Gospel Story Finder

Elder Crockett was born on 15 January 1934 and grew up in Pima, Arizona, a rural community founded by LDS pioneers. His parents, Wilford W. Crockett III and Jacy Boggs Crockett, were strong in the gospel and taught him righteous principles. One time when he wanted to go to a dance instead of fulfilling a Church responsibility, his father said, “A man who can’t be depended on isn’t worth anything.” From then on Elder Crockett determined to do whatever he was assigned in the Church, whether serving as Primary teacher or stake president or mission president.

During my rebellious teenage years I did not always want to listen to the counsel I was given. When I graduated from high school I wanted to attend a college where I could experience my freedom; even though my two older brothers attended BYU I did not want to attend a church school with what I saw as a rigid honor code. One reason was that my parents had strict rules about appropriate church attire and did not allow any casual clothes on Sunday.
This rule was especially challenging when I was a little girl because we wore dresses to school all week so girls particularly eagerly anticipated weekends so they could wear jeans and shorts. But on Sundays at my house my sister and I wore church dresses all day and my brothers wore shirts and ties. While other children rode bikes and played ball we played croquet in the backyard and board games in the house. I chafed at the rule and couldn't wait to go to college and wear what I wanted to wear-especially on Sundays.
My first Sunday at Utah State I was delighted to change into jeans after my meetings. But lounging around the dorm in torn levis and a tee shirt was not the anticipated relaxing experience. Physically and spiritually I didn't feel right. I discovered I was not comfortable departing from the habit developed as a child. From my youth I had been taught that the Sabbath lasted the entire day, not just the hours I spent at church, and if I meant to "Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy" then for me that meant dressing appropriately.
That was the only Sunday I changed into casual clothes.
From my parents I had been taught the law of the Sabbath, and dressing appropriately for the ordinance of the sacrament, and I could not turn away from it-even when my meetings were over: "He that receiveth my law and doeth it, the same is my disciple; and he that saith he receiveth it and doeth it not, the same is not my disciple."[29]
Honoring my parents, and obeying their counsel, transformed me. A rule I found restrictive as a youth became a behavior that brought me comfort and peace as an adult.

As a sophomore at BYU in Provo I took a geology class. A large part of this class concerned itself with the scientific explanation of this earth’s history, including the theory of evolution. On the first day of class the teacher went to the blackboard and took us through the Creation as outlined in our ancient and modern scriptures, making a chronological list of events. He spent the whole hour speaking of the Savior and His creations. He bore a powerful testimony about the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, including our modern scriptures, with special emphasis on the Pearl of Great Price.
I am indebted to this great teacher for expanding my vision about the Creation as recorded in the 4th chapter of Abraham. For example, in the 18th verse we read:
“And the Gods watched those things which they had ordered until they obeyed.”
You may wish to read and ponder the whole chapter.
On the second day of class the teacher had covered up the blackboard of the previous day and wrote the chronology of the earth’s history according to science, including all the various periods. He then pulled the board back and displayed the previous day’s teachings beside those of the second day and proceeded to show where there were similarities and differences. He concluded by telling us that we had not signed up for a religion class but for a science class, and science is what we would be taught. However, throughout the semester he never shied away from sharing his testimony.
I am indebted to that teacher for showing me that science and religion are not really at odds. Scientific knowledge is incomplete, and the same could be said about the details of the Lord’s method of creation. Once all the facts are in, there will be no discrepancies. Since receiving that perspective 50 years ago, I have marveled at science and not felt threatened by it.

It told of an experience this family had when they first arrived in the Salt Lake Valley. Food was scarce because most, if not all, of the family's provisions were used on the journey across the plains. Since they arrived in September, it was too late in the season to plant crops. Many of the early pioneers ate the bulbs of the sego lily as a source of food. However, on this particular day, there were no bulbs to be found. The family knelt to pray for guidance in finding something to fill their empty stomachs. They walked a short distance and saw a clump of greens that they had not noticed before. The children ran to the greens only to find sunflower-like bushes. Discouragement started to settle over the faces of the children, but their mother was given the impression to dig at the roots. To their surprise, the flower had a bulb-like tuber that looked edible.

Excited at the prospect of filling their bellies, they gathered all they could carry and returned home with happy and thankful hearts. First, they stopped to share with their neighbors, and it was only then that one of them exclaimed, "Jerusalem artichokes! Where did you find them?"

The October dawn was frosty as I helped load our belongings into the covered wagon. The weight I carried in my ten-year-old heart was heavier than the bundles of clothes and food under which I struggled. It just isn’t fair, I thought. I don’t want to leave our home and my friends and travel three hundred miles to an unknown place.
It was 1877, and our home near St. George, Utah Territory, was already one of the farthest away from Salt Lake City.
My mother called. “Mary Agnes, please make sure everything is cleared from the back porch before we leave.”
As I made my way around the house, I thought back to the day six months ago when my father had returned from the dedication of the St. George Temple. Mother and I had stayed home because my baby brother was very ill. One look at Father told me that something serious had happened.
Mother spoke first. “William, what is the matter?”
My strong father took her in his arms with tears streaming down his face. “We must leave our beautiful home.” He could say no more.
Leave? How could we leave? After years of saving and doing without, we had finally been able to buy 260 acres of farmland and build a comfortable brick home where the ten of us could live. We had many horses, cattle, and other farm animals. We lived near my grandmother and my cousins. I was able to attend the school in town. Who would ask us to sacrifice all this?
Later, I heard my parents discussing what was happening. Families were needed to extend Church settlements and influence farther south. Brigham Young had called my father to move with his family. He counseled my father to sell all that we had so that we would not be tempted to return to Utah. We were needed in Arizona.
Arizona. A place where there was very little water. Where there were great distances with nothing to see. Men had been called there by the prophet last year. Many had returned to Utah because they could not endure the hardships. Father said no greater sacrifice could be asked of him.
Mother’s voice brought me back to the present. “It is hard to leave, is it not, Mary Agnes? Do you know the real reason we are moving?”
I shook my head.
“We are going to Arizona because the prophet gave that call to us. Remember what I told you about when I was your age and my family lived in Nauvoo? After the Prophet Joseph Smith was killed, there were contentions with nonmember neighbors. The Brethren told us to leave our homes and move west. There our lives would be spared, and we could worship as we pleased in peace.
“Terrible as it was to leave our home, there was nothing else to do unless we turned away from God, the Brethren, and the Church. We made the long, hard journey to the valley of the Great Salt Lake. We sacrificed again when we followed President Young’s direction to leave there and settle here.
“Now we have been asked to go to Arizona. We do not have to go to the unsettled desert. No one is forcing us. We are not fleeing for our lives. We could make excuses to not go. This time the struggle to obey comes from within.”
Mother hugged me to her as she continued. “In the Doctrine and Covenants, the Lord said that when we receive a commandment ‘whether by mine own voice or by the voice of my servants, it is the same.’*
“Our prophet has spoken to us. I know he speaks for God. Your father and I decided long ago that we would follow the counsel of the prophet, no matter what the sacrifice.”
The Spirit warmed me as I listened to Mother’s testimony. I gained strength to face the uncertainties ahead.
As I climbed in the loaded wagon, I took one last look at our home, then turned to face the trail to Arizona. I realized that I, too, had a testimony of God’s representative on earth. Like my parents, I would follow the prophet, even to the last frontier.

In one of my school classes, we were reading a book that critiqued the Church. I knew I needed to speak up about the truths of the restored gospel. So I raised my hand. The teacher called on me, but I didn’t know what to say. For some reason, I started to sing the songs of the Articles of Faith. To my surprise, a profound reverence came over the room. Afterward there was less confusion, and my teacher and classmates treated class discussion and me with more respect.
Monique, Massachusetts, USA

Eighteen months after the surgery, my husband and I were invited to speak at a religious conference. The topic? “What accessing the grace of Jesus Christ daily looks like.” As we prepared, we immersed ourselves in studying Christ’s grace and how it operates in our lives. Grace, as defined in the Bible Dictionary, is “divine means of help or strength, given through the bounteous mercy and love of Jesus Christ.”
One week before the conference, I went on a bike ride with a friend. I rode my recumbent trike, which gives me the freedom to move, while she pedaled beside me on her bicycle. We talked as we rode, and as usual I cried. Sadness had become my constant companion, something the medical world might label as situational depression. I opened up to my friend about how lost I felt, about the overwhelming sadness that shadowed my days.
She asked me a question that has stayed with me ever since: “Stacy, what exactly are you sad about? What do you feel like you’ve lost?” I didn’t have an answer. I knew I was sad about my loss of movement, fearful that I would never regain my strength or the ability to do the things I once could. But the source of my sadness remained elusive.
A few days before the conference, the answer I had been searching for came to me, seemingly out of nowhere. I woke up in the middle of the night, a time when my anxious thoughts usually kept me company. But that night, a phrase echoed in my mind: “Graceful—full of grace.” As I drifted back to sleep, I thought to myself, “Yes, that’s a good point. Being graceful means being full of His grace. I’ll include that in my presentation.”
When I woke again in the morning, the same phrase was there, clear and insistent: “Graceful—full of grace.” I realized then that this message wasn’t just for the people at the conference—it was for me. That was the source of my sadness. That was what I had lost: my physical gracefulness.
As a young girl, I had been a ballerina, dancing through much of my adolescence and into college. I had never thought of myself as graceful, but years of training had ingrained in me a certain physical poise—a way of standing, moving, and balancing. Even after I stopped dancing, that grace remained. And now, in the quiet of those early morning hours, the Lord was redefining the word for me. I no longer needed the physical grace I once had. I had His grace to lean on in my moments of weakness. His grace was sufficient to help me smile, to shift my focus from my limitations to His strength.
Heaven’s message to me was clear: “You no longer need to rely on the physical grace you’ve learned. My strength is made perfect in your weakness.”
Graceful.
It’s a word I now carry with me, not as a reminder of what I’ve lost but of what I’ve gained. It’s not about my grace anymore—it’s about Christ’s grace, filling my heart and mind.
Graceful. It’s a word I now carry with me, not as a reminder of what I’ve lost but of what I’ve gained.
At the conference, I found myself in a room packed with people, needing to cross to the other side. There was no clear aisle, no easy path to navigate. As I stood up, I whispered to myself, “Graceful.” His grace, not mine. That simple word gave me the courage to move, to weave through the crowd without fear.
The more I let go of my old grace and embraced His, the easier life became. I found the strength to do what I could never do alone. His grace allowed me to see myself as a beloved daughter of God, to give my all, knowing He would fill in the gaps where I couldn’t. His grace brought gratitude even for my weaknesses.
I still wrestle with frustration and fear every day. My “thorn” hasn’t been removed. But now when those dark thoughts creep in, I have a powerful tool: the Savior’s grace. I repeat the word graceful to myself and move forward with Him. I don’t know when or how physical healing will come, but I trust that He knows, and that’s enough.
Like Paul, I am grateful for my infirmity because it has opened my eyes to see Him more clearly in my life. I place my trust in Him, and in return He gives me peace and joy and the assurance that He will deliver me.

I had always thought of emergency preparedness in terms of taking care of my family and myself. But I learned to view preparation differently one Sunday morning in southern Florida in 1992. Hurricane Andrew, one of the most destructive and costly hurricanes to hit the United States, disrupted a beautiful summer in Miami, Florida.
I was temporarily living alone in a beach apartment, attending a three-month orientation program for my job. When the hurricane warning came and I learned we would need to evacuate our apartment complex by noon, an associate reserved hotel rooms in an inland region for our co-workers and me. I boarded my windows and stored my personal belongings.
In anticipation of a weeklong visit from my wife and children, I had previously purchased enough food and water for my family of six. I was comforted knowing I had a safe place to go and enough food to take with me to last several weeks.
As I prepared to leave at 10:30 a.m., I felt good—all was in order. I knelt in prayer, thanking Heavenly Father for my blessings and asking for His help during the coming storm. As I ended my prayer, the Spirit prompted me to say, “If there is anyone in need of help, please help me find him or her.”
Within a few minutes, a widow in her 80s knocked at my door. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I have the wrong room. I’m looking for a friend.”
She looked frazzled. When I asked if I could help, she became distraught and said she didn’t know what to do or where to go. I asked her where she lived, and together we walked to her apartment, assessed her situation, and went over her options.
I told her that my company might have space in one of our hotel rooms, and I invited her to stay with our group. She sighed in relief. We quickly packed and secured her apartment and belongings, and I arranged for an associate to drive her car to the hotel.
As I prepared to leave, two more widows asked for assistance. I helped them calm down so they could think clearly and figure out where to find refuge. When I picked up luggage from one of my work associates, another elderly widow asked for help. We placed her fragile items in safe areas and helped her prepare to leave.
In the meantime, other co-workers invited two college students who had been living on an island to stay with our group at the inland hotel. The only food they had was a handful of snacks and a quart (.95 L) of mineral water. Fortunately, I had plenty to share, not only with them but with everyone else as well.
What a blessing it was to be prepared and guided by the Lord. This allowed me to provide a calming influence during a time of alarm and to spend almost all my time helping others without worrying about myself. I gained a new level of appreciation for the counsel from our priesthood leaders to be prepared.

A standard can be unrighteous because it is too harsh—the consequences are too severe for the gravity of the wrong and the needs of the wrongdoer. Here I remember a conversation with an LDS newspaperwoman who described what happened when she reported that the Prophet Joseph Smith received the golden plates in 1826—a mistake of one year from the actual date of 1827. She said she received about 10 phone calls from outraged Latter-day Saints who would not accept her admission of error and sincere apology and berated her with abusive language. I wonder if persons who cannot handle an honest mistake without abusing the actor can stand up to having their own mistakes judged by so severe a standard.

My other mother, President Tanner’s mother is such a woman. She passed away 5 days ago at 99 ½ years of age. Her spirit continues to hover over us. She had a vision of who she was and knew of her divinely appointed mission. She is an example of the prophet’s vision.

Let me tell you two ways that she lived what he teaches, not to discourage you like Mothers’ Day talks sometimes do, but in the hope that her life will inspire you, as it has me, to fulfill the vision of the prophet. (1) She lived joyfully because she focused her life and testimony on Jesus Christ. And (2) she partnered with God in building souls.

First, she was joyful through sunshine and shadow because she lived with faith in and a testimony of the Savior. Pres. Nelson taught,
“The joy we feel has little to do with the circumstances of our lives and everything to do with the focus of our lives. When the focus of our lives is on God’s plan of salvation. . .and Jesus Christ and His gospel, we can feel joy regardless of what is happening –or not happening—in our lives.”

One of Athelia Tanner’s notable sayings was not “have a good day,” but “make it a great day.” She learned this lesson early in her life, growing up in the very humble circumstances of the Great Depression. She and her siblings worked hard to have even the necessities of life. But they sang as they worked, inventing clever lyrics, laughing and bonding—making hard times into good days, choosing optimism, knowing God was always with them. Those early habits, both of singing and having faith in Jesus Christ, stayed with her into her 100th year.

When she married Bill Tanner at age 21 they had an idealistic vision of the important things that should be part of their eternal unit -covenants, family, and education. Even when the difficult details of reality set in, she “made it a great day.” It was 10 years later after 2 years of military service in World War 2, 20 moves, and 6 babies, that Dad Tanner finished his PhD degree and finally got his first “real” job. During those long, difficult years, they often lived off of nothing more than gleaned potatoes from an already harvested field and on a healthy dose of faith in Jesus Christ. Even in the hard times, she lived joyfully because she was focused on Christ.

Now the second point. Mom believed in the prophet’s words that her divine mission was, “To help another human being reach one’s celestial potential . . . . As mother, teacher, or nurturing Saint . . . and in partnership with God, to help spirits live and souls be lifted.” In the following 12 years, they added seven more children to the fold. Financially the way was rough, often with an unstable income and unsuitable housing. But she focused every conversation on how blessed they were to have 13 children and that each one was wanted and cherished,

She embraced the prophet’s vision and partnered with God in helping each of those 13 children live joyful, faithful lives. While “working her fingers to the bone” as she liked to quip, in meeting the mere physical demands of such a large family, she also found the time and energy for nurturing -- fostering development in each child. She taught her family the scriptures, the plan of salvation, the value of working hard, a love for God and neighbors.

Her vision and hard work paid dividends. Eleven children served missions for the Church and all have continued faithful. All worked their way through to university degrees and 10 have advanced degrees. But more important than receiving a degree is that they love learning; they continue to be lifelong learners. Have you ever seen President Tanner’s eyes sparkle and his excitement level increase when he starts talking about literature or history or philosophical or religious ideas? Her love for books, ideas, words, and scriptures was contagious. She taught and lived with exuberance those things she wanted her children to learn and follow. Mom had a vision of who these eternal souls were. And she exercised her gifts to mold and build their lives.

During the last 7 years, she has had dementia. And although her memory declined, her pleasant nature, sweet love, grateful expressions, and fervent testimony continued until the final day.

My dear mother-in-law is an example to me of the women of moral rectitude envisioned by President Nelson. I love, admire, and appreciate her. One of the wisest things my own mom said to me just days before our marriage was, “John’s mother is a noble and amazing woman. You must learn everything you can from her. Keep the vision of her example ever before you.”

On an occasion in Nauvoo when so very many of the saints were ill and suffering, President Smith went about blessing and raising the sick from their beds of affliction. Almost akin to Lazarus, he went to bless a brother, Elijah Fordham: who was supposed to be about breathing his last. When the company entered the room, the Prophet of God walked up to the dying man, and took hold of his right hand and spoke to him; but Brother Fordham was unable to speak, his eyes were set in his head like glass, and he seemed entirely unconscious of all around him. Joseph held his hand and looked into his eyes in silence for a length of time. A change in the countenance of Brother Fordham was soon perceptible to all present. His sight returned, and upon Joseph asking him if he knew him, he, in a slow whisper, answered, “I fear it is too late; if you had come sooner I think I could have been healed.” The Prophet said, “Do you believe in Jesus Christ?” He answered in a feeble voice, “I do.” Joseph then stood erect, still holding his hand in silence several moments, then he spake in a very loud voice, saying, “Brother Fordham, I command you in the name of Jesus Christ to arise from this bed and be made whole.” His voice was like the voice of God, and not of man. It seemed as though the house shook to its very foundation. Brother Fordham arose from his bed and was immediately made whole.[10]

One of many outstanding missionaries with whom Sister Funk and I served was Elder Pokhrel from Nepal. After being a member of the Church for only two years, he was called to serve in the India Bangalore Mission, an English-speaking mission. He would tell you he was not well prepared. That was understandable. He had never seen a missionary until he was one, because no young missionaries serve in Nepal. He did not read English well enough to understand the instructions included with his call. When he reported to the missionary training center, instead of bringing nice slacks, white shirts, and ties, he packed, in his words, “five pairs of denim jeans, a couple of T-shirts, and a lot of hair gel.”

Even after he obtained appropriate clothing, he said he felt inadequate every day during the first few weeks. He described that time of his mission: “Not only was the English difficult, but the work was just as challenging. … On top of all of that, I was hungry, tired, and homesick. … Even though the circumstances were tough, I was determined. I felt weak and inadequate. I would pray at those times for Heavenly Father to help me. Without fail, every time I prayed, I would feel comforted.”

Though missionary work was new and challenging for Elder Pokhrel, he served with great faith and faithfulness, seeking to understand and follow what he was learning from the scriptures, Preach My Gospel, and his mission leaders. He became a powerful teacher of the gospel—in English—and an excellent leader. After his mission and some time in Nepal, he returned to India to continue his education. Since January he has served as a branch president in New Delhi. Because of the real growth he experienced as a missionary, he continues to contribute to the real growth of the Church in India.

Josie yawned as she slowed her jog to a walk. Today was the big race! She had been looking forward to this day for months. But instead of feeling excited during warm-ups, Josie felt tired.
“How’s it going?” her older sister, Christine, asked. She sat down with Josie on the grass so they could stretch their legs.
“I’m really tired today,” Josie said, reaching for her toes.
She had been sick and had to miss several days of school. So last night she stayed up late catching up on her schoolwork.
“I hope I don’t let our team down,” Josie said.
“Just do the best you can,” Christine said. “Looks like we’re about to start!”
The girls jogged over to join their teammates. As they lined up with the other runners, Josie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She knew her team was counting on her to run fast, like she usually did. The race time from the top five runners on their team would determine whether their team went on to the finals. She barely had time to get in position when the gun sounded to start the race. Bang! The runners pushed off the starting line and sprinted forward.
Josie pumped her arms and lengthened her steps. She knew she needed to get ahead in the beginning if she wanted to be a top finisher. At first Josie could keep up with the other lead runners. But when she tried to run faster, she couldn’t.
Josie breathed harder. She just couldn’t get her legs to move any faster. The runners behind her started passing her. Usually Josie was the one doing the passing! Maybe I should just give up, she thought.
Josie looked down at the ground as she heard another runner pass her. “Keep going, Josie!” the runner said as she ran by. Josie looked up. Then she smiled. It was one of her teammates.
“You can do it!” another teammate said as she ran past. One by one as Josie’s teammates passed her, they encouraged her to keep running.
Josie felt a surge of determination. Maybe she wouldn’t be in the top five, but she could still finish the race. She focused on her steps and didn’t stop until she finally crossed the finish line.
“I’m sorry I … didn’t help us … qualify for the next race,” she said between big breaths.
“Our team did qualify!” Josie’s coach said as she ran over to the girls. Everyone on the team cheered, and Christine threw her arms around Josie in a big hug.
That night as Josie knelt to pray, she thought about how her teammates had helped her. Their words gave her strength to keep going when she wanted to quit.
Josie looked up at the picture of Jesus hanging above her bed. Jesus does the same thing for us, she thought. She smiled as she imagined the Savior cheering her on. “Keep going, Josie! I am here to help you.” She wanted to help others too.
Josie thanked Heavenly Father for His help in running the race and for her wonderful teammates. She felt like she could do anything with Jesus cheering her on!

In the spirit of the wonderful comments you’ve made and the insights you’ve given me—new insights about the power of the word and the healing, the help, and the light that comes from it—I am reminded of a story President Packer told the Quorum of the Twelve some years ago. He talked about a severe winter in Utah when the snow was excessive and had driven the deer herds down very low into some of the valleys. Some of them were trapped by fences and circumstances as they were taken out of their natural habitat, and well-meaning, perfectly responsive, capable agencies tried to respond by feeding those deer to get them through the crisis of the winter. They brought in hay and dumped it everywhere; it was about as good as they could do under the circumstances. Later an immense number of those deer were found dead. The people who handled those animals afterward said that their stomachs were full of hay, but they had starved to death. They had been fed, but they had not been nourished.

I love the story of the golf addict who in a spiritual moment decided to take a new set of friends each time he went to play golf. That decision led to his inviting troubled teenagers from the inner city to come and learn a game of skill in a beautiful setting with clean air and clean company. Every golfing outing became a highlight in his life, not because of the game itself but the company he kept. Their gratitude knew no bounds and many of these youth were benefited emotionally and spiritually by the things they learned about discipline, concentration, coordination, and other things you learn when you gain a skill.

I chose a place in the hills on the moors called Saddleworth Dovestones, where I would not be disturbed. I took my lunch, scriptures, and my journal and headed out, climbing to the top to offer the desires of my heart to my Father in Heaven. As I prayed, I listened very carefully for an answer, maybe a peaceful feeling or a burning in my bosom, but I felt nothing.
As I walked back, I noticed a series of rocks on the ground carefully placed to spell out the words “Truth Will Prevail.” “Curious,” I thought, but nothing more. However, when I told my mother, she said simply, “That’s your answer.”

I was born in Hungary, where I became a Calvinist minister. But after migrating to Australia thirty years ago, I began to realize that I was not teaching the true doctrine of Christ.
So I started writing a book about the Apostasy. Through my study of the Bible, I knew that there must also be a “restitution of all things,” and I eventually gave up my ministry to look for that restored truth. It didn’t take me a long time to find it, though I didn’t recognize it right away.
One evening in 1956, while driving from Geelong to Melbourne in drenching rain, I gave a ride to two young men. They were Latter-day Saint missionaries. When I took them to the mission home, the mission president gave me a copy of the Book of Mormon, which I gladly accepted. At the time, though, I did not join the Church; I did not even ask to learn more about it.
Then, one night, I dreamed I was on a beautiful beach. A man with white hair was waist deep in the water. He had on white clothing and was holding up a copy of the Book of Mormon and encouraging me to come into the water, telling me that the Master wanted me. The next morning, I sketched a picture of the man I had seen in my dream. In the meantime, I continued my search for the truth.
Sometime later, two missionaries came to my home. Seeing that they held a copy of the Book of Mormon, I asked them in and showed them the picture I had drawn. The missionaries were very surprised. They told me it looked very much like a picture of President David O. McKay.
They asked if they could have the picture. Somehow the story of my dream and the picture itself got to Salt Lake City, and I received a letter from Elder Joseph Fielding Smith, who was then President of the Quorum of the Twelve. In the letter, he bore his testimony and counseled me to be baptized.
A missionary was given permission to extend his mission a week and stay in my home while we studied the gospel together. But, even after all this, my fear of making a mistake immobilized me, and I soon lost contact with the missionaries.
I continued to study the gospel, however, and one day, late in 1974, I left a note at the chapel in Wollongong, New South Wales, saying I wanted to meet with the missionaries. Once again they began teaching me. Three times they set a date for my baptism, and each time I postponed it. (Once they even had the font filled!)
My indecision came to an end when I was offered an excellent position as a translator for the Australian government. For this position I would have to travel to Canberra each Sunday, making it impossible for me to attend church. I decided not to join the Church, and to take the job.
Not long after I made the decision, I suffered a heart attack, which left me unfit to accept the position. Once again I promised to be baptized, but this time persecution from my former minister friends made me change my mind.
I was then offered a position as a Calvinist bishop, responsible for all the migrants in New South Wales. As I contemplated this offer, I suffered another heart attack—my seventh. I realized then that I could die at any time, and that I wanted to be baptized.
At last, on 15 March 1975, after knowing the truth but putting off acting on it for so long, I was baptized.
I have a great desire now to share the gospel with my fellowmen—especially those in Hungary. I have translated fourteen tracts into Hungarian, and much of the Book of Mormon. One day I hope to return to Hungary as a missionary and share with my former countrymen the restored gospel—the gospel the Lord had been preparing me to receive for so many years.

“Most adult women in our towns and villages do not speak English,” says Seth Oppong, president of the Abomosu District in the Ghana Accra West Mission. “Our local language, Twi, has been a verbal language for centuries. Only recently has an alphabet for Twi been created, so few people read it, either.”

“Sisters must rely on others—mostly their husbands if they are married, or on word of mouth from friends if they are not married—to understand gospel principles and Church policies,” explains Georgina Amoaka, the district Relief Society president. “Many have great desires to serve, but they cannot read manuals or magazines so their opportunities to participate at church are limited.”

Since women do not speak English in their homes or at the market, Church participation provides their main incentive to learn the language. Yet both long-time members and new converts may encounter family resistance concerning literacy programs. The district council discussed this concern, and then President Oppong spoke to priesthood and auxiliary leaders in each branch about a district-wide approach to literacy training. While open to all women in the community, the program would focus on women in the Church. Rather than inviting individuals separately, invitations would be extended to attend in groups—for example, Relief Society and Primary presidencies would attend together so they could support each other.

Based on discussions with the branches, district leadership decided to hold literacy classes at each branch on Sundays as well as twice during the week. After a concentrated six-month effort, certificates of completion would be awarded to those who attended regularly and completed required homework.

“One of the challenges was to find a way to teach reading and writing to people who have only a spoken language,” explains Elder Jim Dalton, a senior missionary serving in the district. “Because of Twi’s long tradition as a spoken-but-not-written language, most people who speak it don’t know how to write it, so we had to start with learning to write.”

Ransford Darkwah of the Abomosu District high council worked with two returned missionaries, Francis Ansah and Cecelia Amankwah, to use a locally produced manual. Participants were shown pictures and asked to write about what they saw. This helped them develop basic writing skills while learning to think in English. Once some basic abilities were in place, more advanced learning resources could then be used.

Before the program began, literacy specialists trained instructors not only in learning methods but also in how to teach practical hygiene and family life skills. But even the best training couldn’t have foreseen some of challenges encountered once classes began: frequent power outages in the area made evening classes difficult to conduct, rumors that unruly gold miners were roaming the streets at night created anxiety, and occasionally those with keys were unable to arrive on time to open church buildings.

Once again, the district council discussed what needed to be done. In response to their counsel, groups of participants began coming to class together. They were given flashlights to help them safely walk along footpaths. Local leaders authorized use of generators to power lights at church buildings at night. Well-trusted members who lived near buildings were entrusted with keys so they could open buildings on time.

Sixty-one members and investigators began the program. Forty-three completed all of the sessions and homework. At graduation, they were invited to give short presentations.

“Before the literacy program began, I could not read at all,” said Sandra Obeng Amoh of the Sankubenase Branch. “When my husband traveled for work, I never had family home evening. Some weeks ago when he was gone, my oldest son helped me read the manual and I gave a lesson in English to my children. Since then I have done so every week that my husband is not at home.”

Prosper Gyekete, who despite limited English skills has remained a faithful member in the Abomosu Second Branch, read a three-sentence testimony he wrote himself. He said he could not read or write before the class but now he can help his young children with their homework. “Thanks to what I have learned,” he said, “I can be a better father.”

“Now I can read the scriptures by myself,” said Kwaku Sasu of the Kwabeng Branch. “Before, I knew the Book of Mormon was true even though I could not read it. Now I know it is true as I read it. My testimony is growing and growing.”

The members of the Asunafo Branch Relief Society presidency said they dedicated each Thursday to speaking to each other only in English. “It made some conversations longer that day because we could not think of the right words to say to each other,” said Evelyn Agyeiwaa, Relief Society president. “But we soon began translating for each other, finding the right words to say. Because we were learning together, none of us were embarrassed or afraid to say the wrong words. We simply helped each other.”

Women who completed the Abomosu District literacy program said they felt better about themselves and were more likely to participate in church. They became more willing to accept callings, read the scriptures, and teach both at church and at home. Some men also completed the program. Mostly subsistence farmers, they said they are now better able to calculate costs and sales of their produce, help children with their homework, and read the scriptures on their own and with their families.

Encouraged by the success in Abomosu, the neighboring Asamankese District has launched its own literacy program.

“Being able to read and write is changing our lives and the lives of our children,” said Gladis Aseidu of the Sankubenase Branch. “Words are changing our world, and we thank our Father in Heaven.”

May I share with you the account of Tihi and Tararaina Mou Tham and their 10 children. The entire family except for one daughter joined the Church in the early 1960s, when missionaries came to their island, located about 100 miles (160 km) south of Tahiti. Soon they began to desire the blessings of an eternal family sealing in the temple.

At that time the nearest temple to the Mou Tham family was the Hamilton New Zealand Temple, more than 2,500 miles (4,000 km) to the southwest, accessible only by expensive airplane travel. The large Mou Tham family, which eked out a meager living on a small plantation, had no money for airplane fare, nor was there any opportunity for employment on their Pacific island. So Brother Mou Tham and his son Gérard made the difficult decision to travel 3,000 miles (4,800 km) to work in New Caledonia, where another son was already employed.

The three Mou Tham men labored for four years. Brother Mou Tham alone returned home only once during that time, for the marriage of a daughter.

After four years, Brother Mou Tham and his sons had saved enough money to take the family to the New Zealand Temple. All who were members went except for one daughter who was expecting a baby. They were sealed for time and eternity, an indescribable and joyful experience.

Brother Mou Tham returned from the temple directly to New Caledonia, where he worked for two more years to pay for the passage of the one daughter who had not been at the temple with them—a married daughter and her child and husband.

In their later years Brother and Sister Mou Tham desired to serve in the temple. By that time the Papeete Tahiti Temple had been constructed and dedicated, and they served four missions there.3

My teachers were heaven-sent. May I mention but a few: our former stake president, Harold B. Lee; President Marion G. Romney; and President J. Reuben Clark.
Brother Lee attended our stake conference the year I was appointed as a bishop. Looking over the priesthood leadership congregation on Saturday evening, he stepped from the pulpit, called for a chalkboard, came down from the stand, stood among us, and, as the master teacher, taught us our duty. He drew five circles under the heading “The Responsibilities of a Bishop.” He then gave to each circle a designation such as “The Father of the Ward,” “The President of the Aaronic Priesthood,” “The Common Judge in Israel,” and then placed emphasis on the bishop’s role in welfare. He cautioned us to seek after the poor, to care for them, and to do so in a spirit of love, kindness, and confidentiality.