Gospel Story Finder

I have a dear friend who served as a very successful bishop. During his tenure, the stake president asked a boy and a girl from each ward to visit with him about their relationship with their bishop. During the conversation, the stake president asked, “If you had a serious problem in your life, would you take it to your bishop?” Most responded that they wouldn’t. And when he asked why, their response surprised him. They said, “Our bishop seems too righteous.” To the credit of my friend, his youth replied: “Not our bishop.”

While the formal classroom may be intimidating at times, some of the most effective teaching takes place other than in the chapel or the classroom. Well do I remember that some years ago, members holding the Aaronic Priesthood would eagerly look forward to an annual outing commemorating the restoration of the Aaronic Priesthood. By the busload the young men of our stake journeyed 90 miles (145 km) north to the Clarkston Cemetery, where we viewed the grave of Martin Harris, one of the Three Witnesses of the Book of Mormon. While surrounding the beautiful granite shaft which marks the grave, a high councilor would present background concerning the life of Martin Harris, read from the Book of Mormon his testimony, and then bear his own witness to the truth. The young men listened with rapt attention, touched the granite marker, and pondered the words they had heard and the feelings they had felt.
At a park in Logan, lunch was enjoyed. The group of young men would then lie down on the lawn at the Logan temple and gaze upward at its lofty spires. Often beautiful white clouds would hurry past the spires, moved along by a gentle breeze. The purpose of temples was taught. Covenants and promises became much more than words. The desire to be worthy to enter those temple doors entered those youthful hearts. Heaven was very close. Learning what we should learn was assured.

I went through a time when I began to wonder if the Church was really the only true church on the earth. My friends all seemed to believe that their churches were true, and they are good people with high standards.

I set a goal to gain a testimony. I knew it would take time. I prayed, studied the scriptures, and made sure I attended all my Church meetings and activities. I really listened and asked questions, and I thought about all my parents had taught me. After I truly understood the gospel, I began to learn more about my friends’ churches. As I talked with my friends, I realized how fulfilling the gospel is in my life. As I shared with them my beliefs, I realized that I did know that the Church is true. A feeling came over me that was so great.

Don’t ever give up. A desire to gain a testimony is a sign that you are building one already. “And they did pray for that which they most desired … that the Holy Ghost should be given unto them” (3 Ne. 19:9).
Kerianna Copeland, 14Franklin, Pennsylvania

It’s a bit quieter in the early mornings at the Dunlop household in Capalaba, Australia, these days. Oldest brother, Craig, is serving his mission in the Australia Perth Mission.

“He would come out of his bedroom about 5:30 and, bang, he would shut the door. He would bang down the hall,” said his mother, Kathryn. “We miss that, the big bang of the morning.”

The other seven Dunlop children feel there’s a big hole now that Craig is away from home. Nathan, 14, said, “Craig used to mug me and wrestle me to the floor.”

“He would keep us in line and tell us what we should be doing. Have we practiced our sport? Have we done our homework? Have we read our scriptures? Now he does it long distance,” said Melissa, 17.

This is love at home?

Yes, you feel it when each child grins, as they try to tell their favorite story about their brother.

Maybe the Dunlops learned to love each other from the example of their parents, particularly their father, Robert. Right while they’re talking about their family, Dad arrives home after having been away from home all week because of his work. Everyone is so glad to see him.

Leanne explains, “We miss him. When he gets home, we all bolt for the car when he drives up.”

Robert Dunlop tells of a sad experience in his past. “The last time I saw my dad was when I was going to boarding school. He was ill, and he wanted me to give him a kiss good-bye at the station. I was embarrassed and didn’t give him a kiss in front of all the other kids going away to school. It was the last time I ever saw him. I keep telling my own children of that.”

“So we give him kisses all the time,” said Leanne quickly.

But how does a parent let his children know he loves them when things don’t always go smoothly? “After we have an argument, Dad always says, ‘But I still love you,’” Melissa explains. “He always comes back and gives you a hug—always. Even if I am so angry that I think I don’t like him any more, then he comes back with that. He tells us all the time that he loves us.”

And the Dunlops make happy family memories. One of their favorite things to do together is bike riding—their Maleny bike ride. Sarah explains, “Mom and Dad take the older kids right to the top of the hill. Mom will usually drive down with the babies in the car, and the rest of us coast all the way down the mountain. We love that.”

Then the family all starts talking at once about who had bumped into whom and the funny things that happened, like when Sarah ran over a snake and they didn’t tell her because she would freak out.

Love at home? For the Dunlops it is.

Because of some unique experiences I have had, I’ve been thinking about the meaning of reverence. Here’s how President Dallin H. Oaks, First Counselor in the First Presidency, defines it:
“Worship often includes actions, but true worship always involves a particular attitude of mind.
“The attitude of worship evokes the deepest feelings of allegiance, adoration, and awe. Worship combines love and reverence in a state of devotion that draws our spirits closer to God.”1
What comes to mind when you think of reverence? Would the following scenarios be considered reverent or irreverent in a sacrament meeting?
A child drawing in her coloring book.
A young man passing the sacrament while wearing headphones.
A man jumping and waving his arms wildly.
A young woman playing a game on her phone.
A missionary randomly yelling.
A woman always sitting in the foyer, never in the chapel.
A man lying on a mattress in the chapel aisle.
A group of members making gestures and loud noises.
A teenage girl sitting under her chair.
A woman pacing back and forth in the back of the chapel.
Most of us would agree that a missionary shouting in sacrament meeting is much less reverent than children drawing pictures to keep themselves occupied. But let’s take a moment to review our assumptions about reverence by walking through these 10 true scenarios—each of which I have experienced personally in Church meetings.
A child drawing in church. This practice is commonplace and accepted readily by nearly all members. We know that this is usually not irreverent unless we allow ourselves to be distracted by it.
A man passing the sacrament while listening to music on his headphones. This would be wildly inappropriate in most cases. But let me share “the rest of the story.” I knew a man who has a strong testimony and has served a mission and accepted a variety of callings. In recent years, however, he was diagnosed with a schizoaffective disorder. Wearing headphones lets him listen to soft, peaceful music and helps block out the ever-present voices in his mind. He is able to feel the Spirit and reverently serve others with the help of his headphones.
A young man jumping and waving his arms wildly. The rest of the story: This nonverbal brother with autism becomes excited every time he sees the bishop on the stand. He communicates his enthusiasm by ?apping his hands and jumping.
A young woman playing a game on her phone. The rest of the story: This sister combats her social anxiety by quietly playing games on her phone. In fact, she is better able to reverently listen and receive the speakers’ messages because her anxiety is focused elsewhere.
A missionary randomly yelling. The rest of the story: While I was in the missionary training center, a missionary in my zone had Tourette’s syndrome. Periodically, he would shout in class, the lunchroom, and Church meetings. His yelling was not seen as irreverent; we quickly saw that he was prepared to serve, eager to share the gospel, and full of the Spirit.
A woman sitting in the foyer each week and never in the chapel. The rest of the story: While I was working for the Church in Salt Lake City, a sister wrote to our Disability Services of?ce about her experience with post-traumatic stress disorder because of her military service. Because a cell phone ring or other sudden noise could spark a ?ashback, she never sat in the chapel so that she didn’t unintentionally hurt anyone.
A man lying on a mattress in the aisle. The rest of the story: When I moved into a new ward, I was surprised to see a brother on a moveable hospital bed in the chapel. This man had many disabilities and was only able to attend church in this way. I quickly realized this was typical for this ward, and I adapted quickly. His being there was not irreverent but, in fact, quite the opposite. After all, didn’t the Savior heal a man who had been lowered down on his bed by his friends into a crowded house? (see Luke 5:18–20).
A group of members making loud noises and large gestures. The rest of the story: Deaf congregations can be “loud” to hearing attendees. For the deaf community, it is not irreverent for someone to make noises, laugh, or cough loudly, but it is considered irreverent for members to sign about worldly things during sacrament meeting.
A teenage girl sitting under the chairs. The rest of the story: When I was a teenager, one of the girls my age always sat under her chair in class. This young sister had grown up in many foster-care homes and only felt safe in an enclosed area. Since then, I have recognized that we cannot expect students to learn when they are in ?ght, ?ight, or freeze mode. Students must feel safe if they are to learn and, most importantly, feel the love of the Savior.
A woman pacing back and forth in the foyer. The rest of the story: This is, in fact, me. I have struggled with anxiety for over a decade, with bouts of severe anxiety and other health issues. During these times, the only way I can attend church is if I am able to move. Pacing or playing with a tactically fun trinket in my hands is sometimes the only way I can pay attention to the speakers and feel the Spirit.

To amplify the doctrine that “. . . out of small things proceedeth that which is great”[2] I tell you the story of Masako Kato. In 1951, when Masako was in her early twenties, she met the missionaries in her hometown of Yokohama, Japan when she attended an English conversation class being taught by them. When the missionaries began to speak of spiritual things, she felt something and allowed them to begin teaching her about the Church and the restored gospel. During this time, both Masako’s older sister and her mother died, within 30 days of each another. She was emotionally devastated, but still attended the little branch of our Church in the area; even the week after her mother passed away. When the opening hymn was sung, the power of the Spirit brought her to tears and she understood for the first time the eternal nature of life.

Masako wanted to be baptized, but her father would not give his permission. Although she was of legal age, her respect for her father caused her to not proceed. However, she continued to attend Church and participate like a member.

The missionaries suggested it would be good for her to share the glorious message she had come to know. Seemingly unafraid, even though the Church had little presence in Japan in 1951, she invited co-workers and even bosses at her company to come to Church with her. A few came to some social activities; but one, Shozo Suzuki, a very new employee of the company, came to Sunday meetings. He had a good feeling about what he heard and consented after a time to receive the missionary discussions. Masako also joined in for her second time through the lessons. After several months, Shozo accepted the challenge to be baptized. Masako again went to her father to seek permission, which he then gave because of the devotion he witnessed in her. On August 4, 1952, Shozo and Masako were baptized in the same service.

One day, a few months later, a young missionary approached Shozo and Masako and suggested they think about marriage—to each other! This surprised them, especially Shozo as he had a non-member girlfriend. However, it prompted him to think about Masako, the person who introduced him to the gospel, in a different way than ever before. On April 29, 1953, they were married in a civil hall in Tokyo by the mission president. In 1965, they came to the Hawaii Temple to be sealed as there was no temple in Japan until 1980.

Brother and Sister Suzuki were blessed with nine children, six daughters and three sons. Seven of their children served full-time missions for the Church. Of the nine, eight married, all in the temple, and seven of their spouses served full-time missions. The Suzukis have 35 grandchildren, with all, eight years of age or older, having been baptized members of the Church. Brother Suzuki has served as a branch president, district president, mission president, Japan Missionary Training Center president, regional representative, and a patriarch in three stakes. With the singular beginning of diminutive Masako (shown in the center of the photograph), and now 54 righteous members of the Suzuki family, indeed “. . . out of small things proceedeth that which is great.”[3]

The little girl’s black hair was as shiny as patent leather, and her bright ebony eyes seemed to hardly ever blink. She was always so busy examining something, turning it upside down or inside out, that blinking seemed a waste of time.
Lynette Wood was her name, but she preferred being called Ettenyl. People laughed and nodded tolerantly at one another. And her mother humored her when she remembered to, which wasn’t very often. “What’s that you said your name was?” she would ask. Why couldn’t they remember? Lynette wondered, then decided that there was nothing to be done except to answer to both names. Once in a while even Lynette forgot, especially when she was involved with turning something inside out.
“Lynette! Lynette! I’ve called you to supper five times! If I have to call again, I’m going to give your share to the dog!” her mother threatened.
“You didn’t call me by my name,” Ettenyl muttered, but she hurried inside, anyway.
The little girl was usually happy. Her mother let her take clocks apart, and she laughed when Ettenyl made sand buckets into hats. When she built towers that tottered on one small block with six across the top, her father said that she was smart. Every time she turned around to look, the shapes of things changed. If she walked backward and watched, the trees changed colors and got smaller.
When the leaves grew scarlet and her mother said, “Lynette, it’s time for you to go to school,” Ettenyl was excited and a little scared.
Her teacher, Miss Morris, had beautiful, flowing, golden hair. It fell across her eyes, and great blue circles peered through like discs on a magic screen. Ettenyl was so enchanted that she forgot to answer a question that the teacher had asked her. The teacher frowned and pushed away the golden curtain. Her voice slashed at the little girl. Ettenyl’s stomach tightened up and tried to run away inside her body. She caught her stomach and sat very still with her hands pressed against it.
The next day Ettenyl was determined to do better. She labored hard over the paper, printing her name. Try as she might, she could not get the pencil to make the lovely round circles. Finally she got all the letters copied. She was the last one to finish, but her last letter was the best circle that she had ever made.
“That’s very good, Lynette,” her teacher said, “but this last letter isn’t quite right. Your last name is Wood.” The teacher pointed to Ettenyl’s “perfect” little circle and said, “You have written Woob.” She corrected it with a big, red mark.
Ettenyl’s stomach revolted. She sat still and tight.
The teacher held out a pencil and said, “Please write the d correctly at the end of your name.”
Ettenyl couldn’t move; her hands were stiff from holding her stomach.
“Lynette, please take the pencil.”
She took the pencil and drew a straight line.
“Good. Now put the circle on it.”
Ettenyl bit her lip, and she managed to draw a squarish circle.
“No, Lynette. That’s a b. Your name ends with a d, like this.” The teacher demonstrated.
Ettenyl spent the rest of the week trying to do it right. But each time that she tried, Miss Morris looked so disappointed that Ettenyl started to cry, and the children teased her about it on the playground.
The following week Miss Morris asked Ettenyl’s mother to come to school for a conference after classes were over.
“Don’t look like that, Lynette,” her mother said. “I’m just going to talk with her. Lots of parents visit with their children’s teachers at school.”
Ettenyl went home and waited and waited. Just when she thought that she couldn’t stand it any longer, she noticed the rocket plane that she had made the day before. She had tossed it into the air to make it fly, and now it leaned at a rakish angle against the table leg. Suddenly she had an idea. If she removed the tips of the wings, turned the body on end, and stuck the wings on the bottom, it would be a robot. She was so engrossed with her project that she didn’t notice when her mother came home.
Every night after that, Ettenyl’s mother helped her read and write. Sometimes it took so long that her mother bit her lip angrily. Ettenyl’s stomach hurt, and she hated going to school. The letters floated like the noodles in her alphabet soup. She burst into tears.
“Lynette! Stop crying! You can’t do anything if you cry!” Her mother was cross. Ettenyl cried louder. “Why are you crying?”
“I can’t read. I’m stupid!” she blubbered soggily.
“Oh, Lynette, you’re not stupid. Reading is very hard work,” her mother comforted her.
“You’re mad at me.”
“I’m impatient. Being patient is hard work for me just like reading is hard work for you.”
Ettenyl had an idea. “If you have to help me read, then I can help you to be patient,” she offered.
“That’s a good idea!” her mother agreed.
They worked and worked and worked, and finally Ettenyl put the letters in the right order, even though she knew that there were other ways to see them. After reading, Ettenyl turned her toys inside out. She learned to make one toy into a helicopter, a boat, and even a funny-looking person.
“That’s wonderful!” her mother laughed. “What is it?”
“It’s a ‘twistup.’ I can twist it all up—see?”
As Ettenyl grew up, she invented more twistups, and she became a famous toy maker by turning things inside out and upside down for happy children. Grown-up Ettenyl called herself Lynette and almost forgot her old name. Eventually she married and had a fine son, Kevin, who had shiny black hair and bright eyes that almost never blinked. She read him stories and turned him upside down until he squealed with delight. One day she took Kevin river-rafting. They loved bouncing and swirling in the rushing water, but no matter how she tried, they always went through the biggest rapids backward.
“I can’t see where we’re going,” Kevin complained.
“That’s the way Ettenyl would do it,” his mother answered.
“Who?” he asked.
She just smiled mysteriously and said, “Wasn’t it fun that way? Hold on tight!”
They laughed together as they swooshed backward through another wall of foamy water.

Years ago as a stake presidency, we felt impressed to call a good man as stake clerk. At the time he was temporarily struggling with regular Church attendance. We knew, however, that if he accepted the calling, he would do a marvelous job.
We extended the call, but he replied, “No, I don’t think I can do it.”
Then an impression came. I said, “Well, I guess the Glendale stake won’t have a stake clerk then.”
Shocked, he responded, “What are you talking about? You have to have a stake clerk.”
I replied, “Do you want us now to call someone else to serve as stake clerk when the Lord impressed us to call you?”
“OK,” he said, “I’ll do it.”
And do it he did. There are not only many men but also many boys who will respond to a call when they know the Lord is calling them and that the Lord needs them.

A few years ago I had an assignment that took me to Germany. I had been sick with the flu before I left, and I wasn’t sure if I ought to go: but I felt that I had better make the trip because of what had been planned and because of the many people who were depending on me. After the flight from New York to Frankfurt, Germany, I was tired and not feeling well. I was alone, and I didn’t speak German, so I checked into the hotel at the airport. Before going to my room, I went to the pharmacy and got a medicinal spray to disinfect my throat. It was in a push-button canister that dispenses the medication through a finger-length piece of plastic tubing that you stick down into your throat.

I went to my room and prepared to rest for a while; but when I began to spray my throat, the plastic tube came loose and drove itself down my throat and into my chest. I couldn’t feel it, but I knew there was a 7 1/2 cm piece of plastic somewhere, and I didn’t know what to do. I coughed. I did all that I could to get rid of it. Then I began to worry—not that I would die, for I knew that I wasn’t near death. But there were people waiting for me in various countries where I was to be traveling for the next three weeks, and I knew that if something didn’t happen right away I would end up in the hospital to have the plastic pipe removed surgically. So I needed immediate help. I knelt at my bed and told the Lord that I had no place to go; I didn’t speak German; I didn’t know a doctor; I didn’t know anyone; and there were people waiting for me. And I asked him to please remove this tubing. I got up from praying, and in two seconds it came out of my throat. You see, there are some answers to prayers that come immediately.

The 12-year-old daughter of Cleveland Stake President Karl Anderson had invited her school teacher to attend the program (as many of the young people did). Her teacher attended with her and enjoyed the program. The next Monday morning at school, President Anderson’s daughter worked up her courage and asked the teacher if she would like to learn more about the Church. The teacher smilingly replied, “I don’t see why not!”

“What’s this?” Sam asked Mom, poking the pile of clothes on the kitchen chair.
“Sister Fernandez brought them over for you,” Mom said. “Why don’t you try them on while I finish making the salad?”
“OK!” Sam grabbed the clothes and headed to his room.
First he tried on a couple of T-shirts, one red and one blue. They fit just fine. So did the church pants, which was a good thing. His own church pants had been looking kind of short lately.
Next Sam tried on some jeans. Jeans were great for playing in, and they had lots of pockets. Sam slipped his hands into the front pockets. His right hand felt a piece of paper, and he took it out to see what it was.
The paper was a dollar bill.
“Oh!” Sam held the dollar in both hands. With a dollar, he could buy a candy bar or a bag of chips or a soda. If Mom took him to the dollar store, he could even buy a toy.
Sam sighed and set the dollar bill on the dresser. It wasn’t his.
Except—Sister Fernandez had given him the clothes, hadn’t she? So in a way, she had given him the dollar. She wouldn’t care, Sam thought. She wouldn’t even remember.
Sam started to leave the room. He tried not to look at the dollar on his dresser, but his eyes went back to the money. He didn’t feel right about keeping it.
Sam picked up the dollar and took it to the kitchen. “The clothes all fit,” he said to Mom. Then he showed her the dollar. “I found this in one of the pockets.”
Mom put down the salad spoon and fork she was holding. “What do you think you should do?”
“I should give it back to Sister Fernandez.”
Mom looked at the clock. “We have time for a quick trip,” she said.
When Sam and his mother got to Sister Fernandez’s house, she welcomed them inside.
“I like the clothes,” Sam said. “But I found this in the pocket of the jeans.” He held out the dollar.
Sister Fernandez looked pleased as she accepted the money. “That reminds me of when I was a girl and found some coins in the couch cushions. When I took them to my mother instead of spending them, she was so proud of me!”
Mom put her arm around Sam’s shoulders. “Just like I’m proud of Sam.”
“Sam, would you do me a favor?” Sister Fernandez asked.
Sam nodded.
“I’d like you to buy a treat for an honest boy I know,” Sister Fernandez said, and she gave the dollar back to Sam.
“Thank you!” Sam said. His heart felt full. He knew it wasn’t because of the dollar in his hand.
That night at dinner, Mom told the rest of the family what had happened.
Sam’s little sister Rachel stopped slurping her soup and said, “So you got a dollar today!”
“You got some new clothes too,” Dad said. “But that’s not all, is it?”
“No,” Sam said. “I got something better. I got to do the right thing.”

Thank you for Elder Richard G. Scott’s article, “Do What Is Right,” in the March 2001 issue of the Liahona (Spanish). When I learned that my daughter and a young man were falling in love at a very early age, I became angry and said some things that were unfair. But that night I prayed for a way to help these young people. The next day I read the article and found the answer.
I talked with my daughter, and we both cried together when I shared some paragraphs in the article. Then I talked with the young man, read him the paragraphs, and asked him to forgive me. He had also read the Liahona, and he understood that this advice wasn’t just my opinion. An Apostle had given this counsel. This experience united the three of us. I don’t know what I would have done without Elder Scott’s advice.Rosario Colmenares,Chorrillos Ward, Lima Perú Chorrillos Stake

Now a story, one familiar to some of you:
In 1856 Robert and Ann Parker, with their four children, embarked from England to join the Saints in Utah. A prophet had spoken, and theirs was the charge to gather to the Great Basin and help build Zion. As members of the McArthur Handcart Company, each in their family bore a share of the work. Father and Mother pulled the heavy cart, Maxie (12 years of age) pushed, and Martha (10 years old) tended little Arthur (six years of age). Baby Ada (one year old) toddled, was carried, and rode in the cart.

Somewhere in Nebraska little Arthur sat down to rest and fell asleep. A sudden storm arose. The company hurried on and made camp. It was then they discovered that Arthur was not with the other children.

Days of searching were in vain. The company had to press on. This was the time for Robert and Ann Parker to act in accordance with their faith. Archer Walters recorded in his diary under July 2, 1856: “Brother Parker’s little boy . . . was lost, and the father went back to hunt him.”

As Robert departed, Ann pinned a bright red shawl about his shoulders and said: “If you find him dead, wrap him in the shawl to bury him. If you find him alive, you could use this as a flag to signal us.” She, with the other children, took up the handcart and struggled on with the company.

Robert retraced the miles of forest trail, calling, searching, and praying for their helpless little son. At last he reached a mail and trading station where he learned that their child had been cared for by a woodsman and his wife. Little Arthur had been ill from exposure and fright, but God had heard the prayers of his loving parents.

On the trail each night, Ann and her children kept watch. On the third night, as the rays of the setting sun caught the glimmer of a bright red shawl, this brave mother sank in a pitiful heap in the sand. Completely exhausted, Ann slept for the first time in six long days and nights.13 God indeed was kind and merciful; their works had rewarded their devotion and sanctified their faith, and in the gladness of their hearts the Saints sang, “All is well!”14

Baby Ada, my grandmother, grew to womanhood and married my grandfather, Brigham Young McMullin. Now here is the moral. She never allowed her children to forget that she and her family came across the plains with the Daniel D. McArthur Handcart Company. The story of the red shawl became our story—the legacy of their faith became ours as well. And so we all “carry on,”15 and great obstacles fade as the dew before the morning sun.
About these early Saints, the benchmark shows: Their works were a hallmark of faith, their devotion a standard for their posterity to live by.

You never know how it’s going to start.
At a school party in Melbourne a few years ago, Emily Denning walked up to Lisa Bignell and said something shocking.
For Brett Allen and Ben Marwick of Perth, it started with simple friendship, but it really got going the night they spent several hours riding their bikes in circles.
Down in Hobart, Tasmania, Selena Meure invited Sally Vellar to Sunday dinner and, in Sally’s words, “It was horrible. I have to be honest. It was terrible.”
Why was Lisa shocked? Well, the two girls had never been more than just acquaintances, classmates. So you could have knocked Lisa over with a feather when Emily walked up to her and said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you about this for a while. I want to know more about your church. I want to become a Mormon.”
Lisa says, “I sort of jumped because it was really unexpected. I guess I never thought she’d be interested.”
It turns out that Emily had known for several years that Lisa was LDS. It also happened that Emily had been searching for the right church for about six years. “I was trying to find the truth, something that sounded right to me, not what other people thought I should believe. I wanted to find out for myself,” she says.
Emily visited a number of different churches, but none of them “clicked” as she puts it. In the meantime, Lisa’s family was participating in their ward’s “set-a-date” program (where members are encouraged to set a target date for having someone prepared to receive the missionaries). “We had been praying for a couple of weeks, when Emily came up to me. Because we never really hung around at school together, we didn’t know each other a whole lot. I was shocked, but then I thought immediately, This is an opportunity. I’d better take it.”
So Lisa invited Emily to a fireside where they were showing the film “How Rare a Possession.” Emily says, “I figured, well, there’s only one way to find out if this is right or not. I felt even before I came to church that I was going to join. It was just a feeling I had. When I walked into the chapel, everything just fell into place. I had this really good feeling.”
That good feeling was just reinforced as Emily continued to attend church and firesides and took the missionary lessons. Her only regrets since her baptism? Emily looks at little children in church and sometimes envies them, “growing up in church, with Primary and seminary, Young Women and all the rest of it.” She wishes she had been a member all her life. She knows how she’ll raise her own children someday.
You can see why Brett and Ben became friends in the first place. Both quick-witted. Articulate. Fond of taking a subject apart and looking at it from all angles, arguing opposite sides just for the sheer pleasure of it.
You can also see how their first gospel discussions must have been frustrating for both. Ben, the nonmember, his mind racing ahead, full of detailed questions. Brett, the member, wanting to keep things simple at first, focusing on testimony.
It all started with friendship, when Brett moved and started attending the same school as Ben. As Ben tells it: “We became pretty good friends, and occasionally I used to call him up in the morning—in the first term this was—and he was never there. His dad would say, ‘He’s in seminary.’”
Ben knew a seminary was where people studied religion, and that aroused his curiosity a little more. He and Brett had already been having those frustrating religious discussions, including the infamous evening when they were riding their bikes home from school and started talking about the Church. “I just rode around in circles with him for several hours, talking,” Ben recalls. “When you get involved in that kind of thing, you don’t notice what the time is. So of course we drove to our respective homes and got blasted for the lateness of the hour.”
Later, during the holidays, Ben was at Brett’s house with a couple of Brett’s LDS friends, who were there studying to finish off the seminary term. That’s when they invited Ben to join them at seminary. “I thought I might as well see what it was all about,” Ben says simply. So he started attending early-morning seminary, riding his bike to Brett’s house, where the class was held. The subject was Old Testament. Ben took to it like a frog to flies, completed the rest of the seminary year, and even received a certificate.
In fact, Ben didn’t just enjoy seminary. As Brett puts it, “He stole the show. All of us sort of viewed seminary as something that you needed to do if you wanted your parents to let you live. But Ben thrived on it.”
Once Ben started attending seminary, it wasn’t long before he, his sister, Josie, and his mother, Eleanor, were receiving the missionary discussions. They had the usual struggles and challenges, but all three were eventually baptized, and now Ben is thinking about his own future mission. He’s also continuing those gospel discussions with Brett, but from a very different perspective.
Dinner was a disaster, and it had nothing to do with the food. In fact, when Selena and Sally talk (and laugh) about that time, the food itself is never mentioned.
It started when Selena swallowed her fear and decided to participate in her ward’s set-a-date program. Lacking the nerve to ask the Lord for something more specific, Selena prayed that she would be presented with a situation that would show her who was the right person for her to try to fellowship. What she did next was brave. Selena set a date for the missionaries to come to dinner at her house, a dinner where she would have her unknown investigator present.
As the date approached, Selena was talking about it with a new friend, a convert of about two years named Stephen. He offered to bring his nonmember sister, Sally. “I thought, there’s my answer,” Selena says. So they went to see Sally.
Now, Selena claims she told Sally the missionaries would be there. Sally doesn’t remember that part. She simply recalls that her brother showed up with a girl she barely knew from school, and that girl invited her to Sunday dinner. Great. That’s a nice, friendly thing to do. In fact, the invitation was extended to another friend of Sally’s, too.
But Sunday arrived and the friend didn’t show. So Sally went to what she thought would be a quiet dinner with a few new friends. And that’s when the disaster struck. There was Sally, casually dressed in jeans, walking into a house full of Mormons still dressed in their Sunday clothes. In addition to Selena’s family, there were four missionaries (two of them had sort of invited themselves at the last minute). “I just sort of went, ‘Aaaagh!’” Sally recalls.
After dinner, the missionaries tried to give a presentation on the Savior, but the light was bad, and Sally was so uncomfortable she could hardly concentrate. Afterward, the missionaries asked her if she would like to take the discussions, but she was still feeling kind of numb and put them off with excuses about schoolwork.
That night, though, as she sorted out her thoughts, Sally decided, “Maybe I should just find out about it.” So she agreed to the discussions. And that’s all it took. “After the first discussion I just thought, Man, this is excellent. I love it. I have to know more.” She had the first four discussions in one week.
Sally encountered tremendous opposition from some of her friends at school, people who told her that if she joined the Mormons, they would have nothing to do with her. But the Spirit had born witness. And when she got discouraged, the elders gave her blessings.
It was August, the middle of the Australian winter, when Sally (at her request) was baptized in the ocean. Afterward, everyone got cold, wet hugs. Her brother Stephen confirmed her. Not bad for something that began as a disaster.
Actually, the missionary work never ends. Emily wants to be married in the temple and raise her children in the Church. Ben plans to go on a mission. At last report Sally was working to introduce a friend to the gospel. But first it has to begin. And it begins with friendship. It begins with letting your membership and your values be known. And it begins with faith that if you do your part, the Lord will do his.

The Robinsons, a Mormon family, had just moved into a small non-Mormon community. Rumors were flying as the eyebrows went up and the tongues wagged. Even the young people were speculating, and one stated, “They don’t smoke or drink; in fact, they don’t do anything normal people do!”

By the time the curtains closed at the end of the original musical production “An Example of Love,” written and produced by the Bountiful Utah Stake Young Men and Young Women, most of the attitudes in the fictional community were changed and two people were baptized. The audience thundered its approval.

The show was developed around President McKay’s statement “Every member a missionary” and was based on the scripture “But ye are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, an holy nation, a peculiar people; that ye should shew forth the praises of him who hath called you out of darkness into his marvellous light” (1 Pet. 2:9). The story depicted a Mormon family who moved into an area where little was known of the life-style of Church members. The reaction of the neighbors was amusing as they learned about food storage containers that doubled as furniture, about a son away on a mission (they suspected he was a spy), and about eight children in the family.

Some years ago while I was serving as a ward clerk, the ward supplies for the new year arrived on my doorstep. Among the numerous boxes, one box addressed to the ward clerk caught my attention. Taped to the box was a tag with bold type: “If all else fails—Please! Follow instructions.”
I did not consider this generic, and I was sure that someone at Church headquarters knew me personally.
Although humorous at the time, the image of this little tag has permanently attached its message to my mind: “If all else fails—Please! Follow instructions.”

One Church member received this gift—and the joy promised—when reading the Book of Mormon for the second time. The first reading had been quick—simply to finish the book as fast as possible. But the second reading was motivated by a desire to understand what the book taught.
“As I read, new ideas flowed into my mind, and I began to make connections between what I read and experiences I was having. I recognized ways I needed to improve. But rather than feeling chastised, I felt loved. My heart swelled with joy.”

Growing up, I thought I knew what serving a mission would be like. My older siblings had served missions, I had seen movies about missionaries, and I was ready to get to work. But as my mission got closer, my plan quickly fell apart.
Because of the COVID-19 pandemic, I was reassigned from my original call in the Philippines to my home country of Australia. When I arrived in the mission field, my experience was different than what I had expected. I desperately wanted to go home.
After I talked with my mission president, he gave me the option to finish my mission early and return home—exactly what I wanted. But when I was presented with that choice, I felt an overwhelming feeling from the Spirit that I should stay in the mission field.
I had a choice to make: act on revelation or act on my own desires.
Because of past experiences following promptings, I trusted that even though it wasn’t what I wanted to hear, this prompting to stay on my mission would ultimately be for my good.
I ended up serving a full two years and completing my mission. I wish I could say that the remainder of my time was super easy, but it wasn’t. However, the things I learned, the daily habits that connected me with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, and the deeper testimony I gained from serving have kept me grounded in the gospel.
Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles addressed this sort of situation when he said: “Very rarely does one prompting bring an answer. There’s almost always a sequence, ‘line upon line, precept upon precept’ (2 Nephi 28:30).” Even though my mission was tough, I was able to press forward with hope that God had a plan for me and that my struggles wouldn’t be in vain, because of the revelation I had received.

Vitaly: When I had been home from my mission for a few months, I was asked to be a counselor at a local youth conference. Steven C. Smith, president of the Russia Novosibirsk Mission, called me into his office. I anticipated a new calling or a formal interview of some kind. Instead, President Smith told me about someone he wanted me to meet—a young woman who had recently completed her mission and returned home to another part of Russia but who would be in town for the conference.
I had never seen Katya before, but once I arrived at the conference, I introduced myself, and we casually chatted for a few minutes. Later that night I asked Katya for a dance. The next day I asked her for another.
Katya: Growing up, I didn’t know many young, single priesthood holders, but I always hoped that the Lord would provide a worthy young man for me to marry. I had no idea when or how we would meet, but I had confidence in the Lord and His promises.
After my mission, I was invited to help chaperone a youth conference. When I saw Vitaly at the conference, I was immediately interested in getting to know him. We spent the most wonderful and unforgettable three days together at the conference.
I felt a strong prompting early on that Vitaly was the man I was to marry. Of course, not everyone will experience this kind of feeling so early in a courtship. So how do we know we are heading in the right direction? I learned on my mission to recognize the Spirit and to follow His direction without any doubts. So when I felt promptings that I needed to get to know Vitaly, I decided to follow them.

In 1936, 68 years ago, one of the secretaries to the Quorum of the Twelve told me what a member of the Twelve had told her. She said that in the coming general conference there would be announced a program which would come to be recognized as even more noteworthy than the coming of our people to these valleys as pioneers.
Now, parenthetically, you should not tell your secretary what you should keep confidential, and she should not tell anyone else when she is given confidential information.
But that was what happened back then. It never happens today. Oh, no! I should add that my able secretaries are never guilty of such a breach of confidentiality.
As you who are acquainted with the history know, there was announced at that time the Church security plan, the name of which was subsequently changed to the Church welfare program.
I wondered back in those days how anything the Church did could eclipse in anyone’s judgment the historic gathering of our people to these western valleys of the United States. That was a movement of such epic proportions that I felt nothing could ever be so noteworthy. But I have discovered something of interest in the last short while.
We receive many prominent visitors in the office of the First Presidency. They include heads of state and ambassadors of nations. A few weeks ago, we entertained the mayor of one of the great cities of the world. We have, likewise, recently entertained the vice president and the ambassador of Ecuador, the ambassador from Lithuania, the ambassador from Belarus, and others. In our conversations not one of these visitors mentioned the great pioneer journey of our forebears. But each of them, independently, spoke in high praise of our welfare program and our humanitarian efforts.
And so as I speak in this great priesthood meeting, I wish to say a few words concerning our efforts in behalf of those in need, be they members of the Church or otherwise, in various parts of the world.
When the modern welfare program was put in motion, it was designed to take care of the needs of our own people. In the years that have followed, thousands upon thousands have been served. Bishops and Relief Society presidents have had available to them food and clothing and other supplies for those in need. Numberless members of the Church have worked in volunteer capacities in producing that which was required. We now operate 113 storehouses, 63 farms, 105 canneries and home storage centers, 18 food processing and distribution plants, as well as many other facilities.
Not only have the needs of Church members been met, but aid has been extended to countless others. Right here in this Salt Lake City community, many of the hungry are fed daily by non-LDS agencies utilizing LDS welfare supplies.
Here, in this city, and in a number of other places, we operate beautiful stores where there is no cash register, where no money changes hands, where food, clothing, and other necessities are provided to those in distress. I believe that no better milk, no better meat, and no better flour is found on any grocery shelf than that which is distributed from the bishops’ storehouses.
The principles on which these establishments operate are essentially what they were at the beginning.
Those in need are expected to do all they can to provide for themselves. Then families are expected to assist in taking care of their less-fortunate members. And then the resources of the Church are made available.
We believe in and take very seriously the words of our Lord:
“Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world:
“For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:
“Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me” (Matt. 25:34–36).
This is the Lord’s way of caring for those in need which, He declared, “ye have … always with you” (see Matt. 26:11).
Those who are able voluntarily work to provide for those who are not able. Last year there were 563,000 days of donated labor in welfare facilities. That is the equivalent of a man working eight hours a day for 1,542 years.
A recent issue of the Church News carried the story of a group of farmers in a small Idaho community. May I read briefly from that account?
“It is 6 a.m. in late October, and frost already hangs in the air over the sugar beet fields of Rupert, Idaho.
“The long arms of the ‘beeters’ stretch out over twelve rows, slicing the tops off sugar beets. Behind them, the harvesters thrust their steel fingers into the soil and scoop up the beets, pulling them up toward a belt and into a waiting truck.
“… This is the Rupert Idaho Welfare Farm, and those who are working here today are volunteers. … At times more than 60 machines [are] working in harmony together— … all owned by local farmers.”
The work goes on throughout the day.
“[At] 7 p.m. … the sun has set, leaving the land dark and cold once again. The farmers head home, exhausted and happy.
“They have finished well another day.
“They have harvested the Lord’s sugar beets” (Neil K. Newell, “A Harvest in Idaho,” Church News, 20 Mar. 2004, 16).
Such remarkable volunteer service goes on constantly to assure supplies for the storehouses of the Lord.
Since the early beginnings, the program has moved beyond caring for the needy to the encouragement of preparedness on the part of families of the Church. No one knows when catastrophe might strike—or sickness, or unemployment, or a disabling accident.
Last year the program helped families store 18 million pounds of basic foods against a possible time of need. Hopefully, that time will never come. But the good, wholesome, basic food so stored brings peace of mind and also the satisfaction of obedience to counsel.
Now there has been added another element. It began some years ago when drought in Africa brought hunger and death to uncounted numbers. Members of the Church were invited to contribute to a great humanitarian effort to meet the needs of those terribly impoverished people. Your contributions were numerous and generous. The work has continued because there are other serious needs in many places. The outreach of this aid has become a miracle. Millions of pounds of food, medical supplies, blankets, tents, clothing, and other materials have staved off famine and desolation in various parts of the world. Wells have been dug, crops have been planted, lives have been saved. Let me give you an example.
Neil Darlington is a chemical engineer who worked for a large industrial company in Ghana. Eventually, he retired.
He and his wife were then called as a missionary couple. They were sent to Ghana. Brother Darlington says, “In areas of famine, disease, and social unrest, we were there as representatives of the Church, extending a helping hand to the destitute, the hungry, the distressed.”
In small villages they drilled new wells and repaired old ones. Those of us who have fresh, clean water in abundance can scarcely appreciate the circumstances of those who are without.
Can you picture this couple, devoted Latter-day Saint missionaries? They drill into the dry earth. Their drill reaches the water table below, and the miracle liquid comes to the surface and spills over the dry and thirsty soil. There is rejoicing. There are tears. There is now water to drink, water with which to wash, water to grow crops. There is nothing more treasured in a dry land than water. How absolutely beautiful is water pouring from a new well.
On one occasion, when the tribal chiefs and the elders of the village gathered to thank them, Brother Darlington asked the chief if he and Sister Darlington could sing a song for them. They looked into the eyes of the dark-skinned men and women before them and sang “I Am a Child of God” as an expression of their common brotherhood.
This one couple, through their efforts, have provided water for an estimated 190,000 people in remote villages and refugee camps. Contemplate, if you will, the miracle of this accomplishment.
And now, literally thousands of their kind, married couples, couples who otherwise might simply have lived out their lives in largely idle pursuits, have served, and are serving, in scores of ways and in scores of places. They have worked and continue to work in the impoverished areas of America. They have worked, and still do so, in India and Indonesia, in Thailand and Cambodia, in Russia and the Baltic nations. And so the work expands.
Joining with others, the Church has recently provided wheelchairs for some 42,000 disabled persons. Think of what this means to people who literally have had to crawl to get about. With the aid of selfless doctors and nurses, neonatal resuscitation training was provided to nearly 19,000 professionals in the year 2003 alone. The lives of thousands of babies will be spared as a consequence.
Last year some 2,700 individuals were treated for eye problems, and 300 local practitioners were trained in sight-saving procedures. The blind have literally been made to see.
Where devastating floods have come, where earthquakes have created disaster, where hunger has stalked the land, wherever want has been created by whatever cause, representatives of the Church have been there. Some 98 million dollars in cash and in-kind assistance have been distributed in the past year, bringing such aid to a total of 643 million dollars in just 18 years.
I have been a firsthand witness to the effectiveness of our humanitarian efforts. In traveling the world, I have seen the recipients of your generosity. In 1998 I visited the areas of Central America, which had been ravaged by Hurricane Mitch. Here the distribution of food and clothing was quickly organized, and the cleaning and rebuilding of devastated homes and shattered lives was a miracle to behold.
There is not time to go on recounting the reach of these great and significant programs. In extending help we have not asked whether those affected belong to the Church. For we know that each of earth’s children is a child of God worthy of help in time of need. We have done what we have done largely with the left hand not knowing what the right hand is doing. We seek no commendation or thank-yous. It is compensation enough that when we help one of the least of these our Father’s children, we have done it unto Him and His Beloved Son (see Matt. 25:40).
We shall go on in this work. There will always be a need. Hunger and want and catastrophes will ever be with us. And there will always be those whose hearts have been touched by the light of the gospel who will be willing to serve and work and lift the needy of the earth.
As a correlated effort we have established the Perpetual Education Fund. It has come about through your generous contributions. It is now operating in 23 countries. Loans are extended to worthy young men and women for education. Otherwise, they would be trapped in the stagnated poverty their parents and forebears have known for generations. Some 10,000 and more are now being assisted, and experience to this date indicates that with such training they are now earning three to four times what was previously possible.
The Spirit of the Lord guides this work. This welfare activity is secular activity, expressing itself in terms of rice and beans, of blankets and tents, of clothing and medicine, of employment and education for better employment. But this so-called secular work is but an outward expression of an inward spirit—the Spirit of the Lord of whom it was said, He “went about doing good” (Acts 10:38).
May heaven prosper this great program, and may heaven’s blessing rest upon all who serve therein, I humbly pray, in the sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.