Gospel Story Finder

By December 1993, having a joint institute class for young single adults, single adults and married couples was very common in the early days of establishing the Church in Lagos. These classes were hosted by the Ikeja and Oshodi branches in the Lagos District and were held in our rented building.
We were about to close a class one evening when we received information that a visiting sister needed to address the class. The visitor was Patience Ojukwu. She told the class about her poultry farm at Idimu Egbeda and many opportunities for members. She was a recent convert who joined the Church in March 1993 and immediately started assisting the full-time missionaries in our branches and district, some of whom I worked with were Elders Idiong, Akpan, Arungwa, and Ikpegbu Christopher. Brother Cletus Ashidike, who served as the Oshodi branch president, was very supportive to the cause of Zion with his personal resources and time.
We always sought for opportunitis to serve, and I never waited to be commanded. Some of our early converts and those whom I taught as a youth Sunday School teacher are now serving as bishops, stake presidents, and some of those whom we interviewed for such leadership roles are now Area Seventies, mission presidents, or temple ordinance workers. Some missionaries whom we worked with over the years are scattered all over Africa, the Middle East and the Pacific.
Between December 23 and 24 1993, our Oshodi Branch missionaries asked me to go to Sister Patience Ojukwu’s farm to buy old layer chickens for Christmas dinner. When I returned with one, the other companion asked me to get another for them. Arriving at the farm on the afternoon of Christmas Eve, Sister Ojukwu informed me that she had lost more than two hundred old layer chicken which had been stolen the previous night. I was only a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood, but I was the only priesthood holder on the farm that very day. I asked that we all join hands together and pray to God to reveal to us what action to take. I got the answers immediately and asked Sister Ojukwu to inform the police. When the detectives arrived, the farm security guard was arrested and confessed that the farm supervisor transferred and sold the birds to a small neighboring farmer.
Over 90 percent of the birds were recovered. The activities at the farm that day lasted until nightfall. Sister Ojukwu pleaded that I spend the night with her family. Very early on Christmas morning, I returned to the missionary apartment at Oshodi with crates of eggs as a gift from Sister Ojukwu.
The Ojukwu family was very excited for this huge recovery. They invited me to live with them and to be their farm manager. I accepted this as a volunteer position. This decision was very important to me as I was desirous to refer contacts and visitors to the missionaries to be taught.
Sister Ojukwu served as the Lagos District Relief Society president. While living with them and managing the farm, in 1994 I was ordained to the office of an elder. The farm became a point of contact for missionaries and Church youth community projects, and this led to many baptisms and later the creation of the Egbeda Branch. A major achievement was the baptism of Sister Ojukwu’s husband, Augustine Ojukwu. The Ojukwu family relocated to England and have remained active in the Church. It was a wonderful reunion for me to meet Sister Ojukwu at the Aba Nigeria Temple during its dedication and my sealing in August 2005.
Egbeda Branch has grown into a stake of Zion and is ready for another split as a result of massive growth. One of our early converts in that area, Brother Sunday Adejuwon, later served a full-time mission, was called as bishop, and currently serves as the stake president of the Lagos Nigeria Egbeda Stake. The turning point in my life was when I discovered for myself that heaven is never closed, God hears and answers prayers, directs our footsteps and the building of Zion is our collective responsibility for those who have taken His name upon themselves.
The rapid growth of the Church in Egbeda area was a monumental milestone as it was hitherto an obscure area largely away from the center of strength, it is indeed a mark of one of the miracles of Church growth in Africa and the gathering of Israel becomes a reality when those who are strong take the weak. I envisage a very bright future as many stakes of Zion grow here.
This area of Lagos was and will always be very dear to my heart, for it was here that I laid the foundation of my spiritual growth, of receiving personal revelations, recording in my journal and keeping accurate record of the unfolding history of the church in this part of the Lord’s kingdom.

How Magrina Sam Aiten came to be endowed in the Manila Philippines Temple illustrates the distances, both physical and cultural, Micronesians often cross when coming to the Lord. While living in Chuuk (or Truk), she was visited by the missionaries. When she asked them a question about Joseph Smith, “their answer touched my heart, and I asked them to give me the discussions.”

Reading the Book of Mormon gave her a testimony of the gospel, but her testimony alienated her from her husband. He resented the missionaries’ visits. When the elders taught Magrina about fasting, she decided that her first fast would be for her husband. “I felt the Spirit, and my husband’s heart was softened.” He allowed the missionaries to continue meeting with Magrina and the children. “After one month, he joined us,” Magrina says. “In January 1986, I, my husband, and our oldest child were baptized.”

Her mother also felt unhappy about her association with the Church. “My Mom didn’t want me to join and said that if I did I wouldn’t be her daughter anymore.” In a society that values family relationships more than personal preferences, that was a difficult thing to hear. “But I told my kids to pray for Mom.” After three months, her mother came to Magrina’s home and stayed the weekend.

On Monday, the family had family home evening. “Mom was really quiet,” Magrina says. “My daughter gave the closing prayer, and after we finished, all the kids hugged her and kissed her. She had tears in her eyes, and she said, ‘Maybe this is a good way to raise your kids. They are sure different from you when you were little.’ I said that’s right; I didn’t know how to pray. But my children know how to conduct themselves.”

Not long after that, Magrina moved to Saipan, some 1,300 kilometers away. Saipan is something of a melting pot. A large island (23-by-8 kilometers) in the northern Marianas, it serves as home—and home away from home—for people from all over the Pacific and from as far away as the United States and Europe. The Japanese have made it a popular tourist destination, and Filipinos and Koreans come to work in its textile factories. Islanders from other parts of Micronesia have found it attractive as a place where the life-style is halfway between Micronesian traditional and Western contemporary.

On Saipan, Magrina met Jim and Julie Ellis, mainland Americans living on the island. Jim was her home teacher, Julie her visiting teacher. In 1992, Jim encouraged Magrina to go to the temple. She wanted to go, but by then her husband had died and she had remarried. Her nonmember husband refused to let her go. Eventually, their disagreements led them to separate.

The day before she was to fly to Manila, her husband returned. “When he walked in the door and saw my face, he knew that I hadn’t changed my mind. I loved him, but I also loved my kids and wanted the best for them.” He consented to her trip—and even agreed to stop smoking and drinking in the house.

“So I went to the temple, and Sister Ellis went with me. I really felt the Spirit. Everything touched my heart.” While there, she had the temple work done for her first husband.

The book of Proverbs praises the woman of virtue as more precious than rubies. “Strength and honour are her clothing; and she shall rejoice in time to come. …

“Her children arise up, and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her. …

“A woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised” (Prov. 31:25, 28, 30).

In Micronesia, there are many women worthy of such praise.

Dear Reed,
It was awesome to get my very own letter from you. I’ll keep writing to you, if you’ll keep writing to me. But I still miss you very, very much! Nobody else calls me Buddy, but you can because I will always be your buddy.
Last night was our second grade Spring Sing. Everyone was there but you. Even Grandpa Richards was there, and your girlfriend Kelly. She says that she misses you very much, but I know that she doesn’t miss you as much as I do.
After the Sing we went to get ice-cream cones, and we talked about you. Mom and Dad said that you seem grown-up now. Natalie and Rachel said that they’re proud to be the sisters of a missionary. Scooter didn’t say anything because he’s too young.
I ate two scoops on my cone, one scoop of chocolate and one scoop of your favorite, pralines-and-cream. I did it for you.
I still have something I need to tell you, but I’m still afraid to tell you.
Love,Buddy

Tyson had just moved to Big Forest. He didn’t know anyone, and he did not make friends easily. When anyone spoke to him, he withdrew into his shell. He was sitting on the bank of the stream that ran through Big Forest, wishing for someone to play with, when Sorrell Squirrel came racing by. “Hi,” chattered Sorrell, skidding to a halt. “I’m Sorrell Squirrel. Who are you?”
“Hello,” said Tyson from inside his shell. “I’m Tyson Turtle.”
“I’m going to the birthday party,” chattered Sorrell. “Want to come with me?”
“I wasn’t invited,” said Tyson, shyly peeping out from under his shell.
“Everyone in Big Forest is invited,” said Sorrell. “It’s the forest queen’s birthday.”
“I don’t have a present for her,” said Tyson.
“You don’t need one,” said Sorrell. “Each year when the queen has her party, instead of receiving gifts, she gives them.”
“I’d love to go,” said Tyson.
Tyson and Sorrell set out for the queen’s court in the center of Big Forest. Sorrell chattered happily as he jumped from one tree to the next. Tyson plodded along on the ground below, listening to Sorrell.
“Besides giving everyone a present, the forest queen grants a wish to someone who is really deserving,” said Sorrell.
“What do you have to do to deserve it?” asked Tyson.
“Something very courageous,” said Sorrell.
“Oh,” said Tyson. I could never get my wish, he thought. I’m certainly not brave. I wish I could be brave and not timid.
Soon they reached the clearing in the forest where the queen held court. Tyson had never seen anything so beautiful. The court was in a clearing surrounded by tall, green ferns. The queen, dressed in a long, flowing white robe, was sitting on her toadstool throne. Her hair was the color of sun-ripened wheat. On her head was a shining crown, and she held a scepter in her hand.
Sorrell and Tyson walked along the moss-carpeted path leading to the throne. “Your Majesty,” said Sorrell, “I am Sorrell Squirrel, and this is Tyson Turtle.”
“Welcome to my birthday party, Sorrell and Tyson,” said the queen. “I am so happy that you could come. Enjoy yourselves. There are treats for everyone.”
Tyson’s face burned with embarrassment. He bowed, but he just could not bring himself to speak to her. He walked over to the place where all the other animals were gathered. There was a large bowl of nuts for Sorrell Squirrel, a big green leaf for Prudy Porcupine, a bowl of honey for Boris Bear, a wedge of cheese for Morty Mouse, a bowl of ripe acorns for Chauncey Chipmunk, and berries and other goodies for all the other animals.
The animals ate the food, then chose up sides to play games. No one asked Tyson to join in, and he was too timid to ask. He sat off to one side, watching the others have fun. He peered out and sniffed the air. An unpleasant odor was tickling his nose. Smoke! thought Tyson. Where there’s smoke there’s fire. “Fire!” he shouted, forgetting for once that he was timid.
“Everyone down to the stream,” said the queen. “Quickly now—there’s no time to waste.”
“The water is deep and swift,” said Myrna Mole. “How shall we little creatures get across?” The larger animals had already started across the stream. Some were already on the other side. The smaller animals were afraid to jump into the rapidly flowing water.
“Climb onto my back,” said Tyson. “I’ll take you across.”
Myrna Mole and Morty Mouse climbed up onto Tyson’s back, and he swam across the stream. When they were safe on the other side, Tyson went back to help more of the smaller animals across. He made many trips back and forth across the stream until everyone was safe on the other side. The fire came down to the stream but could not cross it. Thanks to Tyson, all the animals were safe on the other side.
“Hurray for Tyson!” shouted the animals.
The forest queen came over to Tyson and kissed his very red cheek. “Tyson, from now on you will not be called Timid Tyson. You will be known as Sir Tyson because of your courage.” She touched his shoulder with her scepter and said, “I dub thee Sir Tyson, Brave Knight of Big Forest.”
Tyson gave the queen a big, happy grin. “I didn’t know that I was being brave,” he said. “Thank you, Your Majesty, for making my wish come true.”
“I didn’t do anything, Tyson,” said the queen. “You did it all yourself. When you saw someone else in trouble, you tried to help, and you forgot about being timid.”
“Hurray for Sir Tyson!” yelled all the animals.

A few years ago, my neighbor’s husband died. She was really sad.
I prayed to know what I could do to help. The thought came into my mind to give her flowers on Valentine’s Day. However, I needed to earn the money to buy the flowers. I made it a goal in my Children’s Guidebook to earn the money.
I earned the money by doing different jobs for others. My grandma paid me to clean up her garden and the leaves in her yard. At home, I earned money by clearing the brush behind our shed. It took months of hard work to earn enough money.
Finally I had enough money to go to a store and buy the flowers. Valentine’s Day came, and I gave my neighbor the flowers with a note. She was really happy. I felt warm and happy too. I thanked Heavenly Father for helping me do what He wanted me to do.

One particular example of true love left a permanent impression in my mind. I once came across a general conference talk by Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin (1917–2008) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles where he spoke on charity, or the “pure love of Christ” (Moroni 7:47).

Elder Wirthlin began by quoting Jesus’s teaching that the greatest commandment is to love God and to love our neighbor (see Matthew 22:37–40). Of course, I’d heard this scriptural account many times before. And always, for me, that level of Christlike love had seemed somehow beyond reach. How could I, plain old me, ever love as purely or as effectively as the Savior? It felt like an impossible goal.

But then Elder Wirthlin described an elderly couple who’d been married for many years. The wife grew unable to care for herself fully, including being able to paint her fingernails.

So the husband decided to paint them for her, simply because it made her smile. “That is an example of the pure love of Christ,” Elder Wirthlin declared.2

And with that brief example, something clicked in my brain. Painting fingernails? Not raising Lazarus from the dead or healing the blind, but a quiet act of kindness? That’sconsidered the pure love of Christ? Well … gee, I could do that!

Elder Wirthlin continued, adding further clarity. “Sometimes the greatest love is not found in the dramatic scenes that poets and writers immortalize. Often, the greatest manifestations of love are the simple acts of kindness and caring we extend to those we meet along the path of life.”3

My mind latched on as this idea took hold. I could perform those acts of kindness. What’s more, I knew for certain I’d been the recipient of countless such acts my whole life. True love isn’t glamorous or glittery. It’s quiet yet powerful. And available to all.

Sometimes that love comes in unexpected ways. Kristen was finishing a graduate degree and had recently given birth to her second child. She felt the other graduates had accomplished so much more and was reluctant to attend the graduation dinner. Her fears were confirmed when, at the dinner, the students were asked to list their professional accomplishments. Kristen recalled: “I suddenly felt embarrassed and ashamed. I had nothing to call myself, no lofty position, no impressive job title.” To make matters worse, the professor read the lists as he presented a diploma to each student. The woman ahead of Kristen had many accomplishments: she already had a PhD, was receiving a second master’s degree, and she’d even been a mayor! The woman received grand applause.

Then it was Kristen’s turn. She handed the professor her blank sheet, trying to hold back the tears. The professor had been one of her teachers and had praised her performance. He looked at her blank paper. Without missing a beat he announced, “Kristen holds the most critical role in all of society.” He was quiet for a few seconds, then declared in a powerful voice, “She is the mother of her children.” Instead of a few courteous claps, people rose to their feet. There was just one standing ovation that night; it was for the mother in the room.

Jerry and Karen Johnson served in Hong Kong, teaching English as a second language. One day after class, near the end of their mission, a little second-grade girl, to whom Sister Johnson had become very attached, came up to her and, putting out her arms as though she were an airplane flying, asked, “Meiguo?” meaning “America?” Sister Johnson looked at her and said, “Yes, we are returning to America.” She buried her head in Sister Johnson’s chest and sobbed. “I held her tight and sobbed right along with her,” Sister Johnson said. “Fifty other students gathered around, sobbing right along with us. Our mission has placed us in the center of a whirlwind of love that seems to envelop us.”

Through their tellings, I experienced that defining time when each received a sure witness and consecrated his life to the Lord.

LeGrand was fourteen when he heard two returned missionaries bear testimony in his ward. The Lord touched his heart with such power that, returning home, he knelt beside his bed and asked God to help him live worthy to be a missionary when old enough to go.

When the time came, he was on crutches and in pain. At Church headquarters he was told to go home until well. He said, “You book me and I’ll be ready!”

His father blessed him and he went—ailing in body, strong in spirit, but yet having to battle the Dutch language.

One treasured memento from my BYU past is a Chemistry 105 exam. In truth, of all the hundreds of papers, quizzes, and exams from my undergraduate degree, this is the only academic memento I saved from my entire undergraduate experience.

I vividly remember watching the professor hand a big stack of exams to the person on the front row and say, “Find your exam and pass the pile along.” This was long before FERPA laws protected privacy, so public humiliation or adoration (depending on how you performed) was always a looming possibility. I hastily retrieved my exam and hurried out of class.

As I was walking out of the building, I quickly glanced at the exam and saw the number 76 scrawled across the top in red pen—76? I quickly stuffed the exam into my backpack. I felt as if someone had punched me in the stomach. My mind raced and I started thinking that obviously I wasn’t smart enough to be at BYU, for surely everyone else in the class had scored much higher than I had. I envisioned my fellow classmates celebrating together at the Cougareat and toasting their success with chocolate milk.

The number 76 kept flashing over and over in my mind as I walked to my apartment by going down the stairs south of campus leading to the Botany Pond. Nearing the bottom of the stairs, I pulled the dreaded exam from my backpack, hoping that somehow I had read my score incorrectly. But sure enough, that red 76 was still there.

Then I saw something I hadn’t noticed before. My heart raced when I saw a tiny minus sign. You see, I didn’t get a 76 on this exam, I missed 76! And sure enough, in the corner was the number 24! Surely this is the lowest score in BYU history given to someone who actually tried to do well.

I was so stunned that my first impulse was to jump into the Botany Pond, swim to the bottom, and hide from the entire world. Little did I know that the Botany Pond was less than three feet deep, so that plan would have also received a score of 24, as it too would have been doomed to failure.

Now you may ask, “Why in the world did you save that particular exam as your only memento of your BYU undergraduate academic experience?”

I saved it because this experience impacted and shaped me in significant ways—ways I hope to never forget. I am not proud of failing—or of failing with such absolute certainty. What happened next, however, was something that I hope I will always remember. Somehow I resisted the urge to pack all my belongings into my car, drive home, and leave BYU and all my humiliation in the rearview mirror. It was during this time that I came across a quote that read, “Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.”

My mother used to tell her children that we were of “pioneer stock.” I wasn’t sure if I really knew what that meant when I was younger, but I did know the stories about crossing the plains. They were usually filled with unbearable challenges, setbacks, and seemingly impossible odds. And at the end of the day the pioneers circled their wagons, built a fire, sang, and danced—or at least that is the way I remembered the stories. And what was their theme song? “Come, Come, Ye Saints.”

I always thought this was a strange song for those who were hungry, fatigued, and at the brink of devastation. One verse, for example, reads, “And should we die before our journey’s through, Happy day! All is well!”

All is well? Anybody could see that all was not well. And just who were these overly optimistic people anyway? Apparently they were my people. And now, years later, they help me to remember just who I am and what it means to be of pioneer stock.

Years ago I was sitting on the stand in a chapel in Europe singing “Come, Come, Ye Saints.” A leader leaned over and whispered, “You know, the Polish translation of this song is quite different from the English version.”

“Really?” I countered.

“It doesn’t really read, ‘All is well! All is well!’”

I looked at him somewhat surprised.

“The real translation,” he said, “is ‘Not so bad, not so bad.’”

I couldn’t help but quietly chuckle. Then I thought of the pioneers who might not have always described their own circumstances as being “all is well.” But I could see how with their expanded vision and tremendous dedication they could say, “This is not so bad, not so bad,” and then with a deep breath take yet another step and continue to forge on.

Oh, to be of pioneer stock! Regardless of your heritage, we can all be pioneers, as I learned from one of my favorite Primary songs:

You don’t have to push a handcart, Leave your fam’ly dear, Or walk a thousand miles or more To be a pioneer!
You do need to have great courage, Faith to conquer fear, And work with might for a cause that’s right To be a pioneer!

Not so bad, not so bad.

I occasionally look at that exam and remember that “failure is not fatal” and that “it is the courage to continue that counts.” I remember that every storm will eventually break if you just hold on long enough. I remember that learning is a process and not an event and that I can do difficult things, even when it takes more time than I have and additional strength and effort. Most important, I am reminded that life is not determined by a singular performance and that there are times when we need, as my wife so eloquently taught our ­children, to remember who we are and to stand up straight—no slouching, no shrinking, no wilting. Just stand up straight, smile, remind yourself that it is not so bad, and move on.

Leah had the jitters. That’s what Mommy and Daddy called it when she got a little scared.
Leah was a Sunbeam. Her Primary had been practicing their sacrament meeting program for the past few weeks. She had enjoyed saying her part during the practices.
But today was the real program, and she was nervous. She wanted to stay with Mommy and Daddy. She did not want to look out at all the grown-ups.
“There are too many people,” Leah whispered to Mommy.
“Do you have the jitters, Leah?” Mommy asked.
Leah nodded.
Mommy put her arm around Leah and hugged her tight. Leah sang some of the songs in her mind that she had learned for the program. She felt calmer, but she was still a little nervous.
The bishop invited the Primary children to the stand. Mommy walked with Leah up to her seat in the front. Mommy showed her that the chair had a special tag with her name on it.
When Mommy gave her a kiss and turned to leave, Leah felt full of jitters again. Then she noticed Daddy and her little brother Taylor smiling as Mommy left to sit down. Daddy gave her a little wave, and Taylor blew her a kiss.
Leah paid attention as Sister Cassidy raised her hands to tell everyone to stand up. Leah knew exactly what to do. She knew the song the pianist started to play. Leah sang as loud and as pretty as she could, just like her teachers had shown her. Soon it was her turn to say her part.
She walked to the microphone and said, “I know Heavenly Father loves me. He hears me when I say my prayers and helps me to be good.”
Leah reverently walked back to her seat. The jitters were gone.

Eli looked at the pile of homework his friend had dropped off after school. Eli had missed another week of school because of an ear infection.
That evening Eli’s parents came into his room. His mom sat on the side of Eli’s bed and took his hand. “Eli, the doctor thinks you need an operation,” she said.
“What kind of operation?”
“He wants to put tubes in your ears to keep you from getting more infections,” Mom said. “It won’t hurt, and you’ll be out of the hospital in a day.” She squeezed his hand.
Eli trusted his parents. But the idea of having an operation scared him. He thought about the story he had heard in Primary about Joseph Smith. When Joseph was seven years old, the bone in his leg became infected. The infection got worse until the doctor decided that he must remove part of the bone or Joseph might lose his leg or even die.
Eli thought about Joseph’s courage and faith in his father. “Can I have a blessing, Dad?” he asked. Eli knew a priesthood blessing could help him. At the beginning of the school year, Eli’s father had given him a blessing.
“That’s a great idea,” his father said.
Eli’s mother folded her arms and bowed her head. Eli felt his father’s hands on his head. His father’s voice grew in confidence as he blessed Eli that he would not be scared and that he would recover completely.
When the blessing was over, Eli was no longer afraid. “I can have the operation now,” he said.
Three days later he went to the hospital and returned home the next day. The ear infections soon stopped, and Eli quickly made up the schoolwork he had missed.
Eli was grateful that he was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and that he could be blessed through the priesthood.

I was given my first Bible when I was eleven years old; my Primary teacher gave one to each of us boys in her Primary class. It was the only Bible I owned until after my mission. My parents offered to buy me a set of scriptures right before I left, but I didn’t want one. That Primary Bible had become very precious to me in my early teens as I began to gain my testimony of the gospel.
Before I left on my mission, that same Primary teacher got up in sacrament meeting and bore her testimony. She was going through a difficult time—she had a strong testimony but wondered if her service in the kingdom was sufficient or worthwhile. After she sat down, I got up and bore my testimony, sharing my love for the scriptures and especially that Bible. I told her what a powerful influence her simple gift had had on my life. It was the first time I ever cried when I bore my testimony, and I was embarrassed. But it was important that she know what a good influence she’d had on me.

Toshi just moved from Japan to the Philippines. He planned a fun activity for his Primary class.
Are you excited, Toshi?
Yes, but I’m a little scared too. I don’t speak the same language as the other kids.
That’s OK! I’ll tell them what you say.
We have lots of games and treats. I hope they like it.
Of course they will. And it sounds like they’re here!
Thanks for inviting us, Toshi! We’re so happy to be here.
Toshi will speak Japanese, and I’ll tell you what he says.
Your activity was so fun! Thank you!
Thank you for coming!
This story took place in the Philippines.

When one of our granddaughters was 3 years old, she attended a “joy” pre-school. One morning they were talking about the delights of their bodies. Among other activities, they outlined their own image on newsprint paper and they weighed themselves. When our granddaughter was measured and weighed, she was the tallest and the heaviest. Everyone cheered. It was as if she had won the prize for being the biggest. On the sidelines, her mother ruefully wondered how that scene might change in the next dozen or more years. Would she appreciate her body then, if she were the biggest?

Before Elder M. Russell Ballard was an Apostle, he had an unusual experience on an airplane. He was flying to Salt Lake City on a very foggy day. The small plane held only four people. When they got close to the airport, the pilot radioed the control tower.
“We’re about to close the runway because the fog is so thick,” the air traffic controller told the pilot. “But I can talk you through the landing.”
The pilot asked Brother Ballard and the other passengers, “What do you want to do? The controller can guide us down. Or we can turn back and wait for the weather to clear in a day or two.” They decided to try to land in Salt Lake.
The controller could see the plane on his radar. He told the pilot when to lower the plane and when to turn. The pilot watched the plane’s controls carefully. He followed the controller’s directions exactly.
Finally the man in the front seat shouted, “I see the runway!”
They looked out the window. The runway was directly ahead. The nose of the plane was right on the centerline! They were so grateful that the controller guided them safely to the ground.
Brother Ballard thought about how this flight was like our lives. We can’t see or understand everything, so Heavenly Father has given us ways to get help. The prophet is like an air traffic controller. He gives us directions to return safely to Heavenly Father. We also have the Holy Ghost, the scriptures, and leaders and parents to guide us safely home.

You have to understand. Chris and Jason are the kind of guys who, if you ask about diving and you’re close to the community pool, will show you the dives they do. Never mind that they didn’t bring their suits. They’ve been lifeguards here, and the caretaker, who knows them well, gives permission. They look at each other, accept the challenge, and even though they’re in jeans, jump on the board and plunge in the pool. You get the feeling that’s the same way they’ll plunge into missionary work—follow the rules, be dependable, work hard. But get with it—no wimpy excuses.

When I was baptized in 2001, I began paying tithing every month. Then just eight months later, my husband passed away. I became a widow with two small children at home and one son on a mission. Although my financial problems were serious, I never stopped paying tithing. I have been blessed with more and more work, which has enabled me to earn more money. But even more important, because I pay my tithing I always feel at peace with the Lord.
Today my small house seems big and comfortable. I feel calm with my two little children. I will never stop paying tithing because I know the Lord has blessed me not only with physical and spiritual health but also with wisdom and peace.
Josefa Margarida dos Santos Fontes, Rio Grande da Serra Ward, Ribeirão Pires Brazil Stake

Another example of the importance of small things comes from Elder and Sister Jackson, missionaries serving in Guyana: “When we first arrived in the mission field in Guyana, we saw in the local Georgetown newspaper the report of the ‘Teenager of the Month.’ In the report he said his favorite food was macaroni. We took the newspaper clipping, a Book of Mormon, and a box of macaroni and knocked on his door. We have taught and baptized seven of the family since our first visit.” This small thing resulted in a great benefit in establishing the Church in Guyana.

For example, I have a hard time asking the golden questions. I’ll ask them, but my way. I travel a lot, so my neighbor is everybody out there. I carry with me in my pocket as I travel this little tube of ozium. Ozium is an air freshener. I love it. You know, if you travel from here to Arizona to give a talk before some delightful young people, you get off the plane smelling as if you’d dealt the last hand of a poker game. The kids don’t always understand. So when I get off the plane, I just spray myself and then I’m sweet and wholesome and ready to do Church work.

Well, I have learned that clearing the air on a plane is a great way to start a conversation. Stewardesses are intrigued by it. People who sit next to me want to know what I’m doing. I just say, “I’m just clearing the smoke out.” That gets me talking about the Word of Wisdom. You know, I have become so proficient with this particular tube of ozium that I can put a cigarette out at ten feet.

I can’t resist telling you about one little experience. I was traveling back from somewhere to Salt Lake City, and it was a particularly heavily smoke-filled flight. My lungs had taken about all they could handle. I’m a fighter at heart, and I hope I do this in a Christian, Latter-day Saint way, so I took out my ozium and sprayed the culprit sitting in front of me. His air jet was fixed so that every time he would exhale I got it. I thought, “Well, it’s really self-defense rather than a missionary effort at this point.” I shot a spray over his head, and after about the third spray the mist settled on him. He got a little concerned, and I don’t blame him. He got up, turned around, and said, “What in the world are you doing?”

“I’m trying to nullify what you’re doing to me.”

“What am I doing?”

I said, “I’m sure it’s not intentional, but I seem to be getting the ill effects of your habit, and it’s not comfortable.” Then I got bold. I said, “I’m surprised that a man with your intelligence would smoke in the first place.”

He got a little defensive. “Well, the medical reports aren’t that conclusive.”

I said, “I have a medical report in my briefcase that’s very conclusive. Would you like to read it?” He said he would, and I said, “Can I sit with you?” So we got up and changed seats with a couple of people. I sat down and took out the Doctrine and Covenants, and I turned to—guess what section? I read him parts of the 89th section. He couldn’t have handled all of it. But I did read him what the Lord said about tobacco—that it was not good for man but for sick cattle. Then I read him the promise at the end. I turned to him, closed the book, and said, “Now, sir, I have just read you the truth, and you know it, don’t you?”

His head went back, and he said, “I believe I do.”

I said, “Would you be offended if I found out where you lived?”

“No.” He lived in Minnesota.

I took his name and address and said, “You’d like to know a little more about this, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

So I sent a referral to a mission president in Minnesota. Have you ever heard of that in the Church? And I was pleased to learn some three or four weeks later that he’d been baptized.