Gospel Story Finder

Dr. Karl G. Maeser was twenty-seven at the time of his baptism and he held the position of oberlehrer (head teacher) at the Budig Academy in Dresden. A brilliant student and teacher, he had first learned of the Mormon Church through a popular pamphlet written to ridicule its teachings. He wondered what could cause anyone to have such hatred for a church, and he decided to learn more about it.
There were no Mormons in the country around Dresden at that time, but Karl accidentally discovered there were missionaries in Denmark. So he wrote to the mission president there for information and was sent pamphlets and books. Carefully studying the material, he became interested in the teachings of the Church and asked that a missionary be sent to Dresden to explain things to him. Two months later, in October 1855, Karl became the first member of the Church in that area of Germany.

“You’re tagged,” Macsen Viehweg yells. Rebecca Ray’s feet slide out from under her, and she grabs at the nearest person for support, starting a chain reaction of bodies falling down into the irrigation ditch. They all laugh good-naturedly as best friends do. Just days before, many of these friends were only names on a family group sheet. Now the word cousin has taken on new meaning to the Ray family teens.
“We had so much fun,” recalls Melanie Soelberg from Mesa, Arizona. “I love being with my family. It was so cool to get to know all my cousins.”
Each year Melanie’s grandparents, Oakley and Janet Ray of the Mesa First Ward, Mesa North Arizona Stake, try to get the families of their 10 children together, but this year was special because only the youth from 12 to 18 were invited. “Before, the younger children would play around us, and the adults would visit, but we weren’t getting as close to our teenagers as we wanted to,” says Grandma Ray.
So they decided to hold an “Especially for Rays” reunion at their daughter’s home in Weiser, Idaho, and sent each teenager an invitation with a list of 10 activity ideas to rank in order of preference. Then grandchildren ShaRee and Chad Walker, of the Weiser First Ward, tallied the results and organized four days of fun, excitement, and spirituality for the group.
Each morning began with a devotional. “Two of our uncles are seminary teachers, so the lessons were great. One morning we talked about how we must continually work at being our best because Satan is trying so hard to turn us away from the things that are the most important,” says ShaRee. “My favorite part was discussing gospel principles with each other and being taught by people we loved and respected.”
While the devotionals focused on spiritual matters, the days’ remaining activities kept the teens at a fast pace: horseback riding, floating down the Weiser River, playing tag football in a water-soaked field, going on scavenger hunts, and enjoying each other’s company.
Fun and games weren’t the only activities, however. The Rays wanted their grandchildren to experience the joy of service, so one day the youth went to a ward member’s ranch, where they branded and vaccinated sheep. “Although it was a service project for us, they were really the ones doing the service by letting all of us come and help,” says ShaRee.
“All the older cousins made a real effort to include the younger ones during this project,” says Melanie, one of the city slickers. “We had to hold the sheep so tight that we were really sore afterward, so we sat in a big circle and gave each other back rubs! The whole four days were like that. We were always looking out for each other.”
The one recurring memory of each participant is the love and respect they developed for each other. “The great thing was learning the strengths of all our cousins,” says Amy Soelberg. “One cousin read her scriptures and prayed every night and morning without fail. Now, whenever I’m tired or want to sleep in, I think about her. I pray that by following her example I can become more like her.”
Examples are not in short supply in the Ray family. “The highlight of it all was our grandparents,” says Chad. “Their devotional made us realize how lucky we are to be members of the Church and to be part of the Ray family. They told each one of us what a special part we play in the family and in the world. My grandparents are the best role models I could have.”
And the chain of role models continues as four of the participants received mission calls. One cousin just left for Panama City, Panama, and the other three will be at the Missionary Training Center together this summer.
Plans are already being made for the next “Especially for Rays” reunion. “I can’t wait to turn 12 and be able to go,” says Jenica Soelberg.
In fact, every eligible grandchild is looking forward to the next teen reunion, where best friends will have four fun-filled days together again. “I’ve always said I wanted cousin to be my grandchildren’s favorite word,” says Grandma Ray, “and I believe the Lord inspired us to help make that happen.”
by Emily Wing

With February came Keith, and in our small branch one person can make a lot of difference. He was a convert of five months and had the enthusiasm of four new missionaries all wrapped into one person. So when the college we attended announced a foster grandparent program involving a local rest home, Keith approached me with the idea that we, the only LDS students on campus, should join and be good examples. I suggested we visit the two women who were in our branch who lived there. They couldn’t get to church meetings, and they probably needed us. We talked about it but took no action.
Then one Sunday our high councilor couldn’t make the 30 miles to our branch because of a heavy snow, and President Harrison gave what I am sure was an impromptu talk on faith. He said faith was putting your words and beliefs in action. It was that afternoon that Keith and I decided to visit the sisters in the rest home.
Our first visit was a disaster. We visited each sister alone, and didn’t really get beyond “How are you?” “Fine.” As we left we knew two things: first, that they needed us; and second, that we could do better. We had promised them that we’d return. And even though we spent much of the next Sunday afternoon driving home the 150 miles from district conference, Keith and I convinced Les Harrison, his sister LeAnn, and Portia (a nursing student) to visit the women with us.
We wheeled both sisters into a quiet corner. Keith read an article from a Church magazine, Les read a scripture, and Portia offered a beautiful prayer. We felt good about the experience, and the next Sunday we came with seven Young Adults and youth. Les and Keith blessed and passed the sacrament to the sisters. We then wheeled them into a small chapel in the home and sang a hymn. An article from the Church magazines was read, then a poem and a scripture. We had a closing hymn and prayer.
It was three o’clock before we left and we hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, so Les invited us all to his house for soup and crackers. That Sunday afternoon I was again in the branch president’s home, only this time it was under much different circumstances. The faithful president had just come home from working at the church, and he and his wife joined us in our meal. During the week the seven of us were scattered about the town, and many of us were without families in the Church. For two hours we sat around the table and talked with each other and Les’s parents. Jokes, stories, and the problems of being lone Latter-day Saints out in “the field” were shared. It was truly an inspiring experience.
Les and I only had an hour to work on our home-study seminary lesson before I had to be back at the church for a branch correlation meeting. It was a good meeting, and it was ten o’clock before I returned home. I had no time left to work on my genealogy or write a letter to a missionary as I had planned.
When I knelt for prayer that night I realized there were more “dos” for the Sabbath than I could ever fit into one short day. I thanked my Heavenly Father for the special day he had set apart to bless us.

I was six years old when my father brought Bimbo home. He was a tiny black and white fox terrier puppy, so small he could fit into my father’s overcoat pocket. Having a pet is fun, but it also requires work. My big brother, Alan, and I had the responsibility of feeding our puppy and giving him water every day. As Bimbo grew, bathing him was one of our jobs, and we were always just as wet as Bimbo before we were through. We loved our puppy and treated him like a member of the family.

Zachary found the shiny star the Sunday before Christmas. He asked Mommy, “Where does it go?”
“I think I know,” she said. “You see if you can find where it belongs.”
Zachary looked at the Christmas tree, but the star at the top was still there. “Do you know where this star goes?” he asked Daddy.
“I think I know,” Daddy said. “You see if you can find where it belongs.”
Zachary looked at Mommy’s ears, then said to himself, “It’s too big to be one of Mommy’s earrings.”
He asked his big brother, Keith, “Do you know where this star goes?”
“I think I know,” Keith told him. “You see if you can find where it belongs.”
“OK,” Zachary said. He closed his eyes tightly and thought. But he couldn’t think where the star belonged. He went to play with the nativity scene while he waited for family home evening to start. As he tried to stand the angel on top of the stable, he had an idea.
When family home evening started, Daddy asked, “Who has something to share with us?”
“I do,” said Zachary. He put the star on top of the stable in the nativity scene. “Here is where the star goes—above Baby Jesus.”

One day Tanner was riding his bike with his friend, Cole. Suddenly Cole’s bike crashed to the sidewalk. Tanner saw that his friend had scraped his arm and he was crying.
Right then Tanner had a good idea. He hopped off his bike and asked, “Cole, do you want me to make you something happy?”
Cole didn’t know what Tanner meant. But there on the sidewalk, Tanner did a happy dance. He jumped, kicked, and turned around as he sang, “Do, do, do!”
Cole wasn’t crying anymore. He was laughing so hard that he was rolling on the grass.

Jenny jumped out of bed to the good smells of breakfast cooking. Mother must be feeling much better, she thought as she bounced down the stairs.
The January winds had carved a snowbank near the window, and as Jenny looked out, the lacy patterns of snowflakes appeared in the light of the kitchen. Mother greeted her with a cheery smile, and Jenny’s rosy-cheeked little brother sat in his high chair, demanding his cereal. Everything is back to normal, thought Jenny contentedly.
It had been a difficult December for the family. First, Jenny was down with the flu, then her little brother Clark, then Daddy, then the baby. Mother cared for all of them until one day she, too, was sick. Daddy took over, but he wasn’t feeling his best yet, either. So the holidays were almost forgotten. On Christmas Day there were some gifts from Santa and relatives, but the usual family gatherings and church parties passed while the family tried to get well.
Now the holidays were over, and today was the first day back to school after vacation. Jenny was eager to see her friends and teacher again.
As Clark came down the stairs, rubbing sleep from his eyes, Mother grew thoughtful. The happy expression on her face gradually changed, and she appeared sad. “What’s the matter, Mother?” asked Jenny as she ate her warm oatmeal with honey.
“Oh, I’m grateful that we’re all better now, that Daddy has returned to his job, and that you can go back to school, but I feel sad that the holidays passed us by.”
“You mean because we didn’t get a lot of presents this year?” asked Jenny.
“Not that, sweetheart,” Mother said. “I mean we didn’t give a lot of presents. Oh, we remembered our family, but we missed our special visits to our good neighbors—dear Sister Ruth, Mrs. Perkins, and Brother Billings down the road. I hope they had a nice holiday.”
Just then Jenny saw the school bus rounding the curve in the road. She quickly gathered her things, and ran to the door. “ ’Bye, Mother. I love you,” she yelled as she started for the bus, her boots making deep tracks in the snow.
At school Jenny kept busy at her assignments. Her teacher’s happy face reminded her of Mother, and Jenny remembered what Mother had said about the holidays passing them by. She kept thinking about it, even when she was playing with her friends at recess.
On the long ride home in the school bus, while Jenny gazed at rolling mounds of white that covered the farm and fields, Mother’s words were still on her mind. Then she thought, Why do we give Christmas gifts just in December? We could have our own Christmas in January! She was so excited at the idea that she could hardly wait to get home.
As she ran up the lane, Jenny could see Mother outside sweeping snow off their front steps. “Merry Christmas, Mother!” Jenny cried as she ran to greet her.
“What do you mean?” laughed Mother.
“I have the answer, Mother. We don’t have to miss the holidays, after all. We can have Christmas in January.”
Mother’s face brightened. Jenny could tell that she liked the idea.
When they went inside, Jenny smelled hot bread just out of the oven. As Mother gave her a big slice, Jenny said, “We could take something like this to give to Sister Ruth, Mrs. Perkins, and Brother Billings, just to show them we love them. You always say that we should keep Christmas in our hearts all year round.”
“You’re right,” said Mother, “but not just bread.” Her eyes twinkled as she went to the freezer and brought back a can of frozen orange juice.
Jenny was surprised. “We’re going to give them bread and orange juice?”
“Not orange juice,” Mother said. “Orange-Juice Jelly. At least, that’s its name. But we can call it January Jelly, OK?”
“OK!”
With Mother directing, Jenny added two cups of water to one box of pectin and stirred it in a pan. Mother put it on the stove, and when it had boiled for one minute, she added three and a half cups of sugar. She helped Jenny add three-fourth cup of frozen orange juice concentrate, and they let it simmer for two minutes.
In no time at all they were pouring the golden liquid into jars. As the sealing wax hardened, mother cut a piece of red ribbon to wrap around the top of each jar.
When Daddy came home, they bundled the boys up, stacked their gifts on the family sled, and started out.
As the family walked along with Daddy carrying the baby and Jenny pulling the sled, Mother began singing softly, “Oh, Come, All Ye Faithful.” Jenny felt as if she would burst with joy. She knew that Mrs. Perkins, Brother Billings, and Sister Ruth would be happy to see them and would love the bread and January Jelly, and she couldn’t wait to surprise them.

The Togola family learned about the gospel as they were supporting humanitarian efforts online.
Photograph courtesy of the Togola family
While I was serving as president of the Ghana Accra West Mission, I received an email from a Church member in California named Dale Wight. For some time, Brother Wight had been sending Church literature to a man named Ibrahima Togola, who lived in Mali, a landlocked country in West Africa. They had met online, where both of them were supporting humanitarian efforts.
There were no missionaries in Mali yet. However, Ibrahima was willing to travel more than 720 miles (1,160 km) by bus to Accra, Ghana, if I would arrange for missionaries to teach him. In the following weeks, I visited with Ibrahima several times online. He came to Ghana, where I met him and arranged for the missionaries to teach him. He was baptized soon after and returned to Mali. (He is now a member of the Bamako Branch, which is part of the Cote d’Ivoire Abidjan East Mission.)
Without the miracle of modern technology, think how difficult it would have been for Ibrahima Togola to learn about the gospel. Instead, he was able to engage in gospel conversations that changed his life.

One afternoon while my mom was reading the Church News, I saw a picture of a child who looked sick. I asked my mom why he looked that way. My mom told me that it was a picture of a child in Ethiopia, and that he did not have enough to eat. He was starving. I asked my mom if we could go to the grocery store and buy some food for him. My mom explained that children who are starving need to eat special food that we could not buy at the grocery store. But she told me that we could give money to the bishop at church, and he would make sure that it would help people in need, including the children in Ethiopia. I ran to my room and brought back a bag full of money from my piggy bank.
When we arrived at church on Sunday, my mom took me to get a tithing envelope. Together my mom and I filled out the donation slip. We listed the amount of money I had brought in the “humanitarian aid” line of the donation slip. I couldn’t wait to give my envelope to the bishop. It made me feel good to share what I have with others.

I was born and raised in the Philippines, where I met and married my wife, Monina. It was there that our son, Mark, was born. In the mid-1990s, our family moved to Saipan, which is a small island in the Pacific. There, we were active members of another church. Occasionally, I’d see pairs of young men walking around the island, dressed neatly in white shirts and ties. I knew they were Latter-day Saint missionaries, but I had no plans to join another church. When I saw them coming my way, I would literally turn and run in the opposite direction.

My attitude toward the missionaries changed when two friends, Mel and Soledad Espinosa, were baptized into the Church. They encouraged our family to meet with the missionaries, and mostly out of curiosity, we agreed to do so. Our first meeting was in August 2007, and as the missionaries shared their message, I felt something powerful. My heart beat faster, and I felt a tingling sensation throughout my entire body. I later learned that my entire family felt inspired and uplifted. Our feelings intensified in the ensuing months as we learned more about the gospel of Jesus Christ.

About the time we began meeting with the missionaries, Monina’s energy began to decrease, and strange bumps started appearing all over her body. Her arthritis flared up as it never had before. We sought medical help, but none of the tests gave us any answers. As the months passed, her health deteriorated to the point that she needed additional medical attention. In December, Monina flew to the Philippines to meet with doctors there. I stayed in Saipan so I could continue to work and care for our teenage son.

Before she left, Monina told me that she wanted to be baptized when she returned to Saipan. She also asked me to continue meeting with the missionaries even though she would be missing some of the lessons. I promised her that Mark and I would do so.

During her time in the Philippines, we talked regularly so that I could hear about her doctor visits and she could hear what we were learning about the gospel. My wife reported that she was feeling less and less pain every day, and I was glad that the medical attention was working. In early January 2008, I purchased a plane ticket so I could go visit her, but she felt certain that she would be back in Saipan soon and that there was no need to waste money on the trip. She told me she loved and missed our son and me but assured me everything would be all right.

Three days later she died suddenly. The cause: undetected leukemia. Mark and I were stunned—and heartbroken. We immediately traveled to the Philippines for the funeral and then returned to Saipan. This was the most difficult time of our lives.

The sorrow I felt was profound, so much so that I found it hard to get out of bed each morning. One particularly difficult day, Mark reminded me of something the missionaries had taught our family. He said, “Dad, don’t cry too much. Mom is in a place of God. She is in the spirit world.” How grateful I felt that a just God had provided a way for Monina to continue to learn about the gospel, that everyone who has ever lived will have a chance to either accept or reject the gospel of Jesus Christ—either in this life or the next.

As I continued to learn the teachings of Jesus Christ, I realized that Heavenly Father had provided much more than that: He also made it possible for her to receive essential ordinances like baptism. Before my wife left for the Philippines, she and I had started talking about being baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Even though she wasn’t able to be baptized in this life, Heavenly Father had not left us without hope.

Mark and I faced several trials in the following months. After returning to the Philippines for my wife’s funeral, I lost my job. I sold our car to pay Monina’s hospital bills. Plus, Mark and I had to adjust to life without Monina. Despite the adversity, Mark and I found hope in our newfound faith, and we were baptized in April 2008. In the months that followed, I was able to find another job and pay the hospital bills. Mark and I made a goal to attend our branch trip to the Manila Philippines Temple so we could be sealed together as a family.

After saving all our extra income and preparing ourselves spiritually, Mark and I traveled with our branch to the temple in May 2009. As we prepared for the trip, we saw firsthand the destructive hand of the adversary as well as the strengthening and uplifting love of our Heavenly Father. I got extremely sick the day before we were scheduled to leave for the temple. Some members had unexpected immigration problems, while others had trouble obtaining passports. Our friends who introduced my family to the gospel, the Espinosas, lost their jobs the week we were scheduled to attend the temple. Even worse, a member of our branch presidency who was scheduled to attend the temple for the first time lost his father to a sudden illness three days before our trip. But in the end the Lord strengthened each of us and made it possible for 42 members of the branch to attend the temple. Sixteen of us attended for the first time.

May 13, 2009, is a day I will never forget. When I arrived at the temple, the weight and pain of my wife’s death immediately vanished. Although I was initially nervous about the temple because I didn’t know exactly what to do or where to go, I was struck by the calm, peaceful presence I felt once I stepped inside. It was very different from the busy streets just outside the temple doors.

As the day progressed, my temple experience became only more meaningful and more powerful. In the morning our branch participated in baptisms for the dead. As I watched, I found myself thinking of my wife, who a year and a half earlier had expressed her desire to be baptized. I then witnessed the fulfillment of that desire as a friend was baptized for and in behalf of Monina.

The most significant portion of my trip, however, came later that afternoon when I walked into the sealing room. My wife and I were married years ago, but we were not married in the temple by Heavenly Father’s priesthood authority. When my wife died, I thought I had lost her forever. But as I met with the missionaries, I learned that in the temple, families can be sealed together for eternity.

As I walked into the sealing room at the Manila Temple, I was overcome with emotion. Ever since my baptism, I had known the blessings of the gospel were real, but in that instant I truly witnessed their worth. As Mark and I knelt at the altar to be sealed as a family, I felt my wife’s presence. I could hear her voice, and it was as if I were holding her hand. I felt Monina’s presence with every feeling in my heart. I knew then that we were an eternal family.

“Mom! Mom! They’re selling ice cream after school this week!” Wade jumped into the car with excitement in his voice. “Could I take a dollar from my bank and buy one tomorrow? Please?”
Mom laughed as Wade bounced on the backseat of the minivan. “You decide how to use the money in your spending bank,” she said. “If you want to use it for ice cream, you go right ahead.”
“All right!” Wade cried. As soon as they arrived home, he ran to his room, removed a dollar from his spending bank, and carefully zipped it into his backpack pocket.
After school the next day, Wade went to the front hall where the student council helpers sat at a table. Pictures of each kind of ice-cream bar were taped to the table. What to choose? It was hard to decide between the chocolate bar, the orange bar, the nutty cone, the red rocket, and the vanilla ice cream covered with bits of candy bar. He finally chose the nutty cone and opened it up.
On his way out to the car, he went to the music room to pick up his instrument so he could practice at home. His music teacher, Mr. Nolan, was straightening chairs and music stands.
“Wade, how nice of you to get me ice cream!” he joked, reaching toward the cone. “Just what I could use after a long day.”
Wade laughed. “I bought this one for me,” he said.
Mr. Nolan made a silly sad face. “Oh, too bad,” he sighed. Then he laughed. “Enjoy your ice cream!”
Wade waved good-bye to him and skipped out to the car. “I got ice cream, Mom!”
He told her about Mr. Nolan and his silly face. “Maybe he really would like some ice cream,” Wade thought. “Mom,” he said, “could I use another dollar to buy Mr. Nolan ice cream tomorrow?”
“It’s your money, Wade,” said Mom with a smile.
As soon as he got home, Wade ran to his room again. He pulled another dollar from his bank and again put it into his backpack pocket. “What kind of face will Mr. Nolan make when I hand him the ice cream?” Wade wondered. He could hardly wait to see.
As soon as class ended the next day, Wade quickly gathered his books and walked down the hall to the ice-cream table. Today he didn’t stop to think about which flavor to buy. Mr. Nolan had seemed to think the nutty cone looked good. “I’ll take one cone,” Wade said.
He didn’t open it this time but zipped down the hall toward the music room. Sure enough, Mr. Nolan was there straightening chairs again. “Oh, you brought me more ice cream!” he said.
This time Wade walked right up to Mr. Nolan. “Yep, I did!” he announced and handed Mr. Nolan the cone.
Mr. Nolan didn’t make a silly face at all. Instead, he looked very surprised.
“Is this really for me?” he asked.
“Yep,” Wade said.
“How much do I owe you?” Mr. Nolan asked.
“Oh, nothing,” Wade said. “I got it for you.”
“Why, thank you very much,” Mr. Nolan said with a smile.
Wade felt wonderful from the tips of his sneakers to the top of his head. He couldn’t contain the grin on his face.
“You’re welcome,” he called as he grabbed his instrument and trotted out to the car where his mother was waiting. He was still smiling as he opened the door.
“How did it go?” Mom asked.
“Great!” Wade said. Then he thought for a second. “You know what, Mom? I think getting ice cream for Mr. Nolan was even better than getting it for myself!”

After a few years of conducting meetings in and around Kotpad, I moved to northern India, where I began to sell books from the Evangelical Christian literature society. I came across a book called Is Mormonism Christian? Something about the book intrigued me, and I decided to read it.
The book had a lot of criticism toward the Mormons and their beliefs. Even so, many parts of the book intrigued me, especially their concept of the Godhead, the components of their worship, and the history of polygamy. However, what interested me the most was that their church was named after Jesus Christ. I was curious to know more.
One day while praying, I felt inspired to investigate the Mormon Church. I learned that Salt Lake City, Utah, was the Church’s headquarters. I decided to write a letter and addressed it to “Men in charge of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Salt Lake City, Utah, USA.”
In 1959, in response to my letter, Brother Lamar Williams from the Church Missionary Department sent me Joseph Smith’s testimony, the Articles of Faith, and the Book of Mormon. I studied them all and was convinced of their truthfulness. However, there were no missionaries or members to teach me in India.
Then in January 1961, Elder Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles visited Delhi. I spent three days traveling with him to the Taj Mahal at Agra and to Dharamsala. I was like a sponge soaking up all the gospel lessons he taught. On the final day of his visit, I was ready for baptism. On January 7, 1961, I was baptized by Elder Kimball in the Yamuna River; Sister Kimball was the official witness, though there were many curious onlookers. I was confirmed that evening.
Those three days when the Lord’s Apostle taught me without any interruptions have been some of the best days of my life. Parting was sad because he had become my special Mormon friend.

Some years ago I coached a high school basketball team through a rather unusual season. The season began with a number of disappointing losses. Some of the fans and townspeople didn’t make a secret of their unhappiness over the team’s failures. There was considerable public comment, and it was a challenging time for members of the team. Several of them finally became discouraged and withdrew from the team. Those who remained didn’t lose faith in themselves or in their coach. The rough going seemed to be an incentive for them to try even harder.

At mid-season the team began to win their games. They qualified for the district tournament and surprised everyone there by winning a place in the state play-offs. To the amazement of everyone, they went on to win the state championship—the first ever to be won by that school!

Following the celebration and the awarding of trophies after the championship game, I drove several of the team members back to our city. There was silence during much of the ride as we each reflected on the incredible outcome of our season’s efforts. Finally, one of the young men spoke. (He had been honored for being one of the outstanding players in the tournament.) “Coach,” he said, “I think we were supposed to win tonight.”

I was curious to know what had prompted this conclusion. “Why do you think we were supposed to win?” I asked.

His response was simple and direct—and I will never forget its impact. “Because we paid the price,” he said.

Indeed they had, and I am sure the lessons learned by those young men during that eventful year have been valuable to them throughout their lives.

Margaret could feel her face getting red as the math teacher wrote the grades on the blackboard. Twenty scores had already been posted and hers was still lower. He kept on writing—forty-one, thirty-nine, and thirty-eight.
No one knew that she was the one who had a score of thirty-nine, but to be next to last was embarrassing just the same. Margaret closed her eyes and wished she were far away.
Just then the bell rang and class was over. Margaret gathered up her books and started home. But instead of going straight home to her house she stopped by Mr. Tucker’s yard where he was carefully turning over the garden with a shovel.
“Well, if it isn’t Meg!” he called. Just those few words from Mr. Tucker made Margaret feel better.
“Hi, Mr. Tucker! It’s such a nice spring day that I knew you’d be out here.”
“You know me pretty well, don’t you? Put your books down and visit awhile.”
Margaret watched the dry brown earth become a rich black as the shovelfuls were turned over.
“How was school today?” Mr. Tucker asked as he wiped his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief.
“All right, I guess. Anyway, it’s almost over for the year.”
“How are you doing in English?”
“Good,” Margaret answered.
“And you’re still doing well in science and art?”
“Yes.”
“Then I guess the long face is for math.”
“That’s right,” Margaret answered, disgustedly. “As a matter of fact my score was next to the lowest in class today.”
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Tucker said, stopping his work for a few minutes to talk about Margaret’s problem.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said. “Numbers just don’t make much sense to me. I’m afraid I’ll never understand them.”
“Well, now, I know you pretty well, Meg,” Mr. Tucker told her. “You’ve always done well in school. Most things seem to come easy for you, and so I know you’re going to be able to lick your problem with math.”
Margaret watched the soil as Mr. Tucker went back to turning it over. “You’ve come across something that isn’t easy, Meg,” he continued. “But now you’ve found a challenge, it can be pretty exciting to meet it head-on and prove you can master it.”
“I never thought of it that way,” Meg said. “Instead, I’ve just become upset until I sometimes feel as though I just hate it, especially since I’ll probably have to go to summer school if my grades don’t get any better.”
“Would that be so bad, summer school I mean?” asked Mr. Tucker. “Seems to me that might be a pretty good place to put in some hours. We didn’t have anything like that when I was a boy.”
“Well,” Meg replied. “Summer school is great if you can take the things you want. I guess the trouble is that I don’t like math any time of the year.”
“Math’s important, Meg.”
“I know. That’s what Mom says, but I guess I haven’t learned to like it yet.”
Mr. Tucker turned the last of the dry, brittle earth into crumbly black soil. “There, now I can get to planting.” He wore a twinkly kind of smile that Margaret had often seen, but only when he was working in the garden. She’d wondered about that certain smile but had never found a good answer for it.
The next week school ended and Margaret had only one week of vacation before summer school. Every day she walked down to watch Mr. Tucker weed and water his tomatoes and corn and peas. She watched his gray head bent over a tomato plant, searching for new weeds. And she wondered why he bothered with such a little garden.
“It’s not much of a garden this year,” Mr. Tucker admitted, reading her thoughts one day. “I used to plant this whole backyard.”
“Why do you work so hard anyway?” Margaret asked. “You usually give most of the vegetables away.”
Mr. Tucker had that same twinkly smile on his face as he answered. “It’s nice to be needed. And some folks depend on my vegetables, just like I’m depending on you to learn to like math.”
“I’ll try,” Margaret promised. And math lesson by math lesson the first week slowly passed. Summer school wasn’t half as unpleasant as she had anticipated.
She studied hard but on the first test she only scored fifty-eight.
“I’m afraid I can’t make a better grade,” Margaret told Mr. Tucker, showing him her red-checked paper.
“Yes you can!”
“I tried so hard. And look!”
“But you’ve only been going a week,” Mr. Tucker reminded her. “You’ll probably score in the sixties next week.”
And so before each test during the summer Margaret worked and studied a little harder. Slowly her scores began getting better and Mr. Tucker’s tomatoes grew bigger and riper.
“The day my first tomato is ready to pick you’ll get a hundred on your math,” he predicted.
Margaret laughed. “I’m working at it,” she said.
“And working isn’t so bad, is it? Still hate math?”
“Only a little,” Margaret answered, and the answer surprised even her.
“That’s my Meg!”
The next Monday when the math teacher wrote the scores on the board, there was only one hundred—Margaret’s. She had worked very hard all summer and was so pleased with the results that she smiled all the way to Mr. Tucker’s.
“Guess what?” she shouted.
“You got a hundred,” Mr. Tucker said matter-of-factly.
“How did you know?”
Mr Tucker held up a bright red tomato. “Easy,” he said, “my first tomato is ripe.” Then they both laughed.
“Here, this one is yours,” he said. “It’ll make a great sandwich for lunch.”
Margaret noticed his twinkly smile again as he put the tomato in her hands. Now she understood about the smile and without even a mirror, she knew she wore the very same kind of smile. Suddenly she realized that the “something” that Mr. Tucker was smiling about was the feeling that comes when a person has a feeling of accomplishment.
“Thank you,” she said, “and if this tomato tastes as good as the feeling of finally earning a hundred in math, it’ll be a great sandwich. You know,” Margaret added, “it’s almost like magic what a little work can do.”
Mr. Tucker nodded in agreement. “There’s not really much magic in this old world,” he said. “But it’s a great feeling when you’re a part of making something almost magical happen.”

Suppose for a moment a man contemplating an exhilarating free fall makes a rash decision and spontaneously jumps from a small plane. After doing so, he quickly realizes the foolishness of his actions. He wants to land safely, but there is an obstacle—the law of gravity. He moves his arms with astounding speed, hoping to fly, but to no avail. He positions his body to float or glide to slow the descent, but the law of gravity is unrelenting and unmerciful. He tries to reason with this basic law of nature: “It was a mistake. I will never do it again.” But his pleas fall on deaf ears. The law of gravity knows no compassion; it makes no exceptions. Fortuitously, though, the man suddenly feels something on his back. His friend in the plane, sensing the moment of foolishness, had placed a parachute there just before the jump. He finds the rip cord and pulls it. Relieved, he floats safely to the ground. We might ask, “Was the law of gravity violated, or did that parachute work within that law to provide a safe landing?”

Some years ago Elder Marion D. Hanks told about a group of Boy Scouts who went cave exploring. The narrow trail was marked with white stones and lighted in sections as they went. After about an hour they came to a huge, high dome. Below it lay an area called the Bottomless Pit, so called because the floor of the cave had collapsed into a deep, gaping hole. It was hard not to jostle each other on that narrow path. Pretty soon, one of the bigger boys accidentally pushed a smaller boy into a muddy area away from the light. Terrified as he lost his footing, he screamed in the darkness. The ranger heard his cry of terror and came quickly. The boy let out another cry as the beam of the ranger’s light showed that he was right on the very edge of the pit.
In this story, the boy was rescued. But this does not always happen. So many times young people are enticed to go to the very edge or even beyond it. With only a precarious toehold, it is easy to be seriously injured or even die. Life is too precious to throw away in the name of excitement or, as Jacob said in the Book of Mormon, “looking beyond the mark.”

Thirteen-year-old Lynnette Thompson wondered why the dogs kept barking and running around in circles in the yard. Then the fence she was standing by started to rattle, and her dad, who had just climbed down from the roof of the house, yelled at her to stop shaking the fence. She started to protest that she wasn’t doing anything to the fence, when the rock wall by the house started to crumble. “Then everything started jumping around. I saw the flagpole fall over, and the roof of the house jumped up several inches and came back down.”

Recently, in handling some souvenirs which I possess, I held in my hand a pocket piece which reminded me of a pleasant experience.
Several years ago, boarding an aircraft in Denver to return to Salt Lake City, having been invited to be a member of the Church Building Committee, I met a member of our staff making the same journey. With him was a gentleman he had chanced to meet. Seated in the aircraft together, we engaged ourselves in conversation. I asked the gentleman about his present occupation. He informed us that he was a building engineer, presently engaged in building a church in one of the larger cities in the state of Texas. He recounted to us some of the frustrating experiences that he and their finance committee had in raising funds from the members of his church; they had tried most everything such as direct solicitations, dinners, bazaars, some games of chance—none of which was very successful.
To solve the financial problem, they called a special meeting. It was during this meeting, he said, that they had come upon a capital idea, after someone had suggested going to the scriptures to try the Lord’s way. The scripture came from Malachi:
“Bring ye all the tithes into the storehouse, that there may be meat in mine house, and prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it.” (Mal. 3:10.)
From this the committee conceived a unique idea of getting that message to their members by coining a pocket piece made of copper with a coating to make it appear as a bright gold coin, about the size of a fifty-cent piece, inscribed on one side with the words, “One tenth is the Lord’s” and on the other side, “Bring ye all the tithes and I will pour you out a blessing that there shall not be room enough to receive it.”
These coins, he said, were distributed to the members. The thought was that as the men would reach into their pockets and the ladies into their purses for change, the bright gold coin would be the first item they would see, and it would remind them of their duty. He smiled and handed to each of us the souvenir coin and said: “This was successful! The people have responded and now we are moving ahead with our project.”
As he said that, I thought, “A true principle discovered, properly applied, brings a correct result.”
After some pause, he turned the conversation to us and queried of us as to our present endeavors, to which we replied: “Coincidentally, we too are engaged in building churches, employed by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“How many churches are you building?” he asked.
“At present, a few hundred,” was the reply.
A surprised look appeared on his face. “That’s a lot of buildings! How in the world do you pay for them? Where do you get the money?”
“From our Church membership, and coincidentally again, the great secret you discovered in the principle of tithing has been a tenet of the Lord’s Church from the early days of its restoration,” was the reply.
This afforded an extensive discussion of the great devotion of the Latter-day Saints, not only in paying their tithing, their fast offerings, additional construction funds, temple funds, welfare funds, budgets, missionary funds, etc., but also of their giving much of their free time in Church services, in the administration of and participation in the Church programs. We explained the extensive missionary program and the devotion of our young people to it. He seemed intensely interested, sat back in his seat, and thoughtfully said: “That’s amazing! You must have something we do not have.”

Like many of you, I have shared the gospel with some who are soon baptized or activated, and others—such as my nonmember friend Tim and his less-active wife, Charlene—take much more time.
For over 25 years I engaged Tim in gospel conversations and took Tim and Charlene to temple open houses. Others joined the rescue; however, Tim declined each invitation made to meet with the missionaries.
One weekend I was assigned to preside at a stake conference. I had asked the stake president to fast and pray about whom we should visit. I was shocked when he handed me the name of my friend Tim. When Tim’s bishop, the stake president, and I knocked on the door, Tim opened it, looked at me, looked at the bishop, and then said, “Bishop, I thought you told me you were going to bring somebody special!”
Then Tim laughed and said, “Come on in, Merv.” A miracle occurred that day. Tim has now been baptized, and he and Charlene have been sealed in the temple. We must never give up.

During my last semester as an undergraduate student, while watching the South Africa Area conference broadcast, I was touched by the teachings on marriage and family and immediately made up my mind to consider marriage. That same evening, during a family council, I shared with my family that I would be getting married. My beloved mother and my brother were delighted with this announcement, but I still hadn’t found my future wife. A few weeks later I began to pray and to seek a spouse. After pondering and much looking, I came across a young woman called Agnès Kamuanya, who later became my dear eternal wife.

This sister loved me, and I loved her. She was preparing to serve a mission, and I promised her that we wouldn’t start our life together until we were married in the holy temple, which pleased her even more. In the meantime, the temple was under construction, and we didn’t know when it would be ready for us to be sealed. But we were facing several challenges, including getting the dowry and starting a home. To achieve this, we needed to have the means. I told my dear fiancée that I truly love her, but I don’t have the necessary resources to pay the dowry. She replied that she was aware of that, and that we should pray to achieve our desires. She set a fast day on a certain Thursday, and we fasted with the aim of finding a job and getting married.

I scheduled the wedding date on my phone’s calendar. A few weeks after our fast, two job offers came in, I applied and successfully passed the tests and interviews and I was hired. I signed my contract for six months. I had to work and save some income from my job to prepare for the marriage. My priesthood leaders accompanied me to my in-laws.

Being in the process of getting married, I was expecting that my in-laws would give me a dowry list; my father-in-law was a Church leader, and when my family asked him for the list, he kindly replied, “Go prepare and bring with you what you will get, we are not selling our daughter”.

What a wonderful surprise for my family! We prepared the dowry and presented it to our in-laws, and then organized our engagement at the civil registry office. Meanwhile, the temple building work was nearing completion. We got married and stayed for a few days in our respective family homes, waiting to be sealed before leaving for our new home as I had promised my beloved wife.

My father-in-law was under a lot of pressure from other family members as to why he hadn’t given the dowry list. Yet he successfully explained the importance of marriage to every member of the family.

In the run-up to the wedding, I took the money I’d set aside for the wedding party and allocated it to going to the temple. We made the decision to totally self-fund our trip to the temple. We set an appointment with the temple in writing, and we traveled to Kinshasa in heavy rain. I couldn’t stop excitedly telling my wife, “We’re going to the Lord’s house and fulfilling our engagement promises”.

On the day of our sealing, while we were having photos taken with the family, I received instant payment from a client who owed me. Long before going to the holy temple, I worked off my contract and applied for a new position. After we were sealed, I was invited for the job tests and interviews, but was unable to go as I had no extra savings for the return ticket.

Three days after the sealing, I received a call from my boss asking if I was willing to work on a new project in Kamako by the border with Angola. After prayer, my dear wife told me that I had to take the job. The savings I had, which did not allow for a return ticket home by plane, were enough to cover the cost of my journey by road to my new job location, without having to take the test and interview. This was made possible by the grace of the Lord. So having a job without going through interviews was one of the first blessings received from the holy temple.

From this experience, I learned that the doctrine of marriage was instrumental in helping me enter into marriage as I prioritized marriage in the holy temple rather than a dowry drawn up on a list. It helped me understand that marriage is not a discussion about what to pay in exchange for a wife, but rather obedience to God’s commandment. I also learned that the Lord blesses each of us depending on our desire and faith in Him.

Today, as I look at the Lord’s blessings in our home, our precious children and our families, I am reminded of this promise, The Lord honors those who honor Him. It is my testimony to every young man and woman as they prepare for marriage and my invitation to every parent as they marry off their child, whether a Latter-day Saint or not, the Lord’s doctrine on marriage must come first and take precedence over our customs.

We love the Lord.
I love my sweet eternal wife. I love both our families and I love our eternal children.