hug and lifted him off the floor. “What do you say we work on the bike together tomorrow after school? I’ll ask Dad if we can use his tools.”
“Great!” Levi said, and as he went to his room, he thought, “I really do feel great!”

Thomas Gehlauf from the Dresden Ward was among the second group of missionaries allowed by the communist government to serve in other lands. He left the GDR in May 1990 to serve in Colorado and returned from his mission to a reunified Germany. He remembers the excitement among Church members within the GDR when full-time missionaries entered the country after the Berlin Wall fell in 1989. Brother Gehlauf says that serving as a stake missionary at the time “was wonderful preparation for going on a full-time mission. We had teaching appointments almost every day till 9:00 or 10:00 in the evening. And there were baptisms almost every Sunday for about six months after the missionaries came to Dresden.”

Those who have known President Nelson throughout his life all attest to his remarkable personal qualities and tremendous intellect and spirituality. Over 40 years ago, before he became an Apostle, and while actively performing heart surgeries, he literally saved my father’s life (or as President Nelson later told me, “I gave your daddy another 15 years”). The following are several journal entries by my parents from that time in 1975. Although written many years ago, these entries give a very personal glimpse of his spiritual qualities already so apparent:
From my mother’s journal, describing her feelings during this very anxious time: “Over this period as I talked with Doctor Nelson, I gained the impression that he combined everything he did and said with the practical and spiritual intertwined and that he was a most remarkable man and servant of the Lord.” Several days following the surgery, she recorded: “Doctor Nelson is such a wonderful person first and doctor second. He’s so bright, and to me, the gospel shines from his face.”
And from my father’s journal: “I felt complete trust and confidence in Doctor Nelson, knowing that he is a choice servant of the Lord. I knew that whether I lived or died, I was in the hands of the Lord.”

by Nancy Gunn
As the “Star Spangled Banner” was played at the Boy Scout Hokushinetsu-Taikai Jamboree in Toyama, Japan, Kenneth Gunn and Karl Guymon of the Salt Lake Hunter East Stake discovered a new feeling of pride in their country. The two Eagle Scouts were the only two American Scouts at the jamboree which 4,500 Japanese Scouts attended. Kenneth and Karl were guests of the Matsumoto Scout Troop.
The two Scouts prepared for the experience by taking English and Japanese versions of the Book of Mormon with them, along with Church pamphlets and Tabernacle Choir records. They wanted to make their trip a missionary experience as much as possible. Kenneth’s family even placed their photo in some of the books, and each family member who was old enough wrote down his or her testimony, placing it in one of the books.
Their first day in Matsumoto the two Scouts met the mayor and presented him with a plaque from Salt Lake City, which is Matsumoto’s sister city. During their 2 1/2-week visit, the boys stayed with various families. They were overwhelmed by the courtesy shown them by their host families.
The five-day jamboree was held near Toyama Bay in the Japanese alps. One of the requirements of the camp was that the Scouts all attend a worship service on Sunday. Kenneth and Karl held their own sacrament service.
The two Scouts felt that their short mission of sorts was very successful and that their polite refusal to drink tea, along with the gifts they gave of the Book of Mormon, pamphlets, and records, helped them plant seeds for future missionary efforts in Japan. They learned to love the country and its gracious people on their once-in-a-life-time trip.

It had been an aggravating, irritating day—one in which I felt that nobody appreciated my efforts in behalf of the family. All the packing, planning, and preparation for our family’s annual camping trip had been left to me. My husband, David, a surgeon in training, had taken it for granted that I would attend to every detail of the trip. He had stayed at the hospital long past our planned departure time.
Before we had even driven out of the city, the children were restless and bored with the confinement of the car’s back seat. When David said I hadn’t packed enough activities to keep the children entertained in the car, I made some angry remark back at him.
“She’s just angry at Dad,” explained ten-year-old Owen to his little sister. It was then that I switched on a cassette tape of Primary songs for children and sat in bad-tempered silence.
But the joy of the Primary songs was contagious. One by one each family member began to sing along, until even my own anger melted, and I couldn’t resist joining in the chorus of “Listen, Listen.” The Holy Ghost will whisper. Listen, listen to the still small voice” (Children’s Songbook, 1989, page 107). How quickly the music changed the mood of our little family on that long stretch of highway. How quickly and how timely.
“We need to turn the car around,” David said as the sound of the chorus faded.
“What for?” I asked. “What did I forget?”
“Nothing,” he laughed. “I just have this compelling feeling that we need to turn around.”
Just as we had been in harmony in our song—suddenly we all felt the need to turn around. And as crazy as it seemed at the time, we followed the prompting, turned the car around, and started back along the way we had come. Shortly afterward, we reached a parked vehicle, and its driver stood by the side of the road motioning us to stop. As we slowed the car by him, he frantically called out:
“There’s been an accident,” he said. “A young woman was driving a motorcycle, and it rolled over off the highway. I think she’s dying.” He motioned to a still body in the grass at the side of the highway—a wrecked motorcycle beside her. We parked the car, and my husband got out.
We had never carried a first-aid kit in the car, but this time we happened to have an emergency kit with us consisting of medical supplies David had picked up at a hospital sale just three weeks earlier. For the first time in our lives, we had it in the car! Feeling helpless and scared, I held the children close to me as David grabbed the kit and headed for the accident victim.
As he reached the body, my daughter said, “We should pray.” Thankful for her suggestion, we bowed our heads. “Heavenly Father,” we pleaded, “please help Daddy. Help him to know what to do to save this girl’s life. …”
As I watched my husband kneel beside the young woman and assess her condition, I was humbled. The girl was indeed dying—unconscious and not breathing. David took out the last two items he had added to the emergency kit: a tube-like device called an oral airway that opens up the air passage to the lungs, and a bag that pumps in air and allows the doctor to “breathe” for the patient. He used them both. Along with his medical skills, they probably saved her life.
When the ambulance arrived, my husband rode to the hospital with the patient. In the ambulance, he was able to talk over the two-way radio to medical personnel at the hospital, preparing everyone for their arrival.
As I drove the car behind the ambulance, my mind was filled with questions. What if we hadn’t had the first-aid kit? What if David hadn’t gone to the hospital sale? What if he hadn’t been trained for such an emergency? And most of all, what if we had continued to argue instead of sing? Would we have then heard the “still small voice” prompting us to turn the car around? Would we have recognized it?
The cassette tape in the car had continued to play throughout the entire drama. Silent and in wonder, the children and I listened:
“For all his creations, of which I’m a part[,] Yes, I know Heavenly Father loves me” (Children’s Songbook, 1989, page 229).

‘Alofanga (‘Alo) Moli’s life has been refined as a result of the gospel. As a young boy on Vava‘u, he was unable to attend school regularly because of severe headaches and nosebleeds. Though not a member of the Church, he fell in love with ‘Ana, who was. ‘Alo was baptized in December 1957 and a short time later was called to serve as a labor missionary, helping to construct meetinghouses. But health problems still plagued him. One day as he lay stricken, he was given a priesthood blessing and promised that if he served the Lord, these ailments would never return. This blessing has been fulfilled.

‘Alo’s knowledge and understanding increased as he magnified his Church callings. In 1960 he and ‘Ana married, and in 1962 they served a two-year mission together. Brother Moli was called as branch president in each place they served.

After their mission the Molis and their two baby daughters moved to the island of ‘Eua to farm with ‘Ana’s brother. ‘Alo served as counselor to the district president. “Our mission prepared us for the callings we received,” he says. “Later I served as branch president for 11 years. The rest of our 14 children were born here.”

This gospel training carried over into his personal life. “After Hurricane Isaac hit in 1982, our crops were ruined and I needed work,” says Brother Moli. “An unexpected opportunity came for me to manage a general store for three years. My experience as branch president helped me know what to do. No one believed I could do it because I had not gone to school, but the Holy Ghost had taught me.”

Now ‘Alo serves as a temple sealer, ‘Ana as a temple worker. “Though I have only been a farmer on a tiny Pacific island,” says ‘Alo, “I stand as a witness of the truthfulness of the gospel and the reality of Jesus Christ.”

Many years ago I would visit an older widow named Mattie, whom I had known for many years and whose bishop I had been. My heart grieved at her utter loneliness. A precious son of hers lived many miles away, and for years he had not visited his mother. Mattie spent long hours in a lonely vigil at her front window. Behind a frayed and frequently opened curtain, the disappointed mother would say to herself, “Dick will come; Dick will come.”

But Dick didn’t come. The years passed by one after another. Then, like a ray of sunshine, Church activity came into the life of Dick, one of my former Aaronic Priesthood boys, who now lived in Houston, Texas, far away from his mother. He journeyed to Salt Lake to visit with me. He telephoned upon his arrival and, with excitement, reported the change in his life. He asked if I had time to see him if he were to come directly to my office. My response was one of gladness. However, I said, “Dick, first visit your mother and then come to see me.” He gladly complied with my request.

Before he could get to my office, there came a phone call from Mattie, his mother. From a joyful heart came words punctuated by tears: “Bishop, I knew Dick would come. I told you he would. I saw him coming through the window.”

Not many years later at Mattie’s funeral, Dick and I spoke tenderly of that experience. We had witnessed a glimpse of God’s healing power through the window of a mother’s faith in her son.

In 1920, then-Elder David O. McKay of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles began a yearlong tour of the missions of the Church. By May 1921, he was standing in a small cemetery in Fagali‘i, Samoa, before the well-tended graves of three small children, the daughter and two sons of Thomas and Sarah Hilton. These little ones—the oldest was two—died during the time Thomas and Sarah served as a young missionary couple in the late 1800s.

Before he left Utah, Elder McKay promised Sarah, now a widow, that he would visit her children’s graves in Samoa as she had never been able to return there. Elder McKay wrote back to her, “Your three little ones, Sister Hilton, in silence most eloquent … carry on your noble missionary work begun nearly thirty years ago.” Then he added a verse of his own composition:
By loving hands their dying eyes were closed,
By loving hands their little limbs composed,
By foreign hands their humble graves adorned,
By strangers honor’d, and by strangers mourned.

This story is but one of thousands, hundreds of thousands, that speak of the time, treasure, and lives sacrificed over the last 200 years to share the message of the Restoration.

Next, young women, may I admonish you to participate in a program of daily reading and pondering of the scriptures. We remember the experience of our beloved prophet, President Spencer W. Kimball. As a fourteen-year-old boy, he accepted the challenge of reading the Bible from cover to cover. Most of his reading was done by coal oil light in his attic bedroom. He read every night until he completed the 1,519 pages, which took him approximately a year; but he attained his goal.

Despite critical food shortages, the Poles went out of their way to make sure Kevin and his mother were fed. “It was great to see how the people would help each other. They would help us, too, even though we were foreigners. They would bring food from the farms so we could eat. They wanted me to do well as a pianist, to be well fed so that I could practice hard, have good lessons, and do well in the competition.
“I know the Lord watched over my mother and me at all times,” Kevin said. “He helped me to prepare and to perform at my best. He also helped us make some wonderful friends, and I think the Lord used them as an instrument to bless our lives.”