Gospel Story Finder

As late as last Wednesday night, I was rehearsing for a ward play. (By the way, Sister Lalli, wherever you are, I’m sorry I wasn’t to play practice yesterday morning.) I was released from the bishopric in January after serving for four years. How I loved that calling, and the brethren with whom I served—Bishop Lee J. Lalli, and his able and dedicated first counselor, D. Ray Alexander—Lee J. and Ray, as I affectionately called them.
Since my release I’ve been traveling extensively, and therefore have been without a calling for two months. At that play practice Wednesday, I sent a signal to the new bishop, Russ Herscher, that I was ready to reenter the “job market.” I hope you won’t feel that I’m an aspiring person, but I told the Primary president, Susan Mabey, I wanted to teach Primary—ideally my seven-year-old daughter’s class. I know sanctification comes not with any particular calling, but with genuine acts of service, often for which there is no specific calling.
Now, despite the humility with which I approach this call, I have full confidence in my ability to perform. This, however, is not self-confidence, but confidence in the fact that the Lord makes every man and woman equal to the assignment that he or she is given. Therefore, I state clearly but humbly, “I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them.” (1 Ne. 3:7.)
Brothers and sisters, I have never been a bishop. Since Friday afternoon I have felt puzzled, almost bewildered and overwhelmed, at how a man could be called to be a member of the Presiding Bishopric without having had the experience of being a bishop. I agonized for twenty-four hours until yesterday afternoon, when President Hinckley laid his hands upon my head and ordained me a bishop. I heard the voice of the Lord say in my heart, “No, Glenn, you have never been a bishop, but now you are a bishop, and always will be.”
Several years ago, I made a covenant with the Lord. I promised to give him anything he should require of me, and prayed this gesture might warrant forgiveness of my transgressions. Yesterday I gave the only thing I had left. It was something I cherished. I held on to it until the very last moment. I never thought of it as a selfish possession. That of which I speak flew out the window of my home when I turned on the television to watch the news and saw my picture on the television screen. I speak of my prized remaining possession—anonymity.
How I love not to be noticed! I don’t want to sit with the General Authorities in the “fishbowl” at the BYU football games in my dark blue suit! I want to sit in the stands with my father, wearing an obnoxious T-shirt which reads: “BYU #1. Enough said!” I have license and credentials to be obnoxious! I was born and raised in Provo, Utah. I attended school at Provo High School. I received my bachelor’s and master’s degrees from BYU. I’m a member of the Church, and I even work for the Church. My credentials are impeccable. I want to go berserk in the upper tier of the San Diego Stadium as I have the last four years at the Holiday Bowl—with the exception of Ohio State [which soundly beat BYU’s team in the bowl game], when I went into deep depression. I still have one faint hope—perhaps the Brethren will let me sit with Elder Perry at the ball games. Nevertheless, I give up my prized anonymity, just as I will give up my life if it is required of me.
I love the Lord Jesus Christ. I love the transformation his atonement has wrought in me. Earlier speakers have spoken of him with such eloquence. How I wish I had command of the language which would enable me to express my feelings on this Easter afternoon. May I add my simple testimony to those who have spoken articulately. I once was in darkness, and now see light. I once lost all of my confidence, and now know all things are possible in the Lord. I once felt shame and now am “filled with his love, even unto the consuming of my flesh.” (2 Ne. 4:21.) “I am encircled about eternally in the arms of his love.” (2 Ne. 1:15.)
I express my deepest loyalty to Bishop Hales and his First Counselor, Bishop Eyring. I will not betray their trust. I express my love and loyalty to the First Presidency, the Council of the Twelve Apostles, the First Quorum of the Seventy, and those I love most—the rank-and-file members of the Church. I express my love to my wife; without her love and understanding, I literally would not be standing at this pulpit today. I love my children, who must also give up their anonymity, as well as some time with their father. How I wish I could embrace my oldest son, who is serving a mission in the Cook Islands!
I thank God I was born of goodly parents. I begged my mother not to stand and take my picture as I came to the stand for the first time yesterday morning! But what would I have done if, during my formative years, she had not demonstrated that same pride and enthusiasm for everything I accomplished, however small. My father, Bishop Kenneth L. Pace, was the bishop of the Bonneville Ward in the East Provo Stake during my teens. He remains uppermost in my mind as exemplifying the pure love of Christ throughout his life.
Finally, I share the prayer of my heart with you at this time. May I display in my service the courage of my convictions in a manner like unto that displayed by Bishop Victor L. Brown. May I acquire the inspired, objective judgment of Bishop H. Burke Peterson. And may I acquire the open, warm, Christlike personality of Bishop J. Richard Clarke. May I exhibit the love and loyalty to Bishop Hales taught to us so beautifully by Joseph’s beloved brother, Hyrum. And lastly, may we as a Bishopric acquire the same love, respect, and unity I felt in the bishopric of the Bountiful Thirteenth Ward with Bishop Lee J. Lalli and D. Ray Alexander, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

“I’ve swum twenty laps already, and I just can’t go another one.” Susan shouted to her swimming coach, who was standing near the edge of the pool.
“Yes, you can!” Coach Andersen encouraged confidently. “You’re good for at least four more laps.”
Susan looked up at the tall thin man and wondered why he expected so much of her.
“Four more!” the coach shouted. “And watch that kick. Your rhythm is off.”
Susan pushed off from the bank feeling discouraged and wanting to cry. Carefully she cupped her hands and pulled at the water.
“One, two, three, four, five, six,” she counted over and over to herself as she kicked and then rhythmically fit her windmill-like arms into the pattern. Slowly but smoothly she glided over the water. Her arms and legs ached and her lungs gasped for air as her head turned in and out of the water.
Susan touched the edge and then sprung backward and began the backstroke. Once more she glided gracefully over the water.
As she neared the edge, she wished she could stop, but even in the water she could hear Coach Andersen’s voice calling from the deck, “Two more laps. You’re looking good, but don’t get lazy with those arms. Pull, pull!”
Susan turned on her stomach again and did one more lap freestyle and then tried another lap on her back. Her muscles were so tired she wondered how she could make it.
“The last lap! This is the last lap!” she kept telling herself as she moved through the water. She felt a smile cross her lips as she finished.
“That was pretty good,” Coach Andersen said without smiling. “We’ll have a short workout tomorrow, and then you’ll be ready for the swimming meet on Saturday. Remember what you can eat and what you can’t, and get to bed early tonight and tomorrow night.”
Slowly Susan crawled out of the pool. For a while she sat on the edge dangling her feet in the water and breathing fast to catch her breath.
Is all this worth it? she wondered. Or am I going to all this trouble and work for nothing?
Then she looked down at the pool and her thoughts changed. “This time I’m going to win!” she whispered. “Every time I practice and every time I lose, I learn something. I can’t give up now. I’m going to win!”
She grabbed her towel and sweatshirt and went in the dressing room to change her clothes.
Within fifteen minutes she was on the bus going home. By now her tired muscles were beginning to feel better.
At the first stop a girl about her age got on the bus. Susan watched as the girl walked down the aisle and then stopped next to her seat.
“Hi,” the girl said. “May I sit here?”
“Sure,” Susan replied.
“My name is Rachel Ann Moyle,” the girl said as she sat down.
“I’m Susan Thomas,” Susan replied.
“I’m going to visit my grandmother,” Rachel Ann said. Then she opened a small sack and pulled out two chocolate bars. “Would you like some candy?” she asked.
Susan looked longingly at the candy. She loved chocolate, but the coach’s rules kept ringing in her ears, “Don’t eat empty calories. Eat high protein foods.”
She looked once more at the candy bar and her mouth began to water. “I’d better not,” Susan finally said reluctantly, “but thanks anyway.”
“Come on,” Rachel Ann urged. “I’ll feel silly eating if you don’t.”
Susan looked once more at the candy. Then she remembered her tired muscles and all the work she had done so she could win.
“No, thank you,” she said very firmly. “I really wouldn’t care for any. But you go ahead. I don’t mind.”
During the next two days Susan’s thoughts alternated between discouragement and excitement. But as she climbed onto the starting block Saturday afternoon, she felt only a determination to win.
The starter’s voice called out, “Judges ready?”
Eight hands at the ends of the pool signaled readiness, and the voice instructed, “Swimmers, take your mark.”
Susan stepped up and curled her toes around the edge of the starting block.
“Get set,” the starter shouted.
Susan poised herself to make the starting dive.
Bang! The gun rang out and the eight swimmers flew off the blocks.
One girl led the way, with Susan a little behind her and a girl in the next lane just a little farther back.
Susan pulled and kicked down the first lap. As she made the turn, the girl in the next lane caught up with her so Susan let go with all her strength. Halfway down the lap she started gaining on the leader. The two girls swam neck and neck.
When Susan could tell she was starting to fall behind, she pushed herself even more. She felt as if she would burst, but the extra push was just enough. She finished two-tenths of a second before the other girl!
Coach Andersen ran over to help Susan out of the pool. His face was one big smile.
“Congratulations!” he said. “I knew you had what it takes.”
Susan gasped for breath. Her muscles ached, but she had never felt so good.
“Thanks, coach,” she whispered between breaths. “I owe it all to you.”
“No, you don’t,” he said. “You’re the only one who can win. I’ve helped a little, but you’re the swimmer!”
While Susan was getting dressed, she thought about what Coach Andersen had said. Lots of people are willing to help me, but it’s up to me to help myself too, she decided with a smile.

My life was pretty normal until the winter of 2020. I was sick with what we thought was an infection, so I took a round of prescribed antibiotics. Later, I started feeling headachy, tired, and faint. Soon afterward I woke up around 10 p.m. thinking it was morning and started getting ready for school.
When my sister told me it was still nighttime, I ran to my parents’ room in a state of hysteria. My mom felt my head, and I had an extremely high fever. We went to the doctor the next day, who ran a bunch of tests.
That night my parents came into my room, crying. They told me I had leukemia and that we had to go to a hospital to get more answers. I was in the emergency room all night and started my chemotherapy treatment only a few days later.
My treatment will continue for another year or two, but it has gotten a little more manageable. I have been feeling a bit better recently and hope to be able to go to school again soon. It isn’t easy, though. The chemo has many side effects, including a bone condition called avascular necrosis that makes it difficult for me to walk.
In spite of it all—maybe even because of it—I have grown so much closer to my Heavenly Father. Now I have a deeper understanding of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. I used to think of His Atonement as something you needed only when you made a mistake. That’s part of it, but relying on the Savior is also something that has helped me feel less alone.
Jesus Christ has taken upon Himself all of our afflictions and sins, which means He knows exactly how to help me as I experience leukemia. Going through any trial can feel very isolating, but through Christ’s Atonement, we can take comfort in knowing that He truly understands what we’re going through.
Ruby H., Utah, USA

As involved as the Drummonds are in sports, you might think their grades would suffer a bit. But not so. “They’re both on the honor roll,” says their dad. “They have to maintain B averages. That’s my rule. And no underwater basketweaving or sandwich making courses, either.” He then goes on to recite their schedules—solid, difficult classes every one, with the exception of baseball, which the Drummonds take very seriously. Of course, since Tom made the rules, he’s always there to help his kids accomplish them. It’s not uncommon to find the family studying together in the evenings.

Once I had my family history computer disk in my hands, I realized that the most important part of the work was still missing. I needed to go to the temple and provide my family beyond the veil with the ordinances that would enable them to be saved and join my family’s generations for eternity.
I was able to go to the temple when I went on my mission to Cochabamba, Bolivia. I began preaching the gospel in October 2000. A few months later my companion and I visited the temple with the youth from the ward where we were serving. I took my disk and was able to provide 599 names for ordinance work.
While I served as witness, my companion baptized the young people on behalf of my ancestors. What great joy I felt. The Spirit was with me, testifying of the truthfulness of what we were doing. I could feel my ancestors’ happiness and gratitude.
But there were other ordinances that still needed to be done. Because there were so many names, I turned them over to the temple. But I kept the names of my great-grandparents and their children, and later that month my companion and I, with the help of other missionaries, performed the work for them.
I am grateful to my Heavenly Father because, although I was far from my country and perhaps thought that I would baptize only the living, I was also able to participate in the work of redeeming the dead.

Life can sometimes become unsettled in Nairobi, capital of Kenya in East Africa. But as children of a middle-class factory manager, my two siblings and I had plenty to eat and a home with everything we needed.
Elections in 2008 quickly disrupted our comfortable lives, however, and threw the country into chaos. Rebel crowds roamed the streets and looted businesses. Going to work, my father required a police escort.
For safety, we left the city and moved to a home our father was building 450 km (280 miles) away, in Busia, Kenya. But even there, we locked our doors.
Without question, Christmastime in 2009 was our toughest time ever. Every day during that season, we feared for our lives. People lurked outside our home, eager and ready to steal. A gang of thugs once marched toward us with machetes. We were often afraid to open the door. I am convinced that my faithful mother’s prayers kept us safe.
By then, my father was without work. Food soon ran out. Our Christmas meal that year amounted to boiled leaves plucked from bean plants my mother had planted. Despite our afflictions, my father stood firm, though he also felt deeply pained.
We became overwhelmed with dread and almost lost hope. “Why was this happening?” we asked ourselves. “Why are we going through such hardships after just joining The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints?”
One evening two senior missionaries who knew our dangers braved the area to bring us a message of peace. We took courage as they recited Nephi’s witness and promise in 1 Nephi 1:20: “The tender mercies of the Lord are over all those whom he hath chosen, because of their faith, to make them mighty even unto the power of deliverance.”
We believed it.
The missionaries helped us understand that regardless of our afflictions, the Lord expected us to continue living faithfully. I vividly remember the peace and comfort that overwhelmed me that night. I knew, more than ever before, that the Lord was mindful of us and our plight. That night, and during trying times afterward, I learned that His tender mercies are magnificent.
When the time came for me to serve a mission, I felt a desire to bless the people in neighboring Uganda with the gospel, but I also wanted to teach the people in Zimbabwe, home of the missionary who had baptized me.
I prayed, but in my heart, I saw no way I could serve in two countries located far apart. Soon, I received my call to Zimbabwe, but while I was in the missionary training center in Johannesburg, South Africa, my visa was delayed. I was redirected to Uganda, where I served for eight months before receiving visa clearance for Zimbabwe.
“The Lord has His mysterious ways,” I thought to myself.
My first area in Zimbabwe was Chikanga Mutare. Eager to find the family of the missionary who had baptized me, I studied the area book with my companion. Many names matched his family name. We prayed, made our best decision on where to go, and ventured out.
At the first door we knocked we found my missionary’s family. Our joy was instant. We wept and hugged like family. While flipping through the family’s photo albums, I found pictures of my family at our baptism.
I returned home after my mission to discover that circumstances had not improved for my family. My father was still unemployed. Two cousins invited me to live with them in Kibera—the toughest area in Nairobi. There, I created a spot to call home.
Gangs ruled in Kibera, but I stayed clear of crime-ridden areas. I felt out of place, but my cousins helped protect me, making sure others knew I was religious and was to be respected.
Food in the slums amounted to water and a chocolate paste that formed something of a doughnut. I chose to eat at night. Every morning, I woke up hungry. In church, I did my best to smile and be happy so members would not know of my hunger.
During this time, I served as elders quorum president in the Langata Branch and attended school when possible. On Sunday afternoons, I walked with the branch president to visit members, aware that our white shirts made us easy targets for gangs. But we felt heaven as we served others, and my cousins watched over us as we walked the dusty streets.
Despite difficult times, says Brother Omondi, “with prayer, I felt sustained and did not lose hope. That hope was rewarded.”
This was a difficult time, but with prayer, I felt sustained and did not lose hope. That hope was rewarded.
A little later, I was granted an interview for a job. I competed for the position against a dozen others who were more qualified with degrees and certifications. But I had been on a mission, and I had faith and confidence the Lord would bless me. I said a prayer and then walked before a review panel.
At the end of my interview, I blurted out, “When do I start?” Two weeks later, I was one of two who were hired. I soon distinguished myself as a top salesman, which opened doors to advancement, including a call from a chief executive officer to join his large company. Today, I have the blessing of being a husband and a father and of serving as the bishop of the Langata Ward.
“Today, I have the blessing of being a husband and a father and of serving as a bishop.”
I look back on the Christmas of 2009 and subsequent struggles as a memorable lesson—a time when our struggles became our blessings and the Lord extended tender mercies to us in rich measure because of our faith.

After Skip had told the children the story about how Brigham Young had heard Joseph playing for the pioneers and had arranged for him to learn to play the big organ in the Tabernacle, he told them another story about his great-grandfather.
“In those days,” he began, “there was no electricity to run the organ. To force air through the bellows so that the organ could be played, the builders connected the bellows to a treadmill that men ran on. Before Joseph started a concert, he would look down through a little trapdoor and ask the men if they were ready to start. The men that pumped the organ were strong. Their only job was to climb down under the organ, run on the treadmill, and keep the air pressure up so that the organ could be played.
“People came from all over to hear Joseph play. One day after he had played a wonderful concert, the audience clapped and clapped. He played several encores. Then he sat down to play one last piece. He pulled out the stops and arranged everything perfectly. But when he touched his fingers to the keys, nothing happened! He tried again—still nothing.
“It finally dawned on him that he didn’t have any pumpers. He opened the trapdoor and asked the men to climb out. They were all sweaty because they had been running so long and hard on the treadmill. Joseph had them take a bow. Then they crawled back down to the treadmill, got it going, and Joseph played his final encore. After the concert, everyone clapped, realizing that it wasn’t only Joseph who made the organ work.”

When I was in high school, I found it necessary to support myself. I suppose I was about sixteen, and I went to Globe, Arizona, the big mining camp, and there secured a job milking cows twice a day for a dairy. In those days we had no machines, and we milked with our hands. I milked between eighteen and twenty-eight cows twice a day, separated the cream, bottled the milk, washed the cans and bottles, fed the cattle, and cleaned the manure. For all of this, I received my meals, a cot in a bunkhouse, and $47.50 a month.
I was now on my own. No one was there to check up on me. When I received my first paycheck, I asked myself, “Should I or should I not pay my tithing?” I sent my dairy check home to the bank and received a receipt and a checkbook. I numbered the checks on the book and my first check was made out payable to the bishop.
The Lord has promised that if boys and girls and their parents are faithful in paying their tithing, he will pour out great blessings upon them. I know he keeps the promise.

Illustrations by Maryn Roos
Their parents have been acting strange, but Matt and Mandy haven’t been able to find out what’s going on. Now, Mom and Dad have called them into the kitchen for a family meeting …
We know you’ve been wondering what’s going on.
We’re sorry we couldn’t talk to you about this sooner. But we didn’t want to worry you …
But we ARE worried!
I’m sorry, but we had to wait until everything was settled. Now it is, and we can give you the exciting news.
How would you like to move into a new house?
What? Would we have room in the backyard for a horse?
Would we have a bigger driveway to play basketball in?
It would be in another city.
HUH?
We know this is a big shock. That’s why we didn’t tell you until we were sure about everything.
Dad’s company is closing its office in our town. They want to transfer him to another town. That way he can keep his job, which is a great blessing.
What about my friends? How will I ever find new ones?
I’ll have to go to a new school. Everything will be so different!

Some years ago I served as a naval aviator aboard a large aircraft carrier, the USS Philippine Sea. The carrier was operating off the coast of Korea and would stay out at sea for about thirty days at a time.
Supplies were brought to us by other ships. These cargo vessels would pull up alongside our carrier and, while both ships were underway, would send food, mail, repair parts, and other supplies over to us by cables. Sometimes the containers broke open, and the contents would spill out onto the hangar deck of the aircraft carrier.
One day I walked past an area where fresh fruit was being unloaded. A carton of oranges had been slightly damaged, and a big beautiful orange fell out and rolled right across the deck to me. I picked it up and continued on my way down to the pilot’s ready room, where a number of my squadron mates were sitting around reading their mail that had just come aboard from the supply ship.
As I entered the room, all of my friends saw the orange. Fresh fruit was a very scarce item aboard ship, and I could tell that their mouths were watering for a taste of my fresh juicy orange. Pretending that I did not notice them, I peeled the orange, broke it in half, and then counted the sections. There were just enough orange sections to give each of them two, and so I divided the orange equally among my six friends, who expressed their gratitude.
A short time later someone came in the door and shouted, “Hey, a whole case of oranges has been dropped on the hangar deck, and oranges are all over the floor!” Out my friends ran.
Soon they returned, each proudly carrying an orange. They all peeled their oranges, and to my great surprise, each one gave me four sections in return for the two sections I had given him. I actually ended up with enough sections to make two whole oranges after they had all shared with me.
As I thanked them I had an opportunity to learn a very plain gospel principle.
I did not share my orange with the thought of receiving a reward. But it is never possible for us to do something nice or generous for someone else without being rewarded somehow for what we have done. The Bible tells us, “Cast thy bread upon the waters: for thou shalt find it after many days” (Eccl. 11:1). Sometimes we do not have to wait “many days”—we are rewarded immediately.
The Lord said, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matt. 25:40). The Lord loves all of us, and He delights to see His children showing love and kindness and tenderness to each other. “Oh, there’s One who smiles on high, when there’s love at home” (Hymn no. 169).

When my mama had an operation on her back, I prayed hard that the operation would go well. When she came home from the hospital, I saw her crying, and I asked her why she was crying. She said she was in pain. I asked her if she wanted me to say a prayer and she said yes. I quickly knelt down and asked Heavenly Father for her pain to pass so she could stop crying. When I ended the prayer my mother was no longer crying. She was smiling and she hugged me and kissed me.

The decision by Nephi and his brothers to place their trust in the things of the world proved to be no more successful than leaving it to chance. I was talking to a father while attending a stake conference. He was telling me about the pressures on his teenage daughter to follow the ways of the world and how she had made the decision not to allow those pressures to influence her life.
She was the only member of the Church in her class in school. She was a popular young lady with the boys and had many opportunities to go out on dates. The boys in her class did not live by the standards she had been taught in our Church. She made the decision to tell every boy who asked her for a date what standards she lived by. If she were to date them, they would be expected to conduct themselves in accordance with her standards. She would get such a commitment from them before she accepted a date. One day the big campus football hero came up to her before the most special dance of the year and said, “You know, I would ask you to go to the dance with me if you would lower your standards just a little.”
There was no hesitation in her voice as she replied, “If I would go out with you, I would be lowering my standards.” Be strong enough to make your decisions to not follow worldly ways.

Probably no one took a greater interest in the recent dedication of the Ogden (Utah) temple than did a group of fellows and girls from the Layton Stake who raised $16,000 to help build it! Dave Preece, chairman of the students, says the effort was called Mission Y-Bat (Youth Build A Temple), and the young people raised funds by delivering telephone books, taking inventories, selling wax remover, and doing yard and farm work. Some found jobs and made contributions from their salaries on a pledge basis.

There is another way we can let our lights shine. Elder Henry B. Eyring said he never told one of his friends about the gospel. One day, he heard that his friend had died. Elder Eyring sometimes wonders if he will meet his friend in heaven and his friend will say, “You knew. Why didn’t you tell me?” Now Elder Eyring shares his testimony with people all over the world. (See “A Voice of Warning,” Liahona, January 1999, 37–40.) When we share the gospel with others, we are letting our lights shine.

My mother taught me from a very young age to be hardworking and to serve others. When I was six years old, my family helped in building a new chapel in Porto Alegre, Brazil. Back then, ward members and construction missionaries built the chapels for wards and branches.
I remember going with my family to help build the chapel. I carried bricks from one place to another. I poured water on top of bricks. I carried tools from one workstation to another. I remember working hard and knowing that my hard work would help others.

I grew up in Norway. The nearest temple was in Stockholm, Sweden, an 8- to 10-hour drive away. Needless to say, any trip to the temple took careful planning and deliberation. Our stake planned two visits to the temple for the youth each year; several wards would rent a bus and go to the temple for a weekend. It was fun to go with other youth, but my family and I wanted to go to the temple together sometime.
So one year we decided to go to Stockholm during our summer vacation. It was a great experience, and it soon became a pattern for our summers. We would camp at a campground close to the temple. Each morning we would get up early for a baptismal session with other families from Norway who had come to the temple. Afterward we would play football and go swimming at the campground.
These summers are sacred memories for me now. Although we didn’t live close enough to the temple to go there each month, it was always a special occasion when we could go. And even though the car ride was long and tedious, the Lord blessed us for our sacrifice. The spiritual experiences I had at the temple helped me develop my love for the temple and its ordinances. They also brought us closer together as a family.

It is important to Jonathan to live Jesus Christ’s teachings. When his father told him that there were many children who did not have toys like he did, he immediately put many of his toys into a box to give them away. They took the toys to a group of refugees, and Jonathan handed them out to the children. Tears filled his eyes as he saw how happy they were to get the toys. Later he told his father, “Now I know what Jesus means when He said to give. I have a warm feeling inside.”

1961. The horizon wasn’t even softened yet by the coming dawn when a train stopped at a siding in southern Mexico to take on water. There was no town in sight, nothing but the dim outlines of mountains and jungle. Before the train could chug out its first puff of steam to get underway again, a Mexican youth in a suit and tie suddenly dug an elbow into his “gringo” companion as they sat on a bench in the passenger section.
“Grab your bag,” he said. “We’re getting off.”
Overriding his sleepy friend’s inarticulate protests, he soon had them both standing by the tracks in the 4:00 A.M. chill as the train snorted, huffed, gathered speed, and pulled away. Finally awake, the companion said in disbelief, “But it’s the middle of the night, and we’re in the middle of nowhere, and there won’t be another train until tomorrow morning!”
“I know,” the young Mexican replied, “but the Spirit told me to get off; so we got off.” His companion shrugged. No arguing with that sort of thing. Elder Parra, district president of the Puebla District of the mission was no fool, and everybody knew he lived close to the Lord.
“So here we are,” the American said stoically. “So what next?” Elder Parra pointed into the darkness. “We start walking,” he said.
So they walked, stumbling up one side of a mountain and down the other. Dawn showed them another mountain beyond that, and another beyond that, and they climbed them. At last, about 17 miles later, they came to a village of very small, poor houses. They climbed a little hill nearby, took out their hymnbooks, and sang a hymn. When they had finished that hymn, they sang another, and then another, until all the people from the village came out of their houses and climbed the hill to see what was going on.
When everyone had gathered around the two missionaries, they started to preach. They preached for half a day, and when they had finished preaching, they dammed up a small stream nearby and baptized every person there who was eight years of age or older. They then ordained an elder to be president of the new little branch and hiked back to catch the next day’s train.
Today Elder Parra is back in southern Mexico, this time as president of the Mexico Vera Cruz Mission. The mission leads the Church in baptisms, has a high rate of member activity, and boasts a strong youth missionary program.
The little village in the mountains is a thriving branch of some 200 members. They have a full-time missionary in the field and hope to build a chapel.
To them it makes a lot of difference that one Mormon elder had enough faith to suddenly get off a train at 4:00 A.M. in the middle of nowhere.

Somner Price had always known that he wanted to spend his life in a profession where he could help people. He thought about becoming a doctor but wasn’t sure that the years of schooling required were for him. So when Somner, who is now 18, learned that his high school offered the option of taking vocational education courses in nursing at a local applied technology college, he jumped at the chance.

For his entire senior year, Somner spent his mornings in regular classes at his high school and his afternoons at an applied technology college. Some days on the road to becoming a certified nursing assistant (CNA) were more fun than others, and it certainly wasn’t all easy. Somner did his clinical practice work in a nursing home for elderly people. His duties included feeding, bathing, and taking the blood pressure of the patients. And while it was sometimes difficult, he found it very rewarding. “I decided to be a nurse because I wanted to help people,” he says. “And I felt like I was doing that.”

In addition to the blessings of serving others, Somner sees very practical benefits to his decision—when he graduated from high school, he left with a diploma and the certificate of a nursing assistant. “I feel like my vocational training has put me a step ahead. Now when I come home from my mission, I’ll be able to start into the next levels of nursing with some experience.”

Somner’s advice for choosing an educational route? “Make it something you know you’ll enjoy and something that fits your personality. I talked to my parents and other people I trusted, and they all had good advice. Just do what you love. Do what you’re good at.”

Jacob Hamblin was a brave pioneer who showed his courage by always telling the truth. The Indians knew that he was fair and honest, that they could trust his word. On one occasion Jacob was confronted by twenty-four Indian warriors who believed that the Saints were responsible for the deaths of three Indians. They wanted to take Jacob’s life, but he told them that his people had not betrayed them. After eleven hours of debate, the Indians decided to settle the matter peacefully because they knew that Jacob Hamblin had never lied to them. (See Valiant B Manual, page 140.)