Gospel Story Finder

In January 2001 my husband, Peter, became unemployed, and shortly thereafter our third child was born. When Peter found a job 500 miles (800 km) away, we made a big move. And although he enjoyed the job, the year was very bad economically and we had barely enough money to pay for rent and groceries. Our small food storage quickly vanished, and Christmas was approaching. Then Peter’s employer gave us an unexpected “Christmas bonus”—all the employees in Peter’s department were declared unemployed for one month.
Thus, my husband was again out of work. But the Lord did not forget us. Peter was asked to help several members, and we were supported financially through this work. We were not forgotten for Christmas either. The sister missionaries rang our doorbell one day and presented us with a package on behalf of an anonymous family in our ward. When we opened it we found many lovingly wrapped gifts, each bearing the name of a member of our family. We also found an envelope containing extra money—as if the presents had not been enough!
On Christmas Eve the doorbell rang again. A package on the doorstep again contained nicely wrapped presents for each of us. We were very happy. I thanked our Heavenly Father for the little miracles He had provided. And I was grateful to the members who were so loving, even though we had lived there for only five months.
We do not know who helped us during those difficult times, and I can’t help but think of the Savior’s words: “For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink” (Matt. 25:35).

Normally his mother, Sarah, didn’t worry too much about his childhood sicknesses, which came and went. But once he became very sick, and she began to worry. It started with a fever that kept rising. Then he had a stomachache and headache. Finally rose-colored spots appeared on his body, so she called for the doctor.
The doctor came and examined George Albert. He told Sarah that her son had typhoid fever, a disease that sometimes killed people. He told her to keep her son in bed for three weeks and to have him drink coffee but not eat.
When the doctor left, George Albert told his mother that he didn’t want to drink coffee because it was against the Word of Wisdom. He knew that Heavenly Father had given Joseph Smith the Word of Wisdom, a revelation that teaches us to not drink coffee, tea, or alcohol. It also teaches us to eat and drink only things that are good for our bodies. He didn’t want to break the Word of Wisdom. His mother and father had taught him to always obey Heavenly Father.
Because his father, John Henry, was away serving a mission, George Albert asked his mother to send for Brother Hawks, a faithful and good member of their ward who held the priesthood. When Brother Hawks arrived, George Albert asked him for a priesthood blessing.
Brother Hawks placed his hands on the boy’s head and blessed him that he would get better. George Albert had faith that the blessing would help him recover from the typhoid fever.
When the doctor arrived the next day, he found the boy playing outside with other children. The doctor was surprised. He examined George Albert and found that he was all better. George Albert later said, “I am grateful to the Lord for my recovery. I was sure that He had healed me.”

A group of young men and women busily feeding a work crew at a ward chapel gave up a few of its members to show a New Era reporter a thing or two, including the Kentucky Training Center where many Thoroughbred owners train their horses and where Aaronic Priesthood groups make money for service projects by cleaning and caring for the stables, a pasture complete with horses, and an Argentine stallion worth a million and a quarter. In the process of the visit there were a few bonuses such as a Sousa march played on blades of grass, a couple of handmade clover necklaces, and a horseless race from a convenient starting gate.

“You’ll probably never get to meet your grandparents, Son. They’re in Hickory County, Missouri, with all eight of my brothers and sisters. I still remember the last time I saw them. It was during a summer rainstorm, and the humidity wrapped around me like a wool blanket as I stood there on the front porch, facing my parents. They wouldn’t even come out the door to say good-bye. Nor did they let any of my siblings come outside that house to hug me—not even my twin sister, Nora.
“‘The day a body puts some crazy fool church before her own family is the day that body loses herself. She loses her family,’ my daddy told me through the screen door. My mama was behind him. I could see she was crying. Then he said, right before he slammed the door, ‘You are no longer my daughter.’ I’ve never seen any of them since.
“Now, Son, I don’t tell you this story to make you feel sorry for me. I tell you this because I want you to know how firmly I believe this church is the one true Church on the earth. I was willing to sacrifice my family to come here to Utah because of the truth.
“Was it hard? It was very hard! Did I ever feel lonely? Absolutely. Have I ever for one single minute regretted it? No, Son, I have not. The gospel is true. I would never deny it. If I hadn’t followed my heart and joined the Church, it would have driven me insane. I knew the Book of Mormon was true the first time I read it. Sometimes, Son, you have to do the right thing, even though everyone around you is telling you otherwise.
“One night when I was feeling very discouraged, I was kneeling to say my prayers and felt myself embraced by strong, warm arms. I suddenly felt safe and reassured. There was no one there—it was our Father in Heaven letting me know that He was there and that He loved me.
“When you have children of your own someday, you be sure to tell them how much their grandmother loves them. You tell them that the gospel is true and that it’s worth all the sacrifices they will have to make. Oh, and tell them that I’ll always be right there beside them, watching out for them—just as I will be for you.”

The Young Women of the Niagara Falls Ward, Buffalo New York Stake, comforted some of their peers with quilted comforters, handmade. They made a dozen quilts in all, and also contributed personal items like shampoo, washcloths, towels, and deodorant to put into kits.
They then delivered the kits to teenagers in a home for those with no place to live or unsuitable family situations, the Compass House, in Buffalo. “The project was a lot of work, but it was worth every minute of it,” they said.

“Please, Mom, can we invite Sister Fuhriman just one more time?” Greg pleaded. His younger brothers’ anxious faces poked out from behind Greg like pegs on a coat rack.
“It will be Christmas Eve, and she shouldn’t be alone,” Layne said. Scott and Jim nodded.
“You know how many times we have tried to invite Sister Fuhriman to our house,” Mom said. “She rarely goes out. But you may invite her for Christmas Eve if you like.”
The boys cheered and bounded outside.
Soon the door burst open again. “It’s a miracle, Mom!” Greg called. “She said she’d love to come. Isn’t that great?”
The next day snow started falling. Greg knew that Sister Fuhriman avoided going outside in bad weather, even to the mailbox. “Do you think she will still come tomorrow?” Greg asked. Mom wasn’t sure.
On Christmas Eve, Aunt Carolyn and her three children arrived just as Layne finished cleaning up the kitchen after dinner. “Can we go get Sister Fuhriman now?” Layne asked.
“All right,” Dad said. “Remember to help her as she walks across the road. It’s slick outside.”
“We will, Dad,” Scott said.
“And if she decides not to come after all, don’t make her feel bad about not coming,” Dad said.
“We won’t, Dad,” Greg said. The boys stepped outside into the snow-covered landscape. The snow had stopped falling, and there was still a little daylight to show them the way.
Eight-year-old Adam was helping Bekah and Jill get into their costumes for the family Christmas pageant when the boys stepped through the door—helping Sister Fuhriman inside! She smiled cheerily, her cheeks bright from the cold. The family tried not to seem so surprised that their guest of honor had really come.
Dad made Sister Fuhriman feel welcome and helped her choose a seat next to Mom. Greg slipped out of his coat and sat at the piano. After an opening prayer, he began to play Christmas hymns softly. Scott read from the Bible as the younger children acted out the story of the first Christmas. Wearing a bathrobe, three-year-old Bekah reverently played the part of Mary while Dan pretended to be Joseph. Jill played the part of an angel with a gold garland pinned in her hair. Cousins played shepherds and Wise Men, all come to worship the infant King.
Soon the strains of “Silent Night” faded, and the reverence of the sacred story gave way to hugs, smiles, and compliments all around. To finish off the night, they enjoyed Mom’s warm cinnamon rolls. All too soon, the evening was over.
The boys again put on their coats, hats, and mittens to escort Sister Fuhriman across the road. The glow of the porch light pushed away the darkness, making their walk across the snow-packed country road pleasant in spite of the cold.
“Good night, Sister Fuhriman,” Greg called as he and his brothers turned back toward their house.
“Merry Christmas,” Sister Fuhriman called. “And thank you.”
Greg glanced over his shoulder just before he stepped back into his house. Sister Fuhriman was still on her porch, watching. She waved.

My beloved wife, Ethel, and I enjoyed 37 years of a wonderfully happy marriage. At least that’s how I saw it. I hope she did too! Even her previous survival of cancer on two occasions and her significantly declining health over three years did not prepare me for what seemed an awful, sudden separation upon her death in 2021.
After her passing, the feelings of grief were intense and devastating. I was very fortunate. I had married an exceptional woman. We had many great shared memories. We had three daughters who lived nearby. I had a supportive Church community. One or two trusted friends were willing listeners, with whom I could share my innermost thoughts – though I felt awkward doing so. Even then, none of these, not even the sum of them, seemed to ease the immeasurable sorrow I felt.
Initially, the grief came in what seemed like never-ending torrents and, as time passed, later became waves (just as painful) that would crash onto me without warning. Bumping into someone, seeing a dress in a shop, hearing a piece of music, watching a grandchild that Ethel had never lived to see – all of these and more would bring on the tears. Nearly four years after Ethel’s departure, the frequency of intense grief has decreased, but the unpredictable onset of weeping for her continues with similar intensity. I wouldn’t have it any other way, though. Love does that to you.

A sister in Mexico City was 16 years old when the missionaries came to her door. She says that as they taught with the Spirit, “it seemed like they had taken the bandages off my eyes and that the Lord was clearing my understanding. … The word of God and my prayers strengthened [me] to overcome my next trial, to face my father. When I met rejection from my family because of my baptism, the Spirit of the Lord strengthened me by whispering: ‘Keep on. Go on. Some of your relatives will become members of the Church.’”

Bobbie sat on the edge of the pool, looking at the warm, clear water. She remembered that last summer she had run into the waves at the beach. And at the neighborhood pool, she had stood in the shallow end and stuck her head underwater. She had even opened her eyes to count her fingers. This year she had learned to float around in the deep end of the indoor pool.
But today Bobbie just sat on the edge of the big indoor pool and worried. She watched some of her friends kicking up and down the pool lanes, holding onto blue and red kickboards. Bobbie had already done that. In fact, last week Bobbie had kicked all the way down and all the way back in the pool. She secretly thought that she might be the best kicker in her class.
Others in her class were in the shallow end, practicing their overhand strokes. Bobbie could lean over and do a really good crawl stroke. Her swimming instructor had told her how nicely her arms curved when she pulled them through the water.
Another small group was working on breathing. They blew into the water, then breathed in, then blew, then breathed in. Bobbie knew that she could do the breathing. She had worked on that in the bathtub as well as at the beach and in the pool.
Bobbie looked at the depth marker—10 FEET. She looked up at the sign over the door—THIS POOL IS 75 FEET LONG.
I can breathe correctly, and I can kick a good, strong kick, she thought. And my arms don’t get tired.
Just then the buzzer sounded for class to be over. Slowly Bobbie got up from the steps. If only I had a little more time … She really hated to get dressed and go home. Mother wouldn’t say anything. She would smile at Bobbie, sort of raise her eyebrows expectantly, and have an encouraging twinkle in her eyes. But Bobbie would have no beginner’s swimming card to show.
All that week Bobbie walked to the pool, she put on her swimsuit, grabbed a kickboard, and kicked up and down the pool. She practiced her arm strokes until she was quite sure no one could do them any better. She blew bubbles and breathed in, and she even sat on the bottom of the pool in the shallow end.
But each time Bobbie went over to the deep end of the pool and thought about jumping into ten feet of water, she knew she just couldn’t do it.
Every once in a while, Bobbie saw her swimming instructor smiling at her. When Bobbie felt that she was ready to put her arm strokes and her kicking and her breathing all together and swim the length of the pool, her instructor would be right there beside her. So Bobbie wasn’t afraid of sinking.
Bobbie started thinking about just why she couldn’t jump into the deep water and swim to the other end. I must be afraid of something. I wonder what it is. It isn’t the water. It isn’t my teacher, and it certainly isn’t Mother. It’s not my friends, either. Some of them still haven’t learned how to breathe or kick or do the arm strokes. Bobbie thought about all the people who would love her whether she learned to swim this summer or not.
Suddenly Bobbie realized that there was one person she had not thought of—herself. I’m afraid because I don’t want to fail. As long as I don’t try to swim, I can tell myself that when I do try it, I’ll be the best one in the class. But once I jump into that water, maybe I’ll find out that I can’t do it.
Bobbie looked up at the clock. Class wouldn’t be over for another half hour. She left the pool area, went into the dressing room, faced herself in the mirror, and said, “Bobbie, just go do it. Even if you don’t make it today, you can try again tomorrow. The important thing is to try. You’ve got to believe in yourself.”
The mirror Bobbie looked back at the real Bobbie. They smiled at each other.
Walking quickly back into the pool area, Bobbie stood by her swimming teacher and said, “I’m ready to try.”

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! The drums are pounding. The runners toe-up at the starting line. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! A life-size panda bear with a cartoon face races among the crowd, encouraging cheers: “Fourth Ward! Fourth Ward!”
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! Children wave long banners bearing Japanese calligraphy back and forth in the warm autumn sun. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! Cheerleaders decked out in pink and black wave pom-poms and jump up and down.
The drum beats stop. The crowd is silent. The starter raises his gun. “Yoi!” (Get ready!) “Don!” (Bang!) The sprinters dash from the blocks, muscles unleashed in a furious rush for the tape. The crowd is instantly wild again, hoarse from cheering but cheering just the same. One runner, stronger than the rest, edges in front and beats the others by a stride. Cheers erupt again and the drums are pounding: BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
It is early fall. The location is Sapporo, largest city of Japan’s northernmost island, Hokkaido. The activity is a stake olympics and missionary activity combined. And the eager participants include many young Latter-day Saints, their families, and a lot of non-LDS friends.
Taiku taiki is the phrase they use to describe a sports fest, and the afternoon event, planned during a harvest festival holiday, lives up to the name. There are athletic activities of just about every kind, always punctuated by furious drumbeats and orchestrated cheering.
Stilt racers amble around the track to warm up, while their encouragers jog alongside, counting cadence: “Ichi, ni, ichi, ni” (one, two, one, two). Members of the stake presidency race down the middle of the stadium, pushing old tires with sticks. In some races, the contestants run backwards or are given a card with the name of a stake official they have to find and bring back to the announcer’s table. Another contest tries to see how many people can stand as a group on a six-by-eight-foot board.
There’s a six-kilometer (three and three-fourths mile) race, a tug-o’-war, a conventional relay race, a Primary children’s race, a contest to see who can stuff the most balloons in a garbage sack, and a variation of a three-legged race using three people with the two central pairs of legs tied together—actually a four-legged race. There’s even an opportunity to become acquainted with American football.
“There were many young people involved in preparing for today,” says Minoru Setoda, 17, of the Iwamizawa Branch, Japan Sapporo Stake. “Different responsibilities were handed out according to ward and branch, like being in charge of timing the events, for example.” Minoru should know. He’s the physical activities specialist for his branch.
Koji Taira, 17, one of Minoru’s friends, is not a member of the Church. Like many other nonmembers, he came today because he was invited and it sounded like fun. “I haven’t seen too many activities as friendly and open as this one,” he says. He has spoken with the missionaries before—he met them one day when he was walking downtown. “I still have a lot of questions about the gospel,” he says. “But they are willing to teach me and that is a great help to me.”
After an hour or two of good, hard physical effort, it’s time to break for lunch. Families and friends cluster around hibachi, small charcoal grills. Soon prawns, shrimp, and chicken are roasting on the coals. Everyone enjoys the onigiri (rice balls), the fruit juice, and the sunshine of the warm, bright day.
In Hokkaido’s freshwater streams salmon spawn. In her rolling, forested hills and steep mountains, brown bears claw tree bark and wade in rivers. In the winter, a snow festival gathers competitors from around the world to carve ice sculptures. Monumental ski jumps and skating rinks mark the sites where 1968’s Olympic gold medals were won or lost. Steep canyons and bare rock walls remind a visitor of Yellowstone Park. So do forest ranger’s hats. But wherever you wander in Hokkaido, or anywhere in Japan for that matter, one thing is common everywhere: water—cool, clear, and clean.
“My name means ‘pure water,’” explains Toshiko Shimizu, 16, of the Shiroishi Ward. Her friend Yukiko Endo, 18, of the same ward, says she loves living in a land with so many streams. “More than the fact that water is pretty,” she says, “is that there is an abundant amount. In some other countries, I understand that you must purchase water. But here, if you turn on the faucet, fresh water flows out.” That, she says, is a blessing from Heavenly Father.
There are other blessings from Heavenly Father in this land, too. The most precious of them all is the gospel of Jesus Christ, which is finally gaining acceptance, especially among the young. Many of the youth of Hokkaido are recent converts. Many are the only members in their families. Some have grown up in the Church. But they all share a common love for the truth and an earnest desire to follow the Lord’s way.
“The Church helps me in my everyday life,” Toshiko says. “It helps me to learn to do good deeds, to be compassionate, to value my family more. When I come home from sacrament meeting I feel refreshed.”
“When I was little, I went to Church because both of my parents were going,” says Akio Katanuma, 17, of the Sapporo 2nd Ward. “But as I grew, having attended various Church conferences, including the temple dedication in Tokyo, I have come to understand more about the Church. I know it is true. I know it with all my heart.”
Katsumi Nakahara of the Iwamizawa Branch has been a member for a little more than a year. He met the missionaries when they were proselyting on the street. “I did not think it was strange,” he says. “But they were foreigners. So I thought I would go and visit the church. I received a brief lesson. But during that lesson I felt the Holy Ghost. Since then it has been a process of following the Spirit from one step to the next.”
“I’ve been in the Church ten months,” says 16-year-old Mumi Okamura of the Shiroishi Ward. “The ward sponsored an English conversation class. While I was there, I talked with one of the teachers about the Church. The more we talked, the more interested I became. Now my whole life is centered around the Church. On holidays and weekends, I’m usually at some sort of Church activity.”
All of these young Saints possess a common desire to share their testimonies with others. They know how they can help the truth to spread, how they can help their friends and neighbors to find the joy of the restored gospel. Many of the young people in Japan have heard of Christ, but many still have much to learn.
“My friends see me with the missionaries quite often, so they know I go to church,” Katsumi says. “But sometimes it’s hard to approach them about it directly. That’s why I like to bring friends to activities like this one today. It’s a way to get them to know many people, to feel comfortable before you talk about difficult doctrines.”
Maya Tanaka, 13, has been a Church member about a year. She first met the sister missionaries at a bus depot. “I’m the only member in my family,” she says. “But they all support me. I know that the best place to share the gospel is in my own home. But traditions are hard to change. Still, the Church teaches us to love our families, and the Japanese have always believed that.”
Masahiro Suzuki, 18, of the Sapporo 2nd Ward, is excited because right now his family is listening to the missionary discussions. He’s also excited because his family has agreed to allow him to go on a full-time mission, especially since he plans to pay his own way. “Elder Mark E. Petersen (of the Council of the Twelve) visited here, and I told him I would earn money for my mission,” Masahiro says. Working part-time as a jackhammer operator while he attends drafting school, Masahiro has managed to put aside sufficient funds for his entire mission. “Be sure to let Elder Petersen know!” he says, with a wide grin.
Seiji Katanuma, president of the Japan Sapporo Stake, also grins as he looks out over the crowd eating lunch. “Remember,” he says, “that in Japan the young face many challenges. Many parents are divorced, many families oppose Church membership. But our young people hold on in spite of it. They’re strong because they have to be.”
Soon the meal is over, and the lounging in the sun is through. It’s been a full day and most folks are eager to head home. But some of the teenagers have a different idea. They’re headed for downtown Sapporo.
Sapporo’s streets are wide but noisy. Motorcycles, a popular form of transportation and recreation, whine between the buildings. The city hall, made of orange brick and patterned after Renaissance architecture of Europe, seems strangely out of place. On the main town square, an Eiffel Tower-ish structure peeks over the highrises nearby.
Near the tower, a fountain sprays upward, misting the air. This is the meeting spot. As the LDS teens gather, some decide it’s time for a snack. They walk over to what looks like a popcorn wagon or lemonade truck. They come back with, not popcorn or pink lemonade, but corn on the cob, a local delicacy. And they eat it with delight.
It might seem like these young people have had enough Church activity for one day, so they’ve decided to come to town for a lark. You soon see that’s not true, however, when the full-time missionaries arrive. Even after a full day of sports events to which nonmembers were invited, the youth of the stake have volunteered to go tracting and street contacting with the elders and sisters.
“I don’t know a lot about full-time missions,” says Hiromi Tsuchiya, 16, a sister from the Iwamizawa Branch. “But I think this is a good way to find out about them. I don’t want to get in the way tonight. But I am sure this will be a great help if I become a full-time missionary, because I’ll know a little bit about what to expect.”
Her friend Yumi Kitayama, 15, from the Teine Branch, says if she had more courage working with the missionaries would be easier. “It’s hard to talk to people I don’t know at all,” she said. “This helps me see what missionaries go through all day long. If I get scared, I just think of the Young Women program and all the fun we have. I know other people would like to share in that if they only knew.”
Yoshio Suzuki, 17, of the Otaru Ward, Japan Sapporo West Stake, says he understands that street contacting is important, and he’s glad to help. But, he adds, there’s an even better way to share the gospel. “By bringing my friends to church, to activities like we had today, to regular meetings, to missionary discussions, I make the missionary’s job easier. I too want to go on a full-time mission. I hope when I do there will be members willing to come out and work with me.”
The sun’s glow has faded from golden to black. Lamps now light the gardens on Sapporo’s main square. The corn-on-the-cob vendor has closed up for the night and is wheeling her cart away.
A few of the young Latter-day Saints have headed home, too. But not one group. They’re busy explaining a brochure to a businessman. He’s interested in their message. Yes, he’d like the missionaries to come tell him more. An appointment is made. The man leaves with a smile and a handshake.
The Saints in Sapporo hope he will learn more. More and more and more.

Such was Walter Stover of Salt Lake City. Born in Germany, Walter embraced the gospel message and came to America. He established his own business. He gave freely of his time and of his means.
Following World War II Walter Stover was called to return to his native land. He directed the Church in that nation and blessed the lives of all whom he met and with whom he served. With his own funds he constructed two chapels in Berlin—a beautiful city that had been so devastated by the conflict. He planned a gathering in Dresden for all the members of the Church from that nation and then chartered a train to bring them from all around the land so they could meet, partake of the sacrament, and bear witness of the goodness of God to them.
At the funeral services for Walter Stover, his son-in-law Thomas C. LeDuc said of him, “He had the ability to see Christ in every face he encountered, and he acted accordingly.”

I hadn’t been reading the scriptures until my Young Women president suggested that I work on Personal Progress. It asked me to read the scriptures every day for some weeks. After doing this, I never stopped reading them. My best advice is that you ought to work on your Personal Progress or Duty to God. Challenge yourself to read the scriptures more and more, and you will see a change within yourself. I tell you this without a doubt—you will see that you have a stronger testimony.
Paola S., 16, Cortés, Honduras

Let me share an experience about responding to prophetic words from the life of President Russell M. Nelson:
In 1979, five years before his call as a General Authority, Brother Nelson attended a meeting just prior to general conference. “President Spencer W. Kimball challenged all present to lengthen their stride in taking the gospel to the entire world. Among the countries President Kimball specifically mentioned was China, declaring, ‘We should be of service to the Chinese. We should learn their language. We should pray for them and help them.’”
At age 54, Brother Nelson had a feeling during the meeting that he should study the Mandarin language. Although a busy heart surgeon, he immediately secured the services of a tutor.
Not long after beginning his studies, Dr. Nelson, attending a convention, unexpectedly found himself sitting next to “a distinguished Chinese surgeon, Dr. Wu Yingkai. … Because [Brother Nelson] had been studying Mandarin, he began [a] conversation [with Dr. Wu].”
Dr. Nelson’s desire to follow the prophet led to Dr. Wu visiting Salt Lake City and Dr. Nelson traveling to China to give lectures and perform surgical operations.
His love for the Chinese people, and their love and respect for him, grew.
In February 1985, ten months after his call to the Quorum of the Twelve, Elder Nelson received a surprise phone call from China pleading for Dr. Nelson to come to Beijing to operate on the failing heart of China’s most famous opera singer. With the encouragement of President Gordon B. Hinckley, Elder Nelson returned to China. The last surgical operation he ever performed was in the People’s Republic of China.
Just two years ago, in October 2015, President Russell M. Nelson was once again honored with an official declaration, naming him an “old friend of China.”

As a matter of fact, attempts to keep illness or other problems secret can sometimes backfire. One elder heard by accident that his mother had undergone heart surgery. A frantic, long-distance phone call from England partially reassured him that she was progressing satisfactorily. But the remaining year of his mission was edged with anxiety. As he put it, “If they had leveled with me, I could have relaxed when the crisis was past, but this way, I was never sure how things really were at home.”

As a teenager, Richard was determined to earn his own money for college, and he showed a remarkable spirit of adventure in going about it. One summer he worked on an oyster boat off the east coast. Another summer he cut down trees in Utah for the forest service; he also repaired railroad cars.

During a later summer, his application to work for a Utah park service hotel was denied because all the jobs were taken. He tucked away the rejection letter without telling anyone about it and left for Utah. By the time he had made the trip across the United States, he had only three cents left in his pocket.
“Didn’t you receive our letter?” asked the man when he showed up.
“Yes,” Richard replied, “but I would like to work anyway. Is there a position as desk clerk?” The man laughed incredulously. Lowering his expectations, Richard asked, “How about bellboy?” No openings. “All right,” Richard said, “I’ll wash dishes!”
“Forget it,” the man said. “We don’t have any openings.”
Feeling the three pennies in his pocket, Richard was desperate. “I’ll wash dishes for two weeks,” he said, “and if you don’t like my work, you don’t have to pay me.” At least, he thought, that way he’d have a place to stay and have something to eat. The man finally agreed.
Richard washed dishes—but he also went into the kitchen to see if he could help. By the end of summer, he was the number two cook.
These experiences did more than add to his college savings account; they also helped him grow spiritually. During spare minutes he read and pondered the Book of Mormon and experienced a powerful spiritual awakening.

“I wondered how this new program would bring sisters together if we met in smaller groups, but I was willing to try it,” writes Richelle Pearce of the Shadowbrook Ward, Kaysville Utah South Stake. “I make bread a couple of times a week, so after making the proper arrangements, the Relief Society leaders invited anyone who was interested to come to my home for an activity.
“The next Thursday five sisters showed up at my door. They were from all different stages of life: one new mother, one working mom, one senior sister, and two with large families like mine. What happened over the next two hours was a testimony to me of the inspiration of this program. The sisters not only learned how to grind wheat and make bread, but they also talked, laughed, shared ideas, and really connected. By the time they left with their bread and wheat flour, I knew this program could bring sisters together in a wonderful way.”

In 1993, I was married and had one child. One day at work, a secretary took a Book of Mormon to the office, placed it near a glass, and left it. She did not tell me what the book was about, but I was curious. I decided to keep the book. Around the same time, missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints started visiting my mother. One day, while visiting her house, the missionaries knocked on her door, and I happened to answer it. As we visited, they asked if they could see my family too. My spouse and I agreed.
At our first meeting, I was surprised to learn that this religion had a book called the Book of Mormon. It contained over a thousand years of history and told the story of Jesus Christ coming to the Americas, paralleling the time period of the Bible. I read the entire book in four days and felt immense joy. I knew with certainty that it was the book I longed for, that God and Jesus Christ loved everyone, even those of us who live in the Americas.

Just after midnight on September 22, 1827, a carriage quietly bumped along the countryside near Manchester, New York, USA. Joseph and Emma Smith were heading to a hill where an ancient record, written on gold plates, waited for them. An angel named Moroni had told Joseph to bring the right person with him to get the record. Through personal revelation, Joseph knew that his wife, Emma, was that person.
Emma waited as her husband-prophet received the plates and then hid them in a hollow log. The sun began to rise as the couple returned home.

I recently learned another significant lesson from my father about his love for me. A few weeks ago the state 3-A basketball championship was being played on a Saturday night in Ogden. I was on Provo High’s team, which was to play Mountain View High School for the championship. After the first quarter the team met for a huddle. As I got up off the nice soft chair I had become accustomed to, my eye caught sight of my mom and dad sitting on the front row. This might seem insignificant to you, but I was thrilled because in Provo that same night was one of the most important events of the year. It wasn’t my father’s inauguration or the annual commencement exercises. It was the BYU-University of Utah basketball game. But Dad left that game, as well as several General Authorities and other dignitaries he was hosting, to come to my game. That demonstration of love meant so much to me, not because my game was more important, but because I was more important. Is it any wonder I want to show that love in return? We do have a bond, not just as father to son—but friend to friend as well.

A little more than a month later, Wilford Woodruff, an apostle and the president of the Church’s British mission, found a letter from Brigham Young waiting for him in his office in Liverpool, England. “We have had a good deal of sorrow and trouble here this fall,” Brigham told his friend. “It is therefore advisable for us to remove as the only condition of peace.”7
Wilford was alarmed but not surprised. He had read newspaper reports of mob attacks around Nauvoo. But he had not known how bad the situation was until now. “This is a strange age we live in,” Wilford thought after reading the letter. The United States government claimed to protect oppressed peoples and to shelter exiles, but Wilford could not remember a time when it had helped the Saints.
“The state of Illinois and the whole United States have filled up their cup of iniquity,” he wrote in his journal, “and well may the Saints go out of her midst.”8
Fortunately, most of Wilford’s family was out of harm’s way. His wife, Phebe, and their youngest children, Susan and Joseph, were with him in England. Their other daughter, Phebe Amelia, was staying with relatives in the eastern United States, more than a thousand miles away from the danger.
Their oldest son, Willy, however, was still in Nauvoo in the care of close friends. In his letter, Brigham mentioned that the boy was safe, yet Wilford still felt anxious to reunite his family.9
As quorum president, Brigham offered Wilford instructions for what to do next. “Send no more emigrants here,” he advised, “but let them wait in England till they can ship for the Pacific Ocean.” As for the American missionaries in England, he wanted those who had not received their temple ordinances to return immediately to Nauvoo to receive them.10
In the days that followed, Wilford sent letters to the American elders preaching in England, informing them of the persecution in Nauvoo. Though he and Phebe had already received their ordinances, they decided to return home as well.
“I have a portion of my family scattered some two thousand miles apart in the States,” Wilford explained in a farewell message to the British Saints. “It appears at the present time to be a duty resting upon me to return there and gather together my children that they may go out with the camp of the Saints.”
Wilford appointed Reuben Hedlock, the previous mission president, to preside again in Britain. Though Wilford did not have full confidence in Reuben, who had mismanaged Church funds in the past, no one else in England had more experience in mission leadership. And Wilford had little time to find a better replacement. After reuniting with the Quorum of the Twelve, he would recommend calling another man to take Reuben’s place.11