Gospel Story Finder

Elder Carlos H. Amado of the First Quorum of the Seventy, who is originally from Guatemala, told me a story about Colonel Conde, a member of the Church who served in the Army in Guatemala. Although he had been a high ranking officer, and had served in the Ministry of Defense, he lived in a modest house, and could be described as living a poor and simple life; but he was known far and wide in the Armed Forces for being honest and incorruptible.

After his retirement from the Army, he was called to serve in the Presidency of the Guatemala Temple. One day, an Army truck pulled up to the Guatemala Temple, and the officer in charge came into the Temple.

The conversation went something like this; the officer said: "When you built this temple, you were allowed to bring in equipment duty free, because it was for a place of worship. 1 am representing the Customs Department to perform an official inspection, to ensure that the equipment for which you received a duty exemption is still here in the temple."

The temple worker at the door said: "But sir, this is a dedicated building, and no one is permitted to enter the temple unless he is a member of the Church, and holds the proper recommend."

"I am sorry about that," said the officer, "but I have my duty to perform, and 1 will need to come into the temple to inspect the equipment."

Just then, President Conde of the Temple Presidency came to the reception area. "What is it that you wish?" he said to the officer. The officer recognized him, and saluted. He explained to the former Colonel Conde what it is that he wished to do. President Conde said to him: "I certify to you that all that equipment is still here in the Temple."

"Then that is all I need," the officer said to President Conde, "Your word is good enough for me." And he went away, knowing that he could trust what the former Colonel Conde had said.

When I was in junior high school, I used money from a paper route to buy a small motorcycle. It wasn’t new or very powerful, but it was fast enough to kick up desert dust from the trails that snaked through the cactus east of our home in Tucson, Arizona, USA.
When my motorcycle ran out of gas, I would grab our gas can. When the can was empty, I would arrange a ride to fill it up at a gas station. One day my older brother had what I thought was a great idea.
“Just borrow some gas from Dad’s pickup,” he said.
He showed me how, with a small section of rubber garden hose, I could syphon gas from the pickup directly into my motorcycle. That solution worked great—until I got careless a few weeks later.
While I was syphoning gas, the hose slipped from my hand and slid into the pickup’s gas tank! I couldn’t see it or reach it. In a few weeks, I feared, the gasoline would dissolve the rubber, which would likely clog the pickup’s carburetor.
It was bad enough that I’d been taking gas without permission, but now I’d probably ruined Dad’s pickup. How could I tell him? He was kind of strict, and I was afraid of what he’d say.
I didn’t write my dad a note about the hose in the gas tank. In fact, since I’d probably be grounded for life, I decided not to tell him. A few months later, however, my conscience got the best of me and I prayed up enough courage to admit what had happened. Instead of grounding me, he shrugged his shoulders, gave me some fatherly advice, and said, “Be more careful next time.”
After that conversation, it was easier to talk to my dad—especially when I messed up. Those chats helped prepare me for bishop’s interviews.
As for our pickup truck, I’m happy to report that that hose didn’t ruin it. It still runs just fine.

A few weeks after the temple dedication, Louisa Pratt and her daughters started west with a company of Saints. Ellen was now fourteen, Frances was twelve, Lois was nine, and Ann was five. They had two yoke of oxen, two cows, and a wagon loaded with new clothes and provisions.

Before crossing the river into Iowa, Louisa called at the post office and found a long letter from Addison dated January 6, 1846—five months earlier. Addison reported that he was now in Tahiti with some Tubuaian friends, the married couple Nabota and Telii, on their way to help his fellow missionary Benjamin Grouard with missionary work on the nearby Anaa atoll. He had sent Louisa sixty dollars and loving words for her and the children.

Addison expected to serve among the island Saints for many years to come, but not without his family. “If you can get any books,” he wrote, “and have any leisure time, I think you and the children had better attend to the studying of the Tahitian language, for in my opinion you may have use for it within a few years.”32

The letter pleased Louisa, and she found her journey west surprisingly joyful. The spring rains had ended, and she liked riding horseback beneath clear skies while a hired man drove her wagons. She rose early every morning, gathered up stray cattle, and helped to drive them during the day. Occasionally she worried about how far she was traveling from her parents and other relatives, but her belief in Zion comforted her. The revelations spoke of Zion as a place of refuge, a land of peace. That was what she wanted in her life.

“Sometimes I feel cheerful,” she wrote in her journal on June 10. “The Lord has called us, and appointed us a place where we can live in peace and be free from the dread of our cruel persecutors!”33

Five days later, Louisa and her company arrived at Mount Pisgah, one of two large way stations the Saints had established along the Iowa trail. The encampment hugged the base of some low, sloping hills crowned with a grove of oak trees. As Brigham had envisioned, the Saints there lived in tents or log cabins and cultivated crops to supply food for companies who would arrive later. Other areas of the camp provided pastureland for the livestock.

Louisa selected a site in the shade of some oak trees for her family. The place was beautiful, but overhead the sun beat down on the encamped Saints, many of whom were exhausted from the rain and mud they had battled that spring.

“May the Lord reward them for all their sacrifices,” Louisa thought.34
Farther ahead on the trail, Brigham and the Camp of Israel stopped at a place called Mosquito Creek, not far from the Missouri River. They were hungry, two months behind schedule, and desperately poor.35 Yet Brigham still insisted on sending an advance company over the Rocky Mountains. He believed that a group of Saints needed to finish the journey that season, for as long as the Church wandered without a home, its enemies would try to scatter it or block its way.36

Brigham knew, however, that outfitting such a group would strain the Saints’ resources. Few had money or provisions to spare, and Iowa provided limited opportunities for paid labor. To survive on the prairie, many Saints had sold prized possessions along the trail or worked odd jobs to earn money for food and supplies. As the camp moved west and settlements thinned, these opportunities would only become harder to find.37

Other matters also weighed on Brigham. The Saints who did not belong to the advance company needed a place to spend the winter. The Omahas and other Native peoples who inhabited the land west of the Missouri River were willing to let the Saints camp there over the winter, but government agents were reluctant to allow them to settle on protected Indian lands for a long period of time.38

Brigham also knew the sick and impoverished Saints in Nauvoo were depending on the Church to take them west. For a time, he had hoped to assist them by selling valuable property in Nauvoo, including the temple. But so far this effort had been unsuccessful.39

On June 29, Brigham learned that three officers from the United States Army were coming to Mosquito Creek. The United States had declared war on Mexico, and President James Polk had authorized the men to recruit a battalion of five hundred Saints for a military campaign to the California coast.
The next day, Brigham discussed the news with Heber Kimball and Willard Richards. Brigham had no quarrel with Mexico, and the idea of helping the United States galled him. But the West could become American territory if the United States won the war, and assisting the army could improve the Saints’ relationship with the nation. More important, the enlisted men’s pay could help the Church fund its westward migration.40

Brigham spoke with the officers as soon as they arrived. He learned that their orders had come after Thomas Kane, a well-connected young man on the East Coast, had heard about the Saints’ plight and introduced Jesse Little to important officials in Washington, DC. After some lobbying, Jesse had met with President Polk and persuaded him to help the Saints move west by enlisting some of them in military service.

Seeing the benefits of the arrangement, Brigham endorsed the orders wholeheartedly. “This is the first offer we have ever had from the government to benefit us,” he declared. “I propose that the five hundred volunteers be mustered, and I will do my best to see all their families brought forward, as far as my influence can be extended, and feed them when I have anything to eat myself.”41

Drusilla Hendricks was furious with Brigham’s decision to cooperate with the United States. Her husband, James, had been shot in the neck during a skirmish with Missourians in 1838, leaving him partially paralyzed. Like others in camp, she still resented the government for not helping the Saints at that time. Even though her son William was old enough to volunteer for the battalion, she did not want to let him join. With her husband’s paralysis, she depended on her son for help.42

Recruiters visited the camp daily, often with Brigham or other apostles. “If we want the privilege of going where we can worship God according to the dictates of our conscience,” Brigham testified, “we must raise the battalion.”43 Many Saints swallowed their resentment and supported the endeavor, but Drusilla could not bear parting with her son.

Sometimes the Spirit whispered to her, “Are you afraid to trust the God of Israel? Has He not been with you in all your trials? Has He not provided for your wants?” She would acknowledge God’s goodness, but then she would remember the government’s cruelty, and her anger would return.

On the day of the battalion’s departure, William rose early to bring in the cows. Drusilla watched him as he walked through the tall, wet grass, and she worried that her lack of faith would do him more harm than good. He could get hurt traveling on the trail with his family just as easily as he could marching with the battalion. And if that happened, she would regret having made him stay.

Drusilla started breakfast, unsure what to do about William. Climbing onto the wagon to get flour, she again felt the Spirit’s whisper: Didn’t she want the greatest blessings of the Lord?

“Yes,” she said aloud.

“Then how can you get it without making the greatest sacrifice?” the Spirit asked. “Let your son go in the battalion.”

“It is too late,” she said. “They are to be marched off this morning.”

William returned, and the family gathered for breakfast. As James blessed the food, Drusilla was startled when a man interrupted the camp. “Turn out, men!” he shouted. “We lack some men yet in the battalion.”

Drusilla opened her eyes and saw William staring at her. She studied his face, memorizing each feature. She knew then that he would join the battalion. “If I never see you again until the morning of the resurrection,” she thought, “I shall know you are my child.”

After breakfast, Drusilla prayed alone. “Spare his life,” she pleaded, “and let him be restored to me and to the bosom of the Church.”

“It shall be done unto you,” the Spirit whispered, “as it was unto Abraham when he offered Isaac on the altar.”

Drusilla searched for William and found him sitting in the wagon, his head buried in his hands. “Do you want to go with the battalion?” she asked. “If you do, I have had a testimony that it is right for you to go.”

“President Young said it is for the salvation of this people,” William said, “and I might as well have a hand in it as anyone.”

“I have held you back,” Drusilla said, “but if you want to go, I shall hold you no longer.”44

I was the only member of the Church in my high school, and some of the other students began to ridicule my standards and test my resolve to keep them. I played on my high school all-star soccer team. My teammates usually used bad words, but they accepted the fact that I spoke according to the teachings of the Church. And when a disagreement started during a game, they knew that my position would be that of peacemaker. They tested me with liquor, with immorality, and with other temptations. But when they discovered that I was really serious about my commitments, they respected me.

During my first year of high school, my seminary teacher invited my class to give copies of the Book of Mormon to nonmember friends. Even though I was incredibly timid, I accepted the invitation.
It took me a couple of days to build up the courage, but I eventually gave my friend Britny the book during lunch hour and bore a brief testimony. Britny thanked me for the book.
At the end of that school year, Britny moved, but we kept in touch. She told me about her new school and how almost all her friends were members of the Church, but she never talked about anything spiritual with me.
That changed before I left for my mission. I got a message from Britny saying she had big news for me: she was going to be baptized, and she wanted to thank me for being her friend and setting a good example.
God took a shy 15-year-old boy with no missionary experience and directed him to share the gospel with someone He knew would accept it. I know that by listening to the Spirit, we can all find people around us who are waiting to learn about the restored gospel. I know that if we help bring even one person to the Lord, “how great shall be [our] joy with him [or her] in the kingdom of [our] Father!” (D&C 18:15).

It was Christmas time when this question came to me. What do I personally do to express joy? Something that isn't created by someone else and consumed by me? Handel wrote the Messiah, Jewish elders sound the shofar, my mother sews matching Christmas dresses in taffeta plaid-but what do I create myself that shows the Lord I am feeling the Spirit and using my gifts in His world?
Shortly afterward, a new baby was born into our family. My oldest nephew James was a firefighter in Kalispell, Montana. He and his wife Mary had their first little baby boy. I was a great aunt. I wanted to do something so this little boy would know when he grew up how much he was wanted and celebrated. But what could I do? When I myself was born my great grandmother made a quilt for me. Based on a nine square pattern, it was the quilt I hid under when I was scared, made forts out of in our basement, and dragged out to the couch and tucked around myself when I was sick.
So, I decided to make a quilt for this new great nephew. Only one problem: I was kicked out of sewing classes and had no idea how to sew. I had never made a quilt. I didn't know how to start. I didn't know any of the tricks to make the corners line up or the nine squares fit evenly. I worked on it doggedly for six months. I pored over the squares and actually prayed over the sewing machine bobbin not to tangle while I sewed because I had no way of fixing that. Making this quilt stretched me, but it was something I was creating to show joy and love.

Several years ago, Sister Pearson and I were called to preside over the Washington Tacoma Mission. The call was a complete surprise. With some trepidation I met with the chairman and the CEO of the company where I was employed and informed them of my mission call. They were visibly upset with my decision to leave the firm. “When did you make this decision, and why didn’t you discuss it with us earlier?” they demanded.

In a moment of clarity, a profound answer came into my mind. I said, “I made this decision as a 19-year-old boy, when I made sacred covenants with God in the temple to follow the Savior. I’ve built my entire life on those covenants, and I fully intend to keep them now.”

The first principle that I will share is to enthusiastically and righteously continue your quest for knowledge. One of my heroes in this category is Paul Cox, an active member of the Church. He received a bachelor of science degree from Brigham Young University in botany and earned other post-graduate degrees. He served a mission in Samoa and later lived with his family in Savai‘i, Samoa, for many years. One of his focuses was ethnomedicine, in which he studied some of the plants that had been used by generations of Samoan mothers to treat health issues. With a coauthor, he wrote Plants, People, and Culture: The Science of Ethnobotany.3

He has made several breakthroughs in treating diseases. While he has done many things in his exceptional career, the one I wish to mention occurred many years ago. Paul and a Samoan chief, Fuiono Senio, conducted ethnobotanical research in the village of Falealupo, Western Samoa.

An account in BYU Magazine reported: “The village had reluctantly licensed its forest to a logging company to raise funds to build a school, because, says Cox, ‘They felt they had to choose between their children and their forest, which was a terrible, terrible decision for them.’ When he learned of the transaction with the logging company, Cox told the chiefs he would personally pay to build the school if they could stop the logging” of the rain forest.4

He did build the school with the help of businessmen who had connections with Samoa.5 Brother Cox has received many honors and awards, including the Goldman Environmental Prize for grassroots environmental heroes. He represents a continuing quest for knowledge to bless mankind. This account exemplifies the love of learning and the synergism of knowledge.

I remember the excitement I felt when I first got a skateboard. I loved going to the skate park with my older cousins and seeing how creative they could be with their tricks. I was amazed at the way they could flip or spin a skateboard in the air just to land back on it with both feet and roll away in style.
Perhaps the best part about it was their ability to make their complicated tricks look so effortless. This gave me courage. If it looked so easy for them to do, I reasoned, then maybe it wouldn’t be too hard for me to learn the same things.
So I picked up my new skateboard and got to work.
Because I wanted to be a good skateboarder, I thought learning would be effortless and there wouldn’t be any major challenges. No mental blocks, no injuries, no pain. Skateboarding would be just as easy as my older cousins made it look.
It didn’t take long before I was overcome with discouragement. I would spend hours and hours attempting to pop my board up into the air, the most basic trick in the book. But it would take weeks until the ollie trick was good enough.
Looking back through my years of skateboarding, I’ve noticed a pattern I tend to follow with other parts of life. When I am excited to try something new and it is harder to accomplish than I expected, my enthusiasm surrenders to discouragement and my inspiration turns to doubt.
This often applies most to when I am trying to follow promptings from the Holy Ghost, only for things to not turn out as expected.
These unexpected feelings of uncertainty have always felt like a heavy blow to my initial excitement and eagerness to progress. But thankfully the scriptures have provided me a fresh view on how I can change my perception when I face challenges like these.
The opening chapters of the Book of Mormon tell about a family that faced serious trials. Little did they know how far they would have to go or the unseen challenges they would have to face. Yet their journey demonstrates how God can work in all of our lives.
Early in their journey, Nephi’s father, Lehi, received a revelation that Nephi and his brothers would have to go back to Jerusalem and convince Laban to give them the brass plates (see 1 Nephi 3). After two attempts to retrieve the plates and two death threats, it could have been easy for even Nephi to doubt the revelation his father had received and ask, “If God commanded me to do it, why isn’t this working?!” But there’s no indication in the scriptures that he went down this road of doubt.
I’ve discovered new insights upon pondering how this story applies to me. How much more did Nephi and his brothers learn to rely on God because they were presented with unexpected difficulties?
Is it possible that some things that God asks us to do are impossible? Just so that we can learn to rely on Him and discover how He makes the impossible, possible? Maybe God had to make it clear in Nephi’s mind that there was no way he could get the plates without Him.
This is a pattern I’ve found in the scriptures that I’ve seen in my own life. God inspires His children to do something beyond themselves—like making a change or accepting a time-consuming calling— and then unexpected challenges always seem to follow.
Whenever I feel the quiet tug from the Holy Ghost to do something important, I expect the results from following the prompting to come easily and quickly. In retrospect, I’ve discovered that it’s the difficult promptings to follow that give me the chance to see God’s grace. I recognized the truth of Moroni’s observation that “ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith” (Ether 12:6).
Sometimes it’s only when things don’t seem to work out the way I had envisioned that I see that God actually has been involved in every detail.
As President Russell M. Nelson promises us, “When you know your life is being directed by God, regardless of the challenges and disappointments that may and will come, you will feel joy and peace.”1 That is a promise I wouldn’t have been able to experience for myself if everything I had set out to do hadn’t required that I give God all my “heart, might, mind and strength” (Doctrine and Covenants 4:2).
I’ve learned that God’s vision is much clearer than mine, whether that be through my attempts at skateboarding or trusting Him to do the seemingly impossible. He cares not only that I trust in Him to reach my destination but also that I find faith in Him along the journey.

Most of all, I think eternal marriage cannot be achieved without a commitment to make it work. Most of what I know about this I have learned from my companion. We have been married for almost 47 years now. From the beginning she knew what kind of marriage she wanted.
We started as poor college students, but her vision for our marriage was exemplified by a set of silverware. As is common today, when we married she registered with a local department store. Instead of listing all the pots and pans and appliances we needed and hoped to receive, she chose another course. She asked for silverware. She chose a pattern and the number of place settings and listed knives, forks, and spoons on the wedding registry and nothing else. No towels, no toasters, no television—just knives, forks, and spoons.
The wedding came and went. Our friends and our parents’ friends gave gifts. We departed for a brief honeymoon and decided to open the presents when we returned. When we did so, we were shocked. There was not a single knife or fork in the lot. We joked about it and went on with our lives.
Two children came along while we were in law school. We had no money to spare. But when my wife worked as a part-time election judge or when someone gave her a few dollars for her birthday, she would quietly set it aside, and when she had enough she would go to town to buy a fork or a spoon. It took us several years to accumulate enough pieces to use them. When we finally had service for four, we began to invite some of our friends for dinner.
Before they came, we would have a little discussion in the kitchen. Which utensils would we use, the battered and mismatched stainless or the special silverware? In those early days I would often vote for the stainless. It was easier. You could just throw it in the dishwasher after the meal, and it took care of itself. The silver, on the other hand, was a lot of work. My wife had it hidden away under the bed where it could not be found easily by a burglar. She had insisted that I buy a tarnish-free cloth to wrap it in. Each piece was in a separate pocket, and it was no easy task to assemble all the pieces. When the silver was used, it had to be hand washed and dried so that it would not spot, and put back in the pockets so it would not tarnish, and wrapped up and carefully hidden again so it would not get stolen. If any tarnish was discovered, I was sent to buy silver polish, and together we carefully rubbed the stains away.
Over the years we added to the set, and I watched with amazement how she cared for the silver. My wife was never one to get angry easily. However, I remember the day when one of our children somehow got hold of one of the silver forks and wanted to use it to dig up the backyard. That attempt was met with a fiery glare and a warning not to even think about it—ever!
I noticed that the silverware never went to the many ward dinners she cooked or never accompanied the many meals she made and sent to others who were sick or needy. It never went on picnics and never went camping. In fact it never went anywhere; and, as time went by, it didn’t even come to the table very often. Some of our friends were weighed in the balance, found wanting, and didn’t even know it. They got the stainless when they came to dinner.
The time came when we were called to go on a mission. I arrived home one day and was told that I had to rent a safe-deposit box for the silver. She didn’t want to take it with us. She didn’t want to leave it behind. And she didn’t want to lose it.
For years I thought she was just a little bit eccentric, and then one day I realized that she had known for a long time something that I was just beginning to understand. If you want something to last forever, you treat it differently. You shield it and protect it. You never abuse it. You don’t expose it to the elements. You don’t make it common or ordinary. If it ever becomes tarnished, you lovingly polish it until it gleams like new. It becomes special because you have made it so, and it grows more beautiful and precious as time goes by.

On a cool, sunny morning, the missionaries in the Dominican Republic Santo Domingo West Mission gathered in the San Geronimo chapel in Santo Domingo. This special occasion brought them together to listen to an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ and to other authorities of the Church and be “nourished up in the words of faith and of good doctrine” (1 Timothy 4:6).
Elder D. Todd Christofferson arrived early, accompanied by his beloved wife, Sister Katherine Jacob Christofferson, Elder José L. Alonso of the Seventy and his wife, Rebecca Salazar, and Elder Cándido Fortuna, Area Seventy and his wife, Sister Damaris Rosario. They were received by President José M. Santos, who presides over the mission, also accompanied by his wife, Madeleine Guzmán De Santos.
The meeting began with a beautiful prelude, after which Elder Christofferson and those who were with him greeted and shook the hand of each missionary.
A missionary choir performed a hymn in English and Spanish, creating an atmosphere of peace and preparing everyone present for this special gathering.
Elder Christofferson asked those who accompanied him to share a brief message. The messages focused on their feelings about the Book of Mormon, the restoration of the gospel, missionary work, and the sacred mission of our Savior, Jesus Christ.
“A missionary must be constantly inviting people to act,” Elder Fortuna said while addressing the missionaries.
In his message, Elder Alonso made reference to the words found in 1 Nephi 3:7. He taught that Heavenly Father provides us with a way to fulfill what He has commanded us. When concluding his remarks, he thanked the missionaries for what they do in the work of the Lord.
Sister Christofferson addressed the missionaries, speaking both in English and Spanish so that the message she shared was understood in its entirety by the new missionaries and those who already had spent some time in the mission field. She shared with them the scripture found in 2 Kings 4:1–7 and taught them that at that time it was customary for creditors to take the children of debtors as part of the payment of the debt as was the case in this scripture.
The woman in the scripture story obeyed Elisha and borrowed all the vessels she could from her neighbors. She filled them from her one pot of oil and noted that the oil stopped flowing only when there were no more vessels to fill. It is interesting to note that not only was she given enough to pay the debt she had, but also to cover her living expenses in the future. “There are two important teachings here,” Sister Christofferson said. “First that the Lord will provide for those who have faith in Him and second that we must be prepared to receive what God wants to give us.” Sister Christofferson concluded her remarks by thanking everyone for their missionary service in this country.
In his concluding remarks as the keynote speaker, Elder Christofferson addressed the missionaries in Spanish. He highlighted the messages shared by each of those who preceded him. He told them: “As my wife indicated, we receive everything we are prepared to receive.” Then he asked the missionaries what things they could do to prepare themselves to receive the blessings that have been promised.
“Be obedient,” replied one of the missionaries, to which Elder Christofferson added that they can take advantage of what God has already given them, that is, the commandments. He said, “The commandments are like stairs that help elevate us each step” to be closer to Him.
He continued by inviting the missionaries to fast once a month, as this will help them have the Spirit and open their minds and hearts to receive greater revelation. He also told them: “By studying the scriptures, especially the Book of Mormon, I not only learn, but I also correct myself.” He indicated that one can be better when studying the scriptures. He stressed that also by sharing one’s testimony, “we receive testimony. … The Spirit testifies to you that what you share is true.” He added that we should “ask in prayer” showing that we want more. “We can ask, according to His will, for more, for what we need,” he concluded.
At the end of his remarks, he left them with a special blessing. He told them: “I bless you so that you may have greater power in your teaching, by teaching the principles of the gospel, greater capacity and greater convincing and persuasive power in your teaching. …May people feel that deep love that you have for them, whether members or nonmembers, that you get answers to your prayers.” He concluded his remarks sharing his testimony about the truthfulness of the gospel, that Jesus Christ directs His Church and, just like the Prophet Joseph Smith, President Nelson was also called by God.

Amberley likes to play cricket with Ben. She also enjoys shooting a netball outside her house. (Netball is something like basketball and is played with a soccer ball.) She is a good netball player and has been player of the month at her school three times. When she first started playing, she was having trouble catching the ball. But as she listened to her coaches and kept trying, she became a lot better at it.

President Oaks taught us that “Family bonds are also strengthened by family stories, creating family traditions, and sharing sacred experiences.”[4]
One tradition we established was on the morning of our children’s baptisms. We would wake them up before sunrise. Still in their pajamas, my husband would wrap them in a blanket and drive them 45 minutes to the Nashville Tennessee Temple.

During the drive on narrow, rural roads, they would talk about the road signs indicating the curves ahead and "no passing" zones. He would then drive over the rumble strips on the edge of the road to demonstrate the warnings provided from veering off. He drew parallels between all of these markers and the teachings of Jesus Christ and His prophets. Following the road signs brought them safely to the temple; following the Savior would bring them safely to their heavenly home. Upon arriving, he walked them to the temple doors to see smiling temple workers dressed in white standing inside. Then, they watched the sun rise, discussing how baptism is like a new dawn. It was a truly memorable morning.

A 17-year-old girl, going through the trauma of having only one parent in the home as well as the normal problems of adolescence, was called to be president of her Laurel class. Her response to this responsibility was, “I have never been so excited and thrilled about the Church in my life. I love it with all my heart and love every minute I have the privilege of serving.” Then she made another statement equally impressive. She said, “Since having received this call and having felt the responsibility, I have wanted to purify and refine my life so that I would be worthy of the call.”

An important aspect of the path to developing potential through service and servant leadership is often times other people, such as the Lesuma’s, Litchfield’s, Budge’s, and Nainoa Thompson, see things in you before you are able to see them in yourself. I can count on two hands the number of hours Captain Nainoa slept in the 16 days and 2,500 miles before we arrived in Rangiroa in the Tuamotu Archipelago, and then two days on to Tahiti. He actually spotted land about 30 minutes before the apprentice navigators did. But my teacher didn’t need to find land; it was his fifth trip back to Tahiti. Instead, he allowed us to find the coconut trees, which were the highest points on Rangiroa so that we can likewise teach the rising generation (this is a photo of that moment). Servant leadership is exhausting, and at the same time nourishing, visionary, and self-replenishing. By following the Lord’s invitations through service and servant leadership, we honor those who have gone before us and strive to do His will by raising the next generation.

Matt scowled into the mirror. The freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks looked bigger than ever. In fact, his whole face seemed to be one big freckle. “Mom,” he asked, “why do I have so many freckles? You and Dad don’t have any.”
“I did when I was your age. So did my father. And his father before him.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve seen pictures of them. Your great-grandfather had so many freckles that people called him ‘Red’ when he was your age. His name was Matthew too.”
“Oh, great,” Matt muttered.
“He was a great man,” Mother chided. “My father used to tell me wonderful stories about him.”
But Matt didn’t want to hear that. He just wanted to get rid of about fifty thousand freckles.
“Your great-great-aunt Emily is coming tomorrow. She could tell you a lot more about him. He was her brother.”
“Can she tell me how to get rid of freckles?”
Mom ruffled his hair. “Your freckles won’t last forever.”
Matt grumbled his way through breakfast. When he learned he’d have to give up ball practice to come home to meet his aunt, he grumbled even louder.
“Your aunt wants to see you,” his mother said in the tone she used when she wasn’t happy with him. “Besides, she has something special for you.”
Matt mumbled an apology and slid from his chair. He wanted to rub lemon juice over his face. He’d read in a magazine that lemon juice faded freckles.
Thirty minutes later, he looked in the mirror in disgust. His freckles were still there. If anything, they were more noticeable than ever.
His mood didn’t improve any when he got to school.
“Hey, Matt, you look like you were swallowed by a freckle,” his friend Josh teased.
“Yeah,” Sam added. “A big freckle!”
“Lay off,” Matt said.
By the time school was over, Matt was tired of being teased. He didn’t really feel like meeting Aunt Emily or anyone else, either. But she was there waiting when he walked into the kitchen.
“You look just like my brother Matthew did when he was eleven,” Aunt Emily said.
In spite of himself, Matt was curious. “I do?”
Aunt Emily’s lined face crinkled into a smile. “He had the same stubborn chin, the same blue eyes, and the same freckles.”
Matt scowled. “Did he hate them too?”
Her smile deepened. “He sure did—at first.”
Intrigued, Matt sat down at the kitchen table. He said “thanks” when his mother placed four peanut butter cookies in front of him, but he was more interested in what Aunt Emily had to say. “He didn’t always hate them?”
She shook her head. “No, he didn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because they helped him get the lead in the school play. He tried out for the part of Tom Sawyer and got it because of his freckles.”
“But I don’t want to be Tom Sawyer,” Matt said.
“What do you want to do?”
“I want to be a professional ball player or president of a company or something.”
Aunt Emily shoved a package toward him. “Here.”
Eagerly Matt unwrapped the brown paper, then stared in disappointment at an old leather-bound book. “What’s this?”
“It’s your great-grandfather’s journal. He started keeping it when he was just about your age.”
Matt opened it. Pasted inside the front cover was an old-fashioned photograph of a young boy. Even the faded tones of the picture couldn’t hide the freckles scattered across his face. “This is my great-grandfather?” Matt asked.
Aunt Emily nodded. “Does he look familiar?”
Matt didn’t answer. His own face stared back at him.
That evening, he excused himself after dinner and went upstairs to his room. He started flipping through the journal. He stopped at an entry dated June 15, 1911: “Worked in the fields today. It was hot! Earned $1.50.”
Matt kept reading. His eyes drooped, but he couldn’t put the book down.
“Aunt Emily, do you have any more of my great-grandfather’s journals?” he asked the next morning.
“I sure do. I had a feeling that you might be interested in them.” She motioned to him to follow her to the bedroom, where she opened her suitcase. Inside were eight journals—seven brown and one black. She picked up the black one and handed it to Matt. “This one is very special,” she said.
Matt looked inside. The pages were blank. “It’s empty.”
She smiled. “I know. You get to fill them.”
He wanted to look through the other journals right away, but he had to hurry off to school. After gulping his juice, he folded a piece of toast and jammed it into a napkin and ran to catch the bus.
His fifth grade teacher assigned a report due the next day. “Choose someone you admire and tell us about him.”
The other kids started talking about whom they would choose. Josh chose Abraham Lincoln. Sam picked Thomas Edison. Mary chose Babe Didrikson Zaharias. Matt frowned. All the good names seemed to be taken. But by that evening, Matt knew whom he was going to give his report on.
As he stood before the class the following day, he rubbed his wet palms against his jeans and took a deep breath. “My great-grandfather was never president. He never invented anything. He never even finished school. But he was a great man. When he was twelve, his father died. So he dropped out of school to help support his family. He hoed beets for only a dollar-fifty a day. When he was nineteen, he went on a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
By the end of his report, Matt was flushed. “I’m proud that I look like my great-grandfather. I hope I can be the kind of man he was.”
The class applauded.
After school, Matt hurried to spend more time talking with Aunt Emily about his great-grandfather Matthew. He also wanted to write in his own journal about his class report. Before going to bed, he looked in the mirror. His customary scowl had been replaced by a smile as he studied his freckles. He decided he didn’t mind them so much, after all.

I wanted my ninth birthday to be special. I love learning about the colonial times in America, so I decided that I wanted to have a colonial-theme birthday party with my friends. I planned everything for the party, but I wanted to have some kind of an activity that colonial girls would have had. My mother and I thought about it for a while. Then my mother told me that our ward was collecting quilts for the Church’s Humanitarian Center. She suggested that my friends and I tie a baby quilt to contribute with our ward’s other quilts. She explained to me that the quilts are sent to those in need throughout the world. I thought of a baby or small child somewhere who may not have anything to keep him or her warm during the cold winter months. I became excited about making this quilt.
My mother took me to the store, and I picked out the fabric that we would use for the quilt. I wanted to find the perfect fabric for this gift of love I was making for my birthday. I found some that was soft and warm. There was light-blue striped fabric for one side and light-blue floral for the other. I imagined a baby somewhere snuggling into the soft warmth of my quilt. A sister in our ward let me use her quilting supplies and offered some words of advice for putting the quilt together.
Finally the day of the party arrived. We did normal party things for the first hour, and then our attention was turned to the quilt that was set up, ready to be tied. Since my mother was concerned that my friends might not stay interested in the quilt long enough to finish it, she explained what it was for. My friends caught the vision and became excited to provide a quilt for a small child somewhere.
After my mother showed us how to tie the quilt, we had a great time working on it together. When it was time for the party to end, no one wanted to go home! My friends called their parents to see if they could stay longer and finish the quilt. We were all so excited and thought that we would even like to make more if we could. We stayed another couple of hours working on the quilt. When we finished tying it, my mother bound the edges.
The following Sunday, my mother took the quilt to Relief Society so that the sisters in our ward could see it. My friends and I feel good when we think about the service we gave. We know that when we serve those around us, we are serving Jesus and following His example. I will always remember my ninth birthday as one of the most special of all.

That time came all too quickly for Brigham, who developed a deep love for and loyalty to Joseph. Brigham followed the young Prophet unquestioningly through many difficult times, and at the Prophet’s call Brigham left his family again and again to preach the gospel in the eastern United States, in Canada, and in England. He was in Boston on June 27, 1844, the day Joseph and Hyrum were killed in Carthage, Illinois. Though rumors of the brothers’ deaths spread rapidly, it was not until July 16 that Brigham learned for certain of their martyrdom.
As President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, Brigham Young gathered the other members of the quorum who were also preaching throughout the eastern states and returned with them to Nauvoo.
A conference was held in Nauvoo on August 7 and 8, and Brigham addressed the grieving Saints. Benjamin F. Johnson reported that “as soon as [Brigham] spoke I jumped upon my feet, for in every possible degree it was Joseph’s voice, and his person, in look, attitude, dress and appearance … ; and I knew in a moment the spirit and mantle of Joseph was upon him.”

Seven years later I too was preparing to serve a mission. I remember the night my call letter came, and I had all the family gathered around. Everyone had made their guesses as to where I would go. We all thought that I for sure would go to Temple Square. When I actually read my call, I was absolutely shocked! I thought, “Do they know that I am a girl!?” I knew that there were girls serving in India when my brother was on a mission, but they were Indian girls! I had no idea that they sent foreign sisters there and I wondered if I was the first one? Later I learned that I am the first sister from Australia to serve in India.

Another shock was how soon they wanted me to be prepared and ready to leave. I had just eight weeks from the time I received my call to the time I had to report to the Provo MTC. I quickly applied for my overseas Indian citizenship. It normally takes 6-8 weeks or more to arrive which meant that it would have come on the day I was supposed to leave. I knew there was a reason I was to leave so soon so I just put my faith and trust in the Lord that everything would work out. I ended up getting my visa in just five weeks! That is just one of the miracles I saw as I prepared for my mission. It was a crazy whirlwind getting ready for my mission, but it was a testimony to me that the India New Delhi Mission was where I needed to be.

“The Lord never asks us to do something that won’t help us in the end.”
Huia faced uncertainty when she received a prompting she didn’t expect. She shares, “When I was at a youth conference, I felt the strongest impression that I needed to serve a mission. My whole life I didn’t want to—like really didn’t want to. I was happy for my two brothers to go on missions, but it was not for me.
“I don’t deny it. I’ve tried to make other plans for myself, but in the back of my head, I always think, I should really do what He tells me to do.”
With time, Huia decided to do the Lord’s will and prepare for a mission. “I’m doing my best to prepare for that day, because I know that the Lord never asks us to do something that won’t help us in the end.”
While preparing to serve a mission, Huia’s seen the blessings of her obedience. “I can already see little ways the Lord is preparing the way for me to accomplish the things He’s asked me to do. I don’t always know exactly what will happen when I follow His guidance, but I know that there is always going to be a bright place afterward.”