Gospel Story Finder

In 1959, not long after I began my service as president of the Canadian Mission, headquartered in Toronto, Ontario, Canada, I met N. Eldon Tanner, a prominent Canadian who just months later would be called as an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, then to the Quorum of the Twelve, and then as a counselor to four Presidents of the Church.
At the time I met him, President Tanner was president of the vast Trans-Canada Pipelines, Ltd., and president of the Canada Calgary Stake. He was known as “Mr. Integrity” in Canada. During that first meeting, we discussed, among other subjects, the cold Canadian winters, where storms rage, temperatures can linger well below freezing for weeks at a time, and where icy winds lower those temperatures even further. I asked President Tanner why the roads and highways in western Canada basically remained intact during such winters, showing little or no signs of cracking or breaking, while the road surfaces in many areas where winters are less cold and less severe developed cracks and breaks and potholes.
Said he, “The answer is in the depth of the base of the paving materials. In order for them to remain strong and unbroken, it is necessary to go very deep with the foundation layers. When the foundations are not deep enough, the surfaces cannot withstand the extremes of weather.”
Over the years I have thought often of this conversation and of President Tanner’s explanation, for I recognize in his words a profound application for our lives. Stated simply, if we do not have a deep foundation of faith and a solid testimony of truth, we may have difficulty withstanding the harsh storms and icy winds of adversity which inevitably come to each of us.
Mortality is a period of testing, a time to prove ourselves worthy to return to the presence of our Heavenly Father. In order for us to be tested, we must face challenges and difficulties. These can break us, and the surface of our souls may crack and crumble—that is, if our foundations of faith, our testimonies of truth are not deeply embedded within us.
We can rely on the faith and testimony of others only so long. Eventually we must have our own strong and deeply placed foundation, or we will be unable to withstand the storms of life, which will come. Such storms come in a variety of forms. We may be faced with the sorrow and heartbreak of a wayward child who chooses to turn from the pathway leading to eternal truth and rather travel the slippery slopes of error and disillusionment. Sickness may strike us or a loved one, bringing suffering and sometimes death. Accidents may leave their cruel marks of remembrance or may snuff out life. Death comes to the aged as they walk on faltering feet. Its summons is heard by those who have scarcely reached midway in life’s journey, and often it hushes the laughter of little children.
At times there appears to be no light at the tunnel’s end, no dawn to break the night’s darkness. We feel surrounded by the pain of broken hearts, the disappointment of shattered dreams, and the despair of vanished hopes. We join in uttering the biblical plea, “Is there no balm in Gilead?” (Jeremiah 8:22). We are inclined to view our own personal misfortunes through the distorted prism of pessimism. We feel abandoned, heartbroken, alone.
How can we build a foundation strong enough to withstand such vicissitudes of life? How can we maintain the faith and testimony which will be required, that we might experience the joy promised to the faithful? Constant, steady effort is necessary. Most of us have experienced inspiration so strong that it brings tears to our eyes and a determination to ever remain faithful. I have heard the statement, “If I could just keep these feelings with me always, I would never have trouble doing what I should.” Such feelings, however, can be fleeting. The inspiration we feel during these conference sessions may diminish and fade as Monday comes and we face the routines of work, of school, of managing our homes and families. Such can easily take our minds from the holy to the mundane, from that which uplifts to that which, if we allow it, will chip away at our testimonies, our strong foundations.
Of course we do not live in a world where we experience nothing but the spiritual, but we can fortify our foundations of faith, our testimonies of truth, so that we will not falter, we will not fail. How, you may ask, can we most effectively gain and maintain the foundation needed to survive spiritually in the world in which we live?
May I offer three guidelines to help us in our quest.
First, fortify your foundation through prayer. “Prayer is the soul’s sincere desire, uttered or unexpressed” (“Prayer Is the Soul’s Sincere Desire,” Hymns, no. 145).
As we pray, let us really communicate with our Father in Heaven. It is easy to let our prayers become repetitious, expressing words with little or no thought behind them. When we remember that each of us is literally a spirit son or daughter of God, we will not find it difficult to approach Him in prayer. He knows us; He loves us; He wants what is best for us. Let us pray with sincerity and meaning, offering our thanks and asking for those things we feel we need. Let us listen for His answers, that we may recognize them when they come. As we do, we will be strengthened and blessed. We will come to know Him and His desires for our lives. By knowing Him, by trusting His will, our foundations of faith will be strengthened. If any one of us has been slow to hearken to the counsel to pray always, there is no finer hour to begin than now. William Cowper declared, “Satan trembles when he sees the weakest saint upon his knees” (in William Neil, comp., Concise Dictionary of Religious Quotations [1974], 144).
Let us not neglect our family prayers. Such is an effective deterrent to sin, and thence a most beneficent provider of joy and happiness. That old saying is yet true: “The family that prays together stays together.” By providing an example of prayer to our children, we will also be helping them to begin their own deep foundations of faith and testimonies which they will need throughout their lives.
My second guideline: Let us study the scriptures and “meditate therein day and night,” as counseled by the Lord in the book of Joshua (1:8).
In 2005, hundreds of thousands of Latter-day Saints accepted President Gordon B. Hinckley’s challenge to read the Book of Mormon by the end of the year. I do believe December of 2005 would set an all-time record for hours devoted to meeting the challenge on time. We were blessed when we completed the task; our testimonies were strengthened, our knowledge increased. I would encourage all of us to continue to read and study the scriptures, that we might understand them and apply in our lives the lessons we find there. I paraphrase the poet James Phinney Baxter:
Who learns and learns but never knows
Is like the one who plows and plows but never sows.
(“The Baxter Collection,” Baxter Memorial Library, Gorham, Maine)
Spending time each day in scripture study will, without doubt, strengthen our foundations of faith and our testimonies of truth.
Recall with me the joy Alma experienced as he was journeying from the land of Gideon southward to the land of Manti and met the sons of Mosiah. Alma had not seen them for some time, and he was overjoyed to discover that they were “still his brethren in the Lord; yea, and they had waxed strong in the knowledge of the truth; for they were men of a sound understanding and they had searched the scriptures diligently, that they might know the word of God” (see Alma 17:1–2).
May we also know the word of God and conduct our lives accordingly.
My third guideline for building a strong foundation of faith and testimony involves service.
While driving to the office one morning, I passed a dry-cleaning establishment which had a sign in the window. It read, “It’s the Service That Counts.” The sign’s message simply would not leave my mind. Suddenly I realized why. In actual fact it is the service that counts—the Lord’s service.
In the Book of Mormon we read of noble King Benjamin. In the true humility of an inspired leader, he recounted his desire to serve his people and lead them in paths of righteousness. He then declared to them:
“Because I said unto you that I had spent my days in your service, I do not desire to boast, for I have only been in the service of God.
“And behold, I tell you these things that ye may learn wisdom; that ye may learn that when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God” (Mosiah 2:16–17).
This is the service that counts, the service to which all of us have been called: the service of the Lord Jesus Christ.
Along your pathway of life you will observe that you are not the only traveler. There are others who need your help. There are feet to steady, hands to grasp, minds to encourage, hearts to inspire, and souls to save.
Thirteen years ago it was my privilege to provide a blessing to a beautiful 12-year-old young lady, Jami Palmer. She had just been diagnosed with cancer and was frightened and bewildered. She subsequently underwent surgery and painful chemotherapy. Today she is cancer-free and is a bright, beautiful 26-year-old who has accomplished much in her life. Some time ago, I learned that in her darkest hour, when any future appeared somewhat grim, she learned that her leg where the cancer was situated would require multiple surgeries. A long-planned hike with her Young Women class up a rugged trail to Timpanogos Cave—located in the Wasatch Mountains about 40 miles south of Salt Lake City, Utah—was out of the question, she thought. Jami told her friends they would have to undertake the hike without her. I’m confident there was a catch in her voice and disappointment in her heart. But then the other young women responded emphatically, “No, Jami, you are going with us!”
“But I can’t walk,” came the anguished reply.
“Then, Jami, we’ll carry you to the top!” And they did.
Today, the hike is a memory, but in reality it is much more. James Barrie, the Scottish poet, declared, “God gave us memories, that we might have June roses in the December of our lives” (paraphrasing James Barrie, in Laurence J. Peter, comp., Peter’s Quotations: Ideas for Our Time [1977], 335). None of those precious young women will ever forget that memorable day when a loving Heavenly Father looked down with a smile of approval and was well pleased.
As He enlists us to His cause, He invites us to draw close to Him, and we feel His spirit in our lives.
As we establish a firm foundation for our lives, let us each one remember His precious promise:
Fear not, I am with thee; oh, be not dismayed,
For I am thy God and will still give thee aid.
I’ll strengthen thee, help thee, and cause thee to stand,
Upheld by my righteous, omnipotent hand.
(“How Firm a Foundation,” Hymns, no. 85)
May each of us qualify for this blessing, I humbly pray, in the name of Jesus Christ, our Savior, amen.

Gabriel heard his younger brother moan for what seemed like the hundredth time. He looked toward Tyler’s bed, trying to see through the darkness. Gabriel was tired. His baseball team was having its championship game tomorrow morning, and he had to get some sleep.
“Tyler, can’t you stop moaning?” Gabriel asked.
Tyler moaned again. “I can’t help it. My stomach hurts.”
Gabriel turned on the light next to his bed. “I told you not to eat that second hot dog at dinner, especially not with all that chili on it.”
“But it tasted good!” Tyler said. Then he moaned again.
“Are you going to do that all night?” Gabriel asked. “I’ve got a big game tomorrow, and I need some sleep.”
“But my stomach hurts!” Tyler said.
“OK,” Gabriel said. “I’ll get Mom and Dad.”
Gabriel went to his parents’ room and told them that Tyler had a stomachache and he was moaning something awful.
“I can’t get any sleep,” Gabriel said as they walked back to the boys’ room. “I have an important game in the morning.”
“I’m sure Tyler isn’t trying to keep you awake on purpose,” Dad said. “Having a stomachache can be painful.”
Gabriel sighed. Didn’t anyone understand how important this game was? His team had worked all year to make it to the championship. He couldn’t let the other players down.
“Do you have a stomachache, Tyler?” Mom asked as she sat down on his bed.
“I ate too many hot dogs!” Tyler said.
“I can give you a blessing if you’d like,” Dad said.
Tyler nodded. Gabriel waited until the blessing was done and then asked if he could sleep in the living room. After all, Tyler might be up all night.
Gabriel went and settled down on the sofa, but he found he couldn’t go to sleep. He began thinking about how Mom and Dad cared for him when he didn’t feel well. He remembered how much he needed their help. He thought Tyler probably felt that way right now.
Gabriel silently prayed to know how to help his brother. Then he went back to the bedroom.
Tyler opened his eyes when Gabriel walked in. “What’s going on?” he whispered.
“I just wanted you to know I’m sorry,” Gabriel said. “I didn’t mean to care more about a baseball game than about you. You can make all the noise you need to make. I’ll stay right here with you.”
“I feel better now,” Tyler said. “The blessing helped.”
“Maybe you’ll feel good enough to come to the game tomorrow,” Gabriel said.
Tyler nodded. Then he smiled and said, “But I don’t think I’ll eat any hot dogs!”
Gabriel smiled too. “Sounds like a good idea.”

Recently the Philadelphia Pennsylvania Stake held a fathers and sons’ outing to commemorate the 148th anniversary of the restoration of the Aaronic Priesthood. The outing was held in a wooded campground only a few hours drive from the spot where the priesthood was actually restored. Over 200 attended the event that started Friday afternoon at 4:00 P.M. and lasted through the next day until 3:00 P.M.
The games, food, and fellowship were all good activities, but the main event was the lesson learned from the service project. The boys and their fathers all pitched in to help Wally, the camp ranger, clean out the debris accumulated through the winter in the creek bed so the stream could run clean. They also helped get the campground ready for the summer season. Stake President R. D. Jess said, “The boys learned that they could have fun and do a good turn all at the same time—a good lesson for anyone.”
The stake presidency was especially pleased to see so many men and their sons with nonmember neighbors and friends. Brother M. Soto, first counselor in the Spanish-speaking North Philadelphia Branch, had a group of boys with him from families who are investigating the gospel. And the men of the stake took their responsibility a little further and brought boys who did not have fathers who could come with them. More than one father took the boys they home teach.
The camp had lean-to shelters for 50 bedrolls, with a campfire set in front of each shelter. Tent trailers and tents accommodated the rest in the same area, and that evening you could count as many as 20 fires at once.
Each ward put on a skit for entertainment that evening. Everyone sat out on the lawn by the campfire in front of a makeshift stage of canvas strung on a rope between two trees. The young men decided that President Jess needed to be involved. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be measured for a coffin or simply play the part of the radiator on the people car. He soon found out that he would get wet either way.
After the skits, a full-length feature movie was shown in spite of the fact that the wind blew the screen down several times. A midnight snack was then served before the bugler John Dorny, Broomall First Ward deacons quorum president, blew taps. Hot chocolate and doughnuts warmed everyone so that even the fathers were ready to face the night in sleeping bags on boards in the shelters or on the ground in tents.
The next day began with reveille at 7:00 A.M. Breakfast was served by members of the Order of the Arrow. A local farmer had sold them whole, fresh, unprocessed milk. It had stayed cold through the night, and it was the favorite item on the menu.
The morning’s activities included hiking, racing, catch ball, basketball, softball, kickball, and touch football.
The Order of the Arrow also served lunch, and after eating, everyone was ready to get into the service project. That afternoon as the campers left the area, the ranger said he would like to have this group back next year.

Becky Roller had cerebral palsy as an infant, and it left one leg twisted. At camp, that was all but forgotten. “It’s one place where everyone treats me as an equal,” she said.

This year Becky’s goal was to complete the fourth-level certificate. “The five-mile hike through the mountains was the biggest challenge,” she admits. “In a marshy spot I fell and couldn’t get up, but my friends came back. They wouldn’t leave me.

With the help of her friends, she made it. It was one more magic moment, and the magic of the moment was love.

It was the time of year for school to start, and I was feeling sad, so Ed took me down to the junkyard to cheer me up. He was sad, too, but for a different reason. He had to go to school and didn’t want to; I wanted to go and couldn’t. It didn’t seem fair to me at all. I thought my talking was coming along pretty good, but Mama said, “First time anyone says anything to you, you’ll get nervous and stutter. Then they’ll tease you and you’ll stutter worse and pretty soon you’ll hate school. I’ll get you some ABC’s to study at home, and if you work hard on talking plainly, you can go next year.”

All of a sudden I felt anxious for school to start so I could get on with my project for Grandma. Mama was glad I had something to keep me busy and helped me find plenty of scraps of heavy material to stitch together for the mattress. She was true to her promise about the ABC’s, too, and took me to the store the first day everyone else was back in school. She hesitated a little over the cost, and Mr. Younger said, “I have another set I can let you have for less because the box got lost when they were displayed in the window, and I had to put them into another box.”

Mama said that would be fine, and he climbed up his ladder to get the box off a high shelf. It had a picture of a beautiful lady in a wide-brimmed hat, and I liked it better than the proper box that only had a picture of the ABC’s that were already inside. The letters were printed in black on blue cards, and some of them had faded in the window, but that didn’t matter. Mr. Younger said there were four sets: lower and upper case in printing and cursive, with extras of the most-used letters.

“She can make words until the cows come home,” he said.

That’s exactly what I intended to do. I didn’t know what he meant by cursive and upper and lower case, but I knew right where I was going to hide the box in the loft so no one else would find it and lose any letters.

The days went fast while the others were at school. I made words with my cards the same as the ones in the nursery rhyme book and practiced copying the letters on a piece of blackboard I’d found at the junkyard. When I got tired of that I’d come down from the loft and sew on the quilt pieces until Caroline and Ed came home.

To make sure I could go to school the next year, I practiced talking while I sewed. I learned to say things like, “Peter Piper picked a peck of prickly, pickled peppers,” or “Bumpy rubber buggy bumpers.” Sometimes I could say them better than Ed.

Story and photography by Don O. Thorpe

Girls’ camp in Italy can be much different from girls’ camp anywhere else on earth, and not just because a stray herd of cattle might come traipsing through one day. The camp is called Fiaccola, which means “torchlight,” and it’s held in the L‘Aquilla Mountains near Rome. One hundred thirty girls attended, including some Americans who didn’t know the language. The Italian girls went out of their way to help the English speakers fit in and have a good time.

Around the campfire with no fire (because open flames are illegal in those mountains), the girls discussed how excited they were to be with so many other LDS girls. Many are the only members in their towns.

“Experiences like this help me have more faith in God and love for the people around me,” said Iris Cartia. “They get me away from everyday problems and help me concentrate on important things like planning my life so I can go on a mission and get married in the temple.”

I was a missionary serving in Sendai, Japan. Early in December we had a heavy snow, which was unusual for Sendai’s mild climate. As my companion and I were leaving the apartment that morning, we noticed our neighbors trying to clear the snow from the parking lot so the cars could get out. No one had snow shovels, so housewives and kids were trying to remove the deep blanket of snow with whatever they had. My companion and I armed ourselves with frying pans and dustpans and joined our neighbors. I had never had so much fun clearing snow before. When the parking lot was cleared, we poured some hot water on our bike chains and gears to unfreeze them and went tracting.
As we tracted that day and throughout the month of December, I noticed my companion making notes as we left some of the houses. We were having a terrible month with very few teaching opportunities, and I finally asked him what he was doing. He replied that he was simply making a list of people who were nice to us, even if they weren’t interested in our message.
As Christmas got closer, my companion and I really started to catch the spirit of the season. We went to the nearby canal bank where some evergreens were growing and cut off a branch. In our apartment, we stuck the branch in a two-liter glass bottle and hung Japanese coins on the branch as ornaments. We strung Styrofoam packing peanuts on dental floss and wrapped them around the branch. Since the branch was too flimsy to support our tin-foil star, we suspended it from the ceiling with dental floss so it hung about two inches above the top of the branch. We decorated our wall with Christmas cards we received from home. Altogether, we thought the apartment looked very festive.
The streets became snow packed, with two ruts where the cars would drive. We would ride our bikes down the outside rut in the road. When a car approached, we’d climb up onto the snowbank with our bikes to let it pass. As we rode, we would sing Christmas carols at the top of our lungs, which was quite a feat in the cold winter air as we panted in our hurry to reach our destination.
On Christmas morning, my companion woke up early and made a racket in the kitchen. I was looking forward to a big breakfast, but when I finally wandered into the kitchen, all I got was a piece of toast. Instead of a Christmas breakfast, my companion had baked chocolate chip cookies to take around the neighborhood.
After we opened the presents we had received from home, we used the wrapping paper from our gifts to wrap copies of the Book of Mormon. Using the list my companion had made of people who were nice to us, we delivered plates of cookies and gift-wrapped copies of the Book of Mormon to the people on the list. Many of them were surprised to see us again, but we explained that on Christmas it’s customary to give presents to your neighbors. We told them that the present we gave them was precious because it contained the word of God and His Son, Jesus Christ, whose birth is commemorated at Christmastime. Most of them seemed touched that we would return to their home with a gift, and many scrambled back inside and returned with bags of oranges or persimmons to give to us. Many of the people we visited that day accepted the discussions as a result of our service.
As we returned to our apartment that evening, I felt very peaceful and content. That holiday season I realized more than ever before that Christmas is all about Christ. It is easy to see that the focus of His life was service. As we try to emulate His life, the Christmas season presents a unique opportunity to serve our fellow men and open doors to share the gospel with them. I’m grateful for that memorable missionary Christmas that taught me what the true spirit of Christmas really is.

Sophie didn’t feel well as she sat down for breakfast on Sunday morning.
Sophie, I’m sorry. You are too sick to go to church today.
Sophie started to cry.
But I want to go to Primary.
Maybe we can do something special at home.
Sophie was sad. She went to her room and covered her face with her blanket. Then she got an idea.
Maybe we can have pretend Primary at home today.
As Sophie’s brothers got ready for church, Sophie put on her own Sunday clothes. She also dressed her dolls and stuffed animals in pretty dresses so they could come to pretend Primary too.
After the rest of the family left for church, Sophie and Mom made the living room into a pretend Primary room. Sophie taped pictures of Jesus to the wall and got the Children’s Songbook from the bookshelf. She also got out crayons and scriptures.
Sophie sat on the couch with her dolls and stuffed animals. Mom said an opening prayer. Then Sophie and Mom sang “I Am a Child of God” and “I Love to See the Temple.”
Sophie was happy during pretend Primary. Even her dolls and stuffed animals sat still.
After pretend Primary was over, Mom laid Sophie in her bed for a nap.
Thanks for having a pretend Primary with me. But I can’t wait to go to real Primary next week!

Prodi sat up in bed with a jolt. His heart was beating fast.
Rain pattered on the roof as he sat in the darkness. He could hear water dripping from the African fig tree outside his window, and the air felt sticky and warm. Prodi took a deep breath and tried to relax. It was just a dream.
He crawled out of bed and peeked at his parents. Mama and Papa were sleeping peacefully. His little sister, Célia, was curled up in her bed too. Everything was OK. His family was safe.
Prodi climbed back into bed and tried to go back to sleep. He tossed and turned, then tossed and turned some more. He knew his dream wasn’t real, but it had been so scary! Even though he was tired, he was afraid to fall asleep again. What if he had another nightmare?
Prodi lay on his back and looked at the ceiling. He tried to think of happy thoughts. Heavenly Father, are you really there? And do you hear and answer every child’s prayer? A wave of warmth came over Prodi as he thought of the words of his favorite Primary song. Sister Kioska had taught them that Heavenly Father was always watching over them. They could pray to Him anytime, anywhere.
Prodi knew what to do. He got out of bed and knelt down to pray.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” he prayed, “I’m really scared. Please keep my family safe. And please help me to go to sleep and not have any more bad dreams.”
Prodi finished his prayer and climbed back in bed. His body relaxed, and his mind felt peaceful. Soon he was asleep.
When morning came, Prodi woke up to the warm sun shining through the window. He could hear pots clanging in the kitchen. Célia was at the table eating leftover cassava. Mama was warming some up for him to eat too.
“Bonjour,” Mama said. “How did you sleep?”
“I had a really scary nightmare,” Prodi said. “But then I said a prayer. Heavenly Father helped me feel safe.”
“I’m sorry you had a bad dream,” Mama said. She hugged Prodi close and didn’t let go for a long time. “But I’m so glad you said a prayer. It sounds like praying really helped you.”
“It did,” said Prodi. “I was able to fall asleep again, and I didn’t have any more bad dreams.” Prodi hugged Mama tight. He was glad to know that no matter how scared he felt, Heavenly Father was just a prayer away.
Go to page 15 to meet the boy from this story!

More than 35 youth from the Austin Texas Stake recently joined forces with other youth from the Austin area to complete a beautification project at Pioneer Farms, a living history museum. As part of a service project organized by the stake, the teens planted 116 trees and shrubs and cleared away seven tractor-trailer loads of brush and debris.

“The teens worked hard and kept asking what more they could do to help,” said Angela Walters, the museum’s volunteer coordinator.

“It really felt like we helped to transform the farm,” said Rachael Long, a Laurel from the Pflugerville Ward who worked to plant trees. “After we planted the trees, it really changed the look of the park. It was hard work, but really fun at the same time.”

Sister Margaret Easthope, Young Women president of the Pflugerville Ward, said the youth had a good time working together and were excited to see the difference their efforts made. “The youth gained a greater appreciation of what hard work means, and what it takes to plant so many trees!” Sister Easthope said.

During a general conference session President McKay told of a personal experience from his life that illustrates this point. He said that he was out hunting cattle and while climbing a steep hill he stopped his horse to let it rest. In his words,

An intense desire came over me to receive a manifestation of the truth of the restored gospel. I dismounted, threw my reins over my horse’s head, and there, under a serviceberry bush I prayed that God would declare to me the truth of his revelation to Joseph Smith. I am sure that I prayed fervently and sincerely and with as much faith as a young boy could muster.

At the conclusion of prayer I rose from my knees, threw the reins over my faithful pony’s head, and got into the saddle. As I started along the trail again, I remember saying to myself, “No spiritual manifestation has come to me. If I am true to myself I must say I am just the same ‘old boy’ that I was before I prayed.” I prayed again when I crossed Spring Creek near Huntsville (with the same result). [Conference Report, October 1969]

Then he added that much later on, when he was in the mission field, a singularly spiritual experience came during the equivalent of a zone conference today. A powerful, unmistakable witness came in answer to his supplication. It came when he needed it, when it was more important to confirm other promptings of the spirit.

At age 17, after being hit in the eye with a baseball, he promised the Lord that if he didn’t lose his eyesight, he would read the Book of Mormon. He regained the use of his eye and read 10 pages every day for nearly three months.
“It was the most powerful spiritual experience I’ve ever had, when the Holy Ghost witnessed to me that the Book of Mormon was true,” Elder Echo Hawk said. “That experience has empowered me throughout my life to help me improve.”

Finding the local meetinghouse was the last thing on my mind.
Things like 95 degree weather, 90 percent humidity, and learning Cantonese were much more important.
Yet there I was, a dejected, three-week-long missionary, thanking a man for giving me an address I already had and really didn’t need. And all this because I couldn’t learn Cantonese.
I hadn’t meant for things to turn out that way. My district was doing a street display at Hong Kong’s Star Ferry just when the commuters were coming home. I wanted to get referrals and talk with people—and I tried to—but I was having little success.
My inexperience in speaking Cantonese—the second-most common Chinese dialect—was painfully evident. Speaking to Chinese people seemed an impossibility, and understanding what people said to me seemed about as easy as walking on water. And because I could neither speak nor understand, I began to doubt my worth to the Lord.
I spotted Mr. Wong just as he was coming down the steps of the ferry. He looked like such a nice man. He wore a blue suit and black shoes. His eyeglasses were slipping down his nose. His tie was still tight around his neck—something that looked very out of place in the humid air.
I mustered up as much self-confidence as I could in the few seconds I had. With a quick prayer in my heart and a deep breath, I started toward him.
The instructors at the Missionary Training Center had prepared me well for situations like this. I had practiced asking golden questions and getting referrals dozens of times. But all the preparation in the world couldn’t have taught me what I was about to learn.
“Neih hou ma?” I asked.
“Good,” he replied in a language I knew was Chinese but bore little resemblance to what I had learned in the MTC.
“I’m a representative of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Have you ever heard of this church before?”
Mr. Wong gave his reply, but—as usual—I couldn’t understand.
“My name is Gong Jeunglouh,” I said. “May I ask your honorable name?”
I didn’t understand much of what he said back to me, but I did understand his last name was Wong. He drew the Chinese Wong character on his hand and raised it to my eyes. His etchings meant nothing to me, but I pretended they did.
“May I tell you a little about our church?” I asked.
“I don’t understand,” he said. That was one of the few things I could understand. I had used that phrase myself several times during the past three weeks.
I showed Mr. Wong my name tag so he could read the name of the Church in Chinese.
“Oh—a church!” he said.
I smiled. “Yes—I am a missionary from this church,” I said, pointing to my name tag. “May I tell you a little about it?”
His reply was long and difficult for a new missionary to understand.
“What is your address?” I asked. I figured I might as well go all out and try to get a referral.
“Address? You want address?” he asked.
“Yes. What is your address?” I got my pen and notebook ready to write—or at least to ask him to write—the address down.
“You wait here. I will return in a few minutes,” he said. I barely made out what he was trying to tell me, thanks to his hand gestures.
“You stay right here,” he insisted.
“I will,” I assured him. Off he went, leaving me no clue as to where he was going or why he wanted me to wait.
Mr. Wong reappeared from among the sea of Chinese commuters a full 15 minutes later. He walked briskly—almost at a trot—with a paper in his hand.
He smiled and waved as he approached. I walked to meet him.
“Here,” he said. He handed me a page of an English phone book. The address of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was circled.
“Here is your church’s address,” he said.
Now I understood. Mr. Wong had thought I was a lost foreigner looking for my church. My self-confidence sank as I thanked him for his trouble.
Mr. Wong offered his hand with a smile of pride and friendliness.
“Thank you very much,” I said.
“No problem,” he replied, and began to walk away.
“See you later,” I said. And then, as an afterthought, “May I give you this?”
I reached into my suit pocket and handed him a Joseph Smith pamphlet. I gave it to him with two hands, and he accepted the gift in the same manner, a Chinese custom.
“At least I learned something in the MTC,” I thought to myself, remembering our classes on cultural customs. Mr. Wong faded away into the crowd.
I went to sleep that night praying for strength and success. I wanted to preach the gospel with all my heart, but I felt great frustration in learning to speak the language.
The months passed, and as they passed my confidence grew. I was soon transferred out of that area, and new investigators, new companions, and new street displays occupied my mind.
A year later I was a zone leader in another part of Hong Kong. One Sunday I was back in my first area taking care of some mission business. Being in that first meetinghouse brought back both good and bad memories. I rejoiced in seeing my old friends from the local ward.
The halls of the church had cleared after all the meetings were over, and my companion and I were the only ones in the foyer. I was hoping to see more of my former friends.
As we were about to leave, a classroom door opened. My eyes widened as I saw Mr. Wong—the commuter at Star Ferry—emerge from the dark hall!
“Mr. Wong! How are you?” I asked with excitement.
“I’m Brother Wong now, Elder Call,” he said in perfect Mandarin.
“You speak Mandarin? No wonder I couldn’t understand you at the ferry!”
“And you were speaking Cantonese—that is why I couldn’t understand you,” he said.
We sat and talked for several minutes. Brother Wong explained to me that after our encounter at the ferry a year before, he went home and read the Joseph Smith pamphlet. He said he read it out of curiosity more than anything else. The Spirit touched his soul. He telephoned the mission home to ask for more information and two sisters began teaching him the gospel. He gained a testimony and was baptized.
Our reunion was sweet and joyous, even though we had seen each other only once before. My heart was touched and the Spirit bore record to me of the true meaning of Paul’s words to the Corinthians:
“I have planted, Apollos watered; but God gave the increase” (1 Cor. 3:6).

I grew up in an active Latter-day Saint family in England, the eighth of 10 children. Our faithful parents taught us the gospel and set good examples. But at about age 14, I began to find it difficult to attend early-morning seminary, go to various classes and firesides, and attend youth activities. Most of my friends were not members of the Church and had very different standards from the ones I was raised with.
I began to make bad decisions because I wanted so much to be like my friends and have the so-called fun they were having. By the time I was 15, I was completely inactive in the Church. As I became older, my life grew even more worldly.
At the same time, however, I began to feel something deep down in my soul. Questions about the purpose of life and the destiny of man started to fill my mind. The world I once knew and thought I loved had become a very dark, cold, and lonely place. My soul was not fully satisfied with what the world had to offer. I had a feeling that I should be somewhere other than my hometown, a feeling that I was meant to do something else with my life.
After many weeks of these feelings and thoughts, I decided to pray and ask for help, the first time I had prayed in a long while. I decided to wait until night, when everyone was asleep. After my prayer, I thought and listened, but there was nothing. I continued in this way for weeks until it hit me: perhaps God would not answer me straight away simply because I had been raised in the gospel and unfortunately I had never seriously appreciated it.
One evening I changed my method. Instead of demanding an answer and expecting the Lord to give it straight away, I promised the Lord that if He would answer, I would serve Him as a missionary. For the first time, I prayed to know if the Book of Mormon, Joseph Smith, and the Church teachings were true. I felt something so powerful yet so peaceful that it caused me to weep.
I went to my bishop, who happened to be my eldest brother, and asked to serve a mission. I was nervous, but I knew that because the Lord had kept His end of the deal, I had to keep mine. Tears streamed down my bishop’s face as I related my experience.

In any event, the charge came to my mind recently as I listened to the report of a returned missionary.
He told us that the wife in the family in whose home he and his companion were living was interested in the gospel; her husband was not interested, however. But finally he warmed up a little and said that when the missionaries had nothing else to do he would listen to them. Sometime thereafter when a wet and windy storm drove them in from tracting, finding him alone, they gave him the first missionary lesson. He didn’t exhibit much interest at first, but when they had concluded, he stood up and said, in effect:
“Do you know what you have just told me?”
They thought they did.
“Do you believe it?” he asked.
“Yes,” they replied, “we believe it.”
“Well then,” he declared, “you don’t understand what you’re saying. If you really believed that God and His resurrected Son, Jesus Christ, actually came to this earth in 1820 and personally appeared to a boy and gave him the message you say they gave him, no storm could drive you in from doing your work. With a message like that you would have to stay out there knocking on doors and delivering your message.”

I don’t make much money at my job. Not when I have to support my driving habit and my taste in clothes and all my records and tapes and a minor addiction to buying four science fiction novels a week. I began to discover the joys of walking.
Do you have any idea how many barking, savage dogs there are on an average residential block in a California suburban community? (Seven—one with rabies.)
Do you know how many steps it takes to go a mile and a half to school on foot? (Exactly 3,168, unless you have a blister and take shorter steps.)
Do you know how hot it gets when you walk outside in the summer in California? And they don’t even air-condition the street.
I also discovered that rain is wet, wind is cold, passing cars like to go fast through puddles to splash you, and you meet the strangest people waiting for the WALK signal at a busy intersection.
And even with all that walking, my automobile leasing bill was still horrendous. I had given up on the LTD except for dates, but even with the Volkswagen I was paying $30 or $40 a month.
“I give up,” I said. “I won’t do any more business with this rip-off car leasing business.”
“Really?” asked Father, looking up from his copy of the San Jose Mercury.
“Really,” I said. “I will not pay your fees. I will not drive your cars.”
“Mother!” Father called. “Jerry has decided to become a pedestrian!”
“I have not,” I said. “I have decided to take my patronage elsewhere.”
“Where?” he asked.
“If Hertz is good enough for O. J. Simpson, it’s good enough for me.”
As I left the room Dad called after me, “But, Jerry! We try harder!”
I came back three hours later. Whipped. Beaten. Defeated.
“Do you know what they charge?” I asked.
“A lot?” Father guessed helpfully.
“I couldn’t rent a pair of roller skates from them for less than $50 a month.”
“Ah.”
“You and Mom may be a rip-off leasing company, but at least you’re competitive.”
“Oh, come off it,” Father said, laughing. “We have the best rates in town.”
“I want to buy a horse,” I said.
“I can get you a good price on hay,” Father answered. He laughed and laughed. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. I managed to keep a smile off my face until my bedroom door was closed behind me. Then I laughed.

A few weeks later President Hinckley came for the dedication. A press conference was arranged for the prophet to meet with the press. He stated nearly the same words of President Kufor. He said, "This temple will not only bless the lives of the members of the Church; it will bless the entire nation of Ghana and all of West Africa."

The day before the dedication the prophet held a fireside for members of the Church. They came, some traveling for days, to see and hear a prophet of God. As he stood to address them, he said, "I'm getting old, you probably won't see me again and I won't see you again in this life, so listen very carefully; what I have to say is very important." He continued, "I am going to tell you four things that you need to do to be acceptable to the Lord, to retain your testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ, and to be worthy to enter this beautiful house of the Lord."

"First," he said, "You must pray daily." As he talked to them about prayer, it was as if he were a loving grandfather speaking to his grandchildren. He said, "Think of the miracle of prayer! Imagine--here we are--just mortal people and we can kneel and pray to our Heavenly Father and He hears us! Now, all of our prayers might not be answered as soon as we would like, or the way we would like, but He hears them. It's a miracle."

Through all ages of time, the commandment has been, "Ask of God; ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find, knock, and it shall be opened unto you."[7] Our Heavenly Father loves you; you are His children. He is always there for you if only you will ask in humble daily prayer. President Hinckley ended by saying again, "Isn't it a miracle that we can pray to our Heavenly Father and know that He answers our prayers? Well, it's marvelous!" Can't you just hear President Hinckley saying that?

Next he counseled them to have daily scripture study.

Next, President Hinckley counseled the Ghanaian Saints to attend their meetings.

The last thing President Hinckley talked about was tithing. He admonished the Saints to pay their tithes and offerings.

A true story from the USA.
“Can we go draw with chalk?” Quinn asked Mom.
“Sure!” Mom said. “Let’s go.”
Quinn and his little brother and sister ran outside.
“I want blue!” yelled Quinn.
Kade and Chloe grabbed chalk too. They sat down and started drawing on the sidewalk. Mom picked up some red chalk and started writing.
“What are you doing?” asked Quinn.
“I’m writing happy words for the school kids when they walk home today,” Mom said.
Quinn could see the school from his front window. He liked waving to the kids as they walked by.
“What messages can we write to make them smile?” asked Mom.
Quinn read over Mom’s shoulder. “You’re …”
“Awesome!” Mom finished.
Quinn smiled and kept reading. “You rock. You can do it!”
Then Quinn got an idea. He started drawing a long line at one of Mom’s messages. He drew a line to the next one. Then he looped over to another.
“What are you doing?” Mom asked.
“I’m making a line for the kids to walk on,” Quinn said. He started running on the line. “See? I’m showing them where to find all the happy words.”
“I think that’s a great way to make everyone smile,” Mom said. And that made Quinn smile even bigger.
Illustrations by Asya Aizenstein

Many years ago, when I was still in college, I started hanging out with the wrong friends and mimicking some of their behaviors, which could have taken me out of the safety zone of my baptismal covenants. One day, as I was saying goodbye to my friends, there came to my mind words that were spoken to me, and although they weren't audible they were as clear as if they had been. The tone was stern, kind, without condemnation and had a protective intent to it. It was the Spirit of the Lord, which said, addressing me: "This is not your place," meaning the path my friends had invited me to take. That was all. I followed that counsel and saved myself a lot of trouble.

Two of my own great-grandparents fit the mold of many. Gibson and Cecelia Sharp Condie lived in Clackmannan, Scotland. Their families were engaged in coal mining—at peace with the world, surrounded by relatives and friends, and housed in fairly comfortable quarters in a land they loved. They listened to the message of the missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and were converted to the depths of their very souls. They heard the call to journey to Zion and knew they must answer that call.

They sold their possessions and prepared for a hazardous voyage across the mighty Atlantic Ocean. With five children, they boarded a sailing vessel, all their worldly possessions in a tiny trunk. They traveled 3,000 miles across the waters, eight long, weary weeks on a treacherous sea—night and day nothing but water—eight weeks of watching and waiting, with poor food, poor water, and no help beyond the length and breadth of that small sailing vessel.

In the midst of this soul-trying situation, their son, Nathaniel, sickened and died. My great-grandparents loved that son just as much as your parents love you; and when his eyes were closed in death, their hearts were torn asunder. To add to their grief, the law of the sea must be obeyed. Wrapped in a canvas weighed down with iron, his body was consigned to a watery grave. As they sailed away, only those parents knew the crushing blow dealt to wounded hearts. Gibson Condie and his good wife were comforted by the words “Not my will, but Thy will, O Father.”