Gospel Story Finder

Roger Bannister was a medical student in England who had an ambitious hope. He desired to be the first man to run a mile (1.6 km) under four minutes. For much of the first half of the 20th century, field and track enthusiasts had anxiously awaited the day the four-minute-mile barrier would be broken. Over the years many outstanding runners had come close, but still the four-minute barrier stood. Bannister dedicated himself to an ambitious training schedule with the hope of realizing his goal of setting a new world record. Some in the sporting community had begun to doubt whether the four-minute mile could be broken. Supposed experts had even hypothesized the human body was physiologically unable to run at such speeds over such a long distance. On a cloudy day on May 6, 1954, Roger Bannister’s great hope was realized! He crossed the finish line in 3:59.4, setting a new world record. His hope to break the four-minute-mile barrier became a dream which was accomplished through training, hard work, and dedication.

But Sister Whang’s selflessness extends beyond her girls to everyone she meets. “She has a heart big enough for the whole world,” smiles Jini. “She can accept and love anybody.” Jini saw this illustrated vividly three and a half years ago when Jini went to Korea to find her brother, from whom she had been separated twenty-eight years earlier. He was now an alcoholic, both mentally and physically ill. He had no home, no money, no job—nothing but the tattered clothes on his back. Jini was forced to place him in a government institution.
Since family members were required to provide patients’ personal items, Jini called Sister Whang. Could Jini leave money and have Sister Whang phone the institution occasionally to see that her brother had the things he needed? Sister Whang promptly agreed. But instead of calling, she traveled to visit the man each week. By then she was the principal of a large preschool and kindergarten. But she regularly took nearly a whole day off work to bake him treats, ride the bus to the institution, then sit with him and hold his hand—even though he could give her little response.
“I couldn’t believe she did that,” says Jini. “She had never even met this guy. But she said, ‘I look forward to it every week.’”

His father died when Elder Oaks was eight years old. His mother then decided to leave her children in the care of their grandparents and go to Columbia University in New York City to get the additional education that she needed to support her children. “It was a very courageous thing for her to do,” said Elder Oaks. “But the loss of her husband and then the separation from her three children within a two-month period were too much, and Mother suffered a nervous breakdown.

“Mother was told that she would never recover, but through the blessings of the Lord, she did recover. She got a teaching position in Vernal, Utah, and later returned to New York City and finished her master’s degree at Columbia. When she recovered from her breakdown, she was stronger than ever. From her experience as a widow, she helped other women who had to raise their children alone. Mother also helped start adult education and senior citizen programs and did many other worthwhile things. She was a remarkable person and a very good mother.

“When he was 16 years old, Brother Christensen decided, among other things, that he would not play sports on Sunday. Years later, when he attended Oxford University in England, he played center on the basketball team. That year they had an undefeated season and went through to the British equivalent of what in the United States would be the NCAA basketball tournament.
“They won their games fairly easily in the tournament, making it to the final four. It was then that Brother Christensen looked at the schedule and, to his absolute horror, saw that the final basketball game was scheduled to be played on a Sunday. He and the team had worked so hard to get where they were, and he was the starting center. …
“He went to his coach, telling him how sorry he was that he wouldn’t be playing in the final game. Then he went to the Sunday meetings in the local ward while his team played without him. He prayed mightily for their success. They did win.
“That fateful, difficult decision was made more than 30 years ago. Brother Christensen has said that as time has passed, he considers it one of the most important decisions he ever made. It would have been very easy to have said, ‘You know, in general, keeping the Sabbath day holy is the right commandment, but in my particular extenuating circumstances, it’s okay, just this once, if I don’t do it.’ However, he says his entire life has turned out to be an unending stream of extenuating circumstances, and had he crossed the line just that once, then the next time something came up that was so demanding and critical, it would have been so much easier to cross the line again. The lesson he learned is that it is easier to keep the commandments 100 percent of the time than it is 98 percent of the time.”

Not long after my ordination as a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood, I was called to serve as president of the quorum. Our adviser, Harold, was interested in us, and we knew it. One day he said to me, “Tom, you enjoy raising pigeons, don’t you?”
I responded with a warm, “Yes.”
Then he proffered, “How would you like me to give you a pair of purebred Birmingham Roller pigeons?”
This time I answered, “Yes, Sir!” You see, the pigeons I had were just the common variety, trapped on the roof of the Grant Elementary School.
He invited me to come to his home the next evening. The following day was one of the longest in my young life. I was awaiting my adviser’s return from work an hour before he arrived home. He took me to his pigeon loft, which was in the upper area of a small barn located at the rear of his yard. As I looked at the most beautiful pigeons I had yet seen, he said, “Select any male, and I will give you a female which is different from any other pigeon in the world.” I made my selection. He then placed in my hand a tiny hen pigeon. I asked what made her so different. He responded, “Look carefully, and you’ll notice that she has but one eye.” Sure enough, one eye was missing, a cat having done the damage. “Take them home to your loft,” he counseled. “Keep them in for about 10 days, and then turn them out to see if they will remain at your place.”
I followed Harold’s instructions. Upon his release, the male pigeon strutted about the roof of the loft, then returned inside to eat. But the one-eyed female was gone in an instant. I called Harold and asked, “Did that one-eyed pigeon return to your loft?”
“Come on over,” he said, “and we’ll have a look.”
As we walked from his kitchen door to the loft, my adviser commented, “Tom, you are the president of the teachers quorum.” This, of course, I already knew. Then he added, “What are you going to do to activate Bob, who is a member of your quorum?”
I answered, “I’ll have him at quorum meeting this week.”
Then he reached up to a special nest and handed me the one-eyed pigeon. “Keep her in a few more days and try again.” This I did, and once more she disappeared. Again the experience: “Come on over, and we’ll see if she returned home.” Came the comment as we walked to the loft, “Congratulations on getting Bob to priesthood meeting. Now what are you and Bob going to do to activate Bill?”
“We’ll have him there next week,” I volunteered.
This experience was repeated over and over again. I was a grown man before I fully realized that indeed Harold, my adviser, had given me a special pigeon, the only pigeon in his loft he knew would return every time she was released. It was his inspired way of having an ideal personal priesthood interview with the president of the teachers quorum every two weeks. I owe a lot to that one-eyed pigeon. I owe more to that quorum adviser. He had the patience and the skill to help me prepare for the responsibilities which lay ahead.

My three children and I were on our way home after shopping when we passed the man with the newspapers for the first time. I let Emmily, 2, hand him some money to buy a paper. Lisa, 6, asked, “What is that man doing? Why is he selling newspapers on the street instead of in the store?”
I explained that he was selling a special newspaper and that the people who sell the special newspaper don’t have much money. They often don’t have a home or a family to help them. But they can earn a little money by selling newspapers, and we can help them by buying one.
Many weeks later—on a rainy day—we were on our way to the children’s gymnastics lesson. Because we had to stop at the store, we didn’t take the direct route. After we had made our purchases, I wondered out loud which route we should take to the lesson. We could take a shorter route through a side street or a longer one taking us past the corner with the street vendor. I looked at Lisa and waited for her to choose.
“Let’s take the long way, Mom, and buy a newspaper,” she said. “Jesus would have done that.” We went the second mile that rainy day and bought one of many more newspapers.

My father was my best friend while I was growing up. He had a great influence on my life because of the way he treated my mother. I never, ever heard him speak a cross word to her. He treated me and the rest of our family with the same kindness.
He often took me fishing. We also worked together at our family’s sawmill. After working hard all day, we sometimes went on evening picnics. Spending time working and playing together created a real family bond.

“Oh, that’s only part of them,” Mrs. Bailey whined. “The others are in the corner under the tarp.”
In the shadows, I hadn’t noticed the dark mound in the far corner. I waded through some ragged lawn furniture, stumbled over two saw horses, and finally fell against the enormous mystery hidden under an old army tarp, gray with years of dust.
Grabbing one corner of the tarp, I jerked it back. A suffocating cloud of dust choked and blinded me. I sputtered, gasping for breath, and rubbed the dirt from my eyes, tripping over a croquet mallet and sitting down hard in a rusty, battered wheelbarrow filled with flower pots. My nostrils were filled with the musty smell of dirt and dried and decaying flowers, and there was a gritty film between my lips and teeth.
Jason whistled. “Would you look at that,” I heard him say in amazement.
Flailing the air with my arms to beat the dust away, I cracked my eyes and stared in disbelief at the huge mountain of newspapers before me. “How long’s he been saving them?” I gasped.
“I lost track after 20 years,” Mrs. Bailey replied simply. “Some people collect stamps. Some collect coins. My husband collected newspapers. He didn’t have time to read them, so he stacked them in here to read later. He insisted that the time would come when he’d be able to sit down and enjoy them. Nothing I could say ever changed his mind. And he wouldn’t let me get rid of them until he read them. So here they are. And he still hasn’t read them.”
“Is he going to care if we take them?” I wondered out loud.
“Oh, it’s hard to say with him.”
“We could leave some of the newer ones in case he wants to read them,” Jason offered.
Mrs. Bailey waved his remark aside with her hand and shook her head. “He won’t read them. Any of them. Not now. He died three years ago. They’re yours if you’ll haul them off.”

New converts have blessed and been the lifeblood of the Church throughout its history. One example is particularly precious to me. When I was a young bishop, two marvelous sister missionaries were teaching the William Edward Mussman family. The father, a very capable lawyer, was general counsel of a major corporation. His devoted wife, Janet, was helping the family strive to live a more Christlike life.

Their exceptional son and daughter, both in their early 20s, were also being taught. All four had received the lessons and were attending church. The sister missionaries had emphasized reading the Book of Mormon and praying for a testimony of that sacred scripture. Remarkably, the family prayerfully read the entire Book of Mormon in a short time.

The stake missionaries, both of whom were prior ward Relief Society presidents, accompanied them to sacrament meetings.

As the family was nearing baptism, they received a barrage of literature critical of the Church. This was before the internet, but the material filled a large cardboard box.

The sister missionaries invited me as a recently called 34-year-old bishop to help answer the questions being raised. When we gathered in their living room, the large box of pamphlets critical of the Church was in the middle of the room. I had prayerfully approached this assignment. During the opening prayer, the Spirit whispered to me, “He already knows it is true.” This was important. The sisters believed that the rest of the family already had a testimony. They were unsure about the father.

I immediately informed him that the Spirit had prompted me that he already had a testimony. “Was that true?” He looked at me intently and said that the Spirit had confirmed the truth of the Book of Mormon and the Church to him.

I then asked whether it would be necessary to review the pamphlets, if they already had a spiritual confirmation.

The father replied that it would not be necessary. The rest of the family concurred with his answer.

He said he did have a significant question: One reason they had received so much literature opposing the Church was that they were members of another faith. In addition, he had made a large pledge to help build a new chapel for that faith. He informed me that the sister missionaries had taught him about the importance of tithing, which he gratefully accepted, but he wondered if it would be wrong to also honor the pledge he had previously made. I assured him that payment of the pledge would be both honorable and appropriate.

The Mussmans with their son, daughter-in-law, and daughter.

The entire family was baptized. One year later they were sealed as a family in the Oakland California Temple. I was privileged to be present. The son completed law school, passed the California Bar Exam, and immediately served a faithful mission in Japan. I have watched over the years as the succeeding generations have remained faithful to the gospel. I was privileged to officiate at the sealing of one of the granddaughters.

In addition to their regular youth conference activities—speakers, games, and dances—youth from the Jonesboro and Tucker Georgia stakes put on a carnival for 200 handicapped and underprivileged participants. The youth spent the morning of the carnival setting up booths and preparing for their guests. When they arrived, each visitor was assigned a youth host for the day. There were no losers at the “Carnival of Dreams”—each game was designed so that everyone would walk away from any game they played a winner. At the testimony meeting following the carnival, several youth shared experiences and expressed their love for their special visitors.

Starting in my junior year of high school, my life began to get off track. I went to church only to pacify my parents, not because I wanted to. Towards the end of the year, I felt I had hit rock bottom. Nothing was going right, not at school, not at work, and especially not at home.
One day I went to my sister’s house. At that time my brother-in-law, Gerry, was in the bishopric. I began to tell them all the things in my life that were going wrong. After patiently listening, Gerry suggested that I start reading the Book of Mormon 30 minutes a day. I figured I had tried everything else and nothing had worked, so I decided to give it a try. Gerry promised me that if I truly tried to read for 30 minutes a day for a whole month, things would start to change for the better.
I started reading that very night. I think it was the longest half hour of my life. The next day was just an average day; nothing great and nothing horrible happened.
But change takes time. The next week was not an easy one. I missed the extra half hour of sleep, but I stuck with it. Soon I started to notice little things just happened to work out for the better.
At this time, I received the biggest blessing I have ever had in my life, although I didn’t recognize it at first. I had the opportunity to go to Ireland to work for the summer. I was already two weeks into my month of reading, so I decided to continue the Book of Mormon test while in Ireland and read it every day. And I did.
My life began to change dramatically. I began to love the things that I used to detest. I looked forward to going to church at my little branch in Galway. I gained a more positive outlook on life, and my testimony began to grow in leaps and bounds. One day I wrote in my journal:
Today was the most wonderful day. I woke up and went to church at 10:30. Today was our branch conference. It was the most spiritual meeting I have ever attended! I don’t think that I have ever felt the Spirit so strongly before. The people here in Galway are the friendliest, most generous, righteous people I have ever met. They give me strength. They are so firmly rooted in the gospel; I learn so much just by their examples. I think that today is the first time I have ever known or felt absolutely positive that the gospel is right and true.
Reading the Book of Mormon was no longer a chore. It was something I began to look forward to every day. My time in Ireland was soon up, and I had to return home. I knew that facing my old home life and my old friends was going to be a great challenge.
When I got home, it wasn’t as bad as I thought. My mom and I actually saw eye to eye on a lot of things, and I grew to love her with all my heart. As the wrinkles in home life began to iron out, so did things with my friends. I stopped hanging out with some of my old friends and started associating with a different group of girls. This was hard, but I had a lot of support. My life took a 180-degree turn.
Throughout this whole process I had the scriptures and a sister who was sent straight from heaven. My sister always knew when things were getting rough, and she would write me little notes of encouragement. She gave me a compass to remind me every day of the changes I had made in my life and to keep going in the same direction.

This story happened in Nicaragua.
Vanessa waved goodbye to Mami and walked into the church building. Some of her friends were already here! She loved Primary activities.
Sister Fonseca was setting up a craft table. There were ribbons, colored strings, and stickers. Vanessa couldn’t wait to find out what they would be making!
After the prayer, Sister Fonseca gave some instructions. “Today we will make gift bags. You can give them to someone you love.” She handed a brown paper bag to each child.
Vanessa was excited to start decorating. She chose a yellow heart sticker and put it on the front of the bag.
Next, Vanessa folded a paper to make a card. “You are a child of God,” she wrote. She drew lots of stars and hearts on it.
Sister Lopez passed out some cookies and cupcakes to put inside their bags. Vanessa put the card inside too. Perfect!
Soon Mami came to pick her up. “Look!” Vanessa held her bag up for Mami to see. “It’s to give to someone special.”
“Beautiful!” Mami said. “Who will you give it to?”
“I don’t know,” Vanessa said. “I want to give it to someone who needs love.” Then Vanessa had an idea. “Can we go for a walk to find someone to give it to?”
“Sure,” Mami said. “Let’s go!”
Vanessa held Mami’s hand and carried her bag of love in her other hand. They turned down a quiet street. Maybe someone here needs love, Vanessa thought.
But as they walked, Vanessa frowned. There was no one on the street!
“Let’s try going this way.” Mami led Vanessa down another road. But again, no one was outside.
Vanessa sighed. “What should we do?” she asked.
“Why don’t you say a prayer in your mind?” Mami said. “Ask Heavenly Father to guide you to someone you can help.”
They turned down one more street, and Vanessa said a silent prayer. Heavenly Father, please help me find someone who needs some love.
A few minutes later, Vanessa saw a little boy walking on the sidewalk.
Vanessa’s face lit up with a smile. “Hi,” she said to him. “I want to give this to you.” She held out the bag.
At first, the boy looked confused.
“It’s OK. You can take it,” Mami said gently.
Slowly, the boy reached out and took the bag. A big smile spread across his face.
“I made it for you with a lot of love,” Vanessa said.
Vanessa felt happy as she watched the boy run back to his house. She knew he was special to Heavenly Father.
How did Vanessa share Heavenly Father’s love?
Illustrations by Vicky Scott

Mildred Coloma Rivera was born on April 17, 1941, and grew up in rural San Manuel, Tarlac. She came from a large family, with her parents engaged in tedious farm work. “We were a poor family,” she recalls, “and we struggled economically, so I looked for opportunities to earn.”
In 1961, Mildred started working for an American family at Clark Air Base in Pampanga. The Apel family were Latter- day Saints and Mildred was intrigued by the family’s faith. She told the family head, Charles Apel, that she wanted to come to Church with them on Sunday, to which Brother Apel replied positively.
Mildred liked what she saw and felt. “I knew right away the Church was true,” she affirms, “and I was interested in the Church because of the friendliness of the Apel family and also the members.” She was taught gospel principles by members of the small Church unit in Clark, as there were no missionaries available in that area.
Mildred soon gained a testimony. “I want to be baptized,” she excitedly told the Apels. The Church was so new in the Philippines that the pioneering missionaries—who had been given authority to baptize converts—were too far away in Manila to know about Mildred and her request. Thus, unit leaders in Clark had to get special permission from Church headquarters in Salt Lake City to baptize her.
Mildred waited patiently and prayed for a positive response. Her prayers were answered when permission was granted to hold a baptismal service, which took place on August 5, 1961. On that day, Mildred Coloma Rivera was baptized by Brother Paul Sharp, becoming one of the very first members of the Church in the Philippines.
“I felt so elated that I kept thanking God for being baptized,” Mildred joyfully remembers. Sister Rivera became one of the pioneer members of the Angeles Branch and grew in her testimony of the restored gospel as she prayed, read the scriptures, and attended Church services.

Many of you hold the Aaronic Priesthood. You are preparing to become missionaries. Begin now to learn in your youth the joy of service in the cause of the Master. Could I share with you an example of such service.

Following Thanksgiving time a few years ago, I received a letter from a widow whom I had known in the stake where I served in the presidency. She had just returned from a dinner sponsored by her bishopric. Her words reflect the peace she felt and the gratitude which filled her heart:

“Dear President Monson,

“I am living in Bountiful now. I miss the people of our old stake, but let me tell you of a wonderful experience I have had. In early November, all the widows and older people received an invitation to come to a lovely dinner. We were told not to worry about transportation, since this would be provided by the older youth in the ward.

“At the appointed hour, a very nice young man rang the bell and took me and another sister to the stake center. He stopped the car, and two other young men walked with us to the building. Inside, they escorted us to the tables, where seated on each side of us was either a young woman or a young man. We were served a lovely Thanksgiving dinner and afterward provided a choice program.

“Then the young men took us home. It was such a nice evening. Most of us shed a tear or two for the love and respect we were shown.

“President Monson, when you see young people treat others like these young people did, I feel the Church is in good hands.”

In the late 18th century, Catherine the Great of Russia announced she would tour the southern part of her empire, accompanied by several foreign ambassadors. The governor of the area, Grigory Potemkin, desperately wanted to impress these visitors. And so he went to remarkable lengths to showcase the country’s accomplishments.
For part of the journey, Catherine floated down the Dnieper River, proudly pointing out to the ambassadors the thriving hamlets along the shore, filled with industrious and happy townspeople. There was only one problem: it was all for show. It is said that Potemkin had assembled pasteboard facades of shops and homes. He had even positioned busy-looking peasants to create the impression of a prosperous economy. Once the party disappeared around the bend of the river, Potemkin’s men packed up the fake village and rushed it downstream in preparation for Catherine’s next pass.
Although modern historians have questioned the truthfulness of this story, the term “Potemkin village” has entered the world’s vocabulary. It now refers to any attempt to make others believe we are better than we really are.

This incident reminded me of a similar experience in my own life. Nearly thirty years ago, Peter had been my closest friend. We had shared almost everything together, including toys, pet animals, and food.
He and I were quite different in many ways. He was blond and short, like his father. I was taller, skinny and dark haired, like my dad. He liked vanilla-flavored ice cream; I liked chocolate.
Peter and I built a great “hut” down in the rocks and sand of a nearby creek. It was the perfect place for catching little blue-bellied racing lizards. Peter and I were the best catchers in the neighborhood. We could do better than even my two older brothers.
I did not know until we were about ten years old that Peter had been born with a heart defect. He had asthma and often coughed and wheezed from that, but it did not interfere with our play. One reason I did not know that his health problems were serious was that he never once complained.
All along, his parents had been waiting for him to reach an age when he was strong enough to survive heart surgery. Finally, the doctors felt that they could wait no longer, so his parents arranged for him to go to a big city hospital.
He wrote to me saying that he had taken an advance tour of the hospital to see everything, including the operating and recovery rooms. The doctors wanted him to see them in detail, so that when he awoke from surgery, he would not be frightened.
Several days later Peter underwent eight or ten hours of major surgery. Unbelievably to me, he died on the operating table.
I was deeply hurt by the news of his death. I had prayed faithfully and fervently that his heart would be healed. I thought my prayers had gone unanswered. Brokenhearted, I went back to our river hut one last time after the funeral. I stayed only long enough to push some of the rocks aside and destroy the little building. I suppose I thought if I could destroy that which represented Peter to me, I could destroy the horrible feelings of grief that I was experiencing.
Later I would learn that those feelings were normal. I loved Peter. I would miss him. That is a natural instinct, and there is nothing wrong with it.
We will miss Andrew too. That is simply part of life. God would never want us to forget someone who has touched our lives for good. The scriptures tell us, “Thou shalt live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die” (D&C 42:45).
I thought about Peter every day for about a month. Then I began to get busy with other friends, and soon I was just thinking about him occasionally. After about ten years, I found that I would go months at a time and never think of the closeness that we had shared. I noticed, however, that when I started thinking about him, all of the good feelings that I had felt with him so many times would come rushing back into my mind and heart.
Then a year or two ago, almost thirty years after Peter’s death, I dreamed that I was on a business trip, driving my car on a highway that ran alongside the ocean. I think I was supposed to be in northern California.
In my dream I was admiring the beautiful coastal scenery and listening to the car radio.
Suddenly, in my dream, coming toward me on the other side of the road was Peter. He was a full-grown adult, but I recognized him immediately.
Quickly I stopped the car, got out, and ran to him. We hugged and danced like two happy little boys. Then we stood arm-in-arm, face-to-face, with the mighty ocean as a backdrop and talked eagerly for about fifteen minutes.
Never mentioning death, or saying “it’s good to see you after all of these years,” or anything like that, Peter finally said to me, “Well, I’ve got to be going.”
Knowing and feeling that to be true, I said to him, “Where are you going?”
“To take care of some business,” he said simply. I knew better than to ask any more. He was about his Father’s business. My heart told me so. I know that to be true of Andrew also.
I still remember how wonderful it felt in that dream to see Peter again, to hug him and talk with him after all those years since he died. The Spirit bore witness to me that Peter and I will meet again someday and that meeting will be as sweet and natural as it was in that wonderful dream.
As I stood at the pulpit at Andrew’s funeral, the Spirit prompted me to tell Ryan that death is not the end of our associations and that our feelings of love and friendship will endure beyond the grave.
I thought Ryan sat up a little straighter on the bench. His eyes became a little drier, and I even thought I saw him nod his head, as if to agree. I thought my spiritual eyes saw Ryan touched by the Spirit.
It is never easy to lose a friend to death. But the understanding which the gospel provides can be a great comfort to us. We know that life continues beyond the grave and that there is important work to be done by those who have gone on. And time will soften the pain of those who are left behind.
Remain faithful, young people. Do what is right and be prayerful. You will see your friend again. It will be sooner than you think. Your loss will not be easy, but God will comfort you and the hurt will eventually go away. One day soon, the memories will be happy and joyful as you think about the good times spent together sharing your lives. That is the promise of the plan of salvation.

I remember just after I joined the Church, a great feeling of confidence came over me. I felt that since I had chosen the Lord’s side, he was on my side. Several remarkable things happened, of which I will recount but two.

Although I had never had the courage to stand on my feet and speak in debate, either at high school or college, I found myself asking my branch president if I might give a talk in sacrament meeting. I still have the notes of that very first talk. It was on faith and works.

A few months after my baptism, a golden opportunity presented itself at my place of work, where I was a management trainee. Again, I had that strong feeling of self-assurance, and I received my first promotion, which set my feet on the management ladder. I found that through my Church membership and the faith it engendered, I overcame the fear of taking responsibility.

What of marriage responsibility? Are there some who delay marriage for fear of the responsibility? When my wife and I were married, we had the magnificent sum of 20 English pounds between us. Although young, we felt ready for the challenges and responsibilities that we knew lay ahead. What a glorious experience it has been now for almost 40 years to shoulder responsibility and struggle together in building a happy home and a wonderful family of ten precious children.

From time to time I meet members of the Church who do not feel able to take responsibility as an officer or a teacher in the Church. I tell them of my experience in England. Literally within days of baptism, I was called to head the youth program in the Nottingham Branch. This was completely new to me, and I felt inadeqate, but I knew the Lord had need of me. There were less than 7,000 members in the whole of the British Isles where there are now 40 stakes. We all had to be “anxiously engaged” in the work of saving souls, building the kingdom, and establishing Zion. So it is with all of us. It is futile to fear responsibility when we have been called to serve “by prophecy, and by the laying on of hands by those who are in authority” (A of F 1:5).

This summer my wife and I had the opportunity to visit an eighty-year-old man who certainly demonstrated each of these elements in his life. He was born in a small Idaho town and worked long hours on the farm to finance his education. He spent his professional life teaching English and Spanish in a small high school. To set aside funds for missions and the education of his large family, he grew strawberry and raspberry crops to be picked and sold to the local markets. This labor occupied his summers.
Because these fruits were so labor-intensive, few people had the ambition to grow them. They were much-wanted crops. The demand was always there for as many berries as he could produce. He was never satisfied with the productivity of his crops, so he studied new varieties in an attempt to find the best producers. His backyard was literally an experimental farm for testing the variety of bushes that produced the sweetest and most abundant fruit in his particular climate. His studies yielded increased productivity. The labor kept him in good physical health. The fields of berries furnished automatic employment for his children each summer. The berries delivered to the market could be exchanged not only for cash but also for commodities to be used in their home storage. He managed his resources to build a beautiful home and supply the needs of his family.
This man loved to watch the Lord’s system of multiplying and replenishing the earth, which gave him social, emotional, and spiritual strength. Now retired from active teaching, he continues to grow his berries, not for profit but for satisfaction. Six mornings each week during the berry harvest season, you will see him leading a parade of ten to twelve cars out of the city toward his berry patch. Families come to add to their home storage by picking the berries. I asked him the price per case if we supplied our own labor. He answered: “I don’t know. My pay is seeing the look on people’s faces as they leave the field holding the fruits of their labors in their arms.”

Patch Crowe, 22, says he was born “with music inside.” As a toddler, he would wander around the house babbling songs before he could even talk. As a teen, he was part of a Nashville, Tennessee, USA, boy band, Beyond 5. The group disbanded in 2014 when members started preparing to serve full-time missions.
Recently returned from serving in the Scotland/Ireland Mission, Patch has released his first single, married his sweetheart, and is developing musical projects to inspire every listener.
“I believe Heavenly Father allows us to experience music to enhance our lives. Music makes you feel alive.”

Riding in a van following the trailer loaded with canoes, the girls of the Fargo North Dakota Stake, headed for a Summiteer adventure, were lost in lethargy, dozing a little. They had had an early morning getting everything packed for five days in the Boundary Waters area of northern Minnesota.
Suddenly Andrea bolted awake in her seat, yelling, “Hey, look! There’s a bear.”
Just then a black bear ambled casually across the road. Now everyone was awake. They watched the bear disappear into the woods, then looked at each other with a look that spoke eloquently. It was unspoken communication, but the message was clear. This really was going to be an adventure. Little did they realize then just how vivid the experience would be and how much this canoe trip would act as a symbol for the way they should live their lives.