Gospel Story Finder

The big glass jar had the words “Fill Your Life with Service” on the side. Each week the young women and their leaders from the Titusville Ward in Florida anonymously wrote down the acts of service they had given during the week. The slips of paper were then rolled, taped, and placed in the jar. The young women used yellow paper, and the leaders used green. Plus, on one Mutual night for each of the six months of the project the young women held a service activity.
The first month focused on service to family, week two on friends, and then the priesthood, neighbors, community, and the world. The slips of paper revealed all kinds of service: “I helped my brother with his homework,” “I baked my friend a cake,” “I volunteered at the animal shelter,” “I sent some mail to missionaries from our ward.”
Jessica Crook, a Beehive, said, “I think the activities helped all of us understand more about helping and serving others.” In the end there were more yellow papers than green, so the young women were rewarded with a dinner prepared and served by their leaders.

I remember distinctly the time and place I found my spiritual second wind, my more sure witness of the Book of Mormon. I was in Scotland in my first assignment as a missionary in a little town called Barrhead just outside of Glasgow. I had been challenged by a Scotsman asking me how I knew the Book of Mormon was true. It was at that point I realized I had never received a sure witness or even put the book to the test as Moroni challenges us in Moroni 10:3–5. You first have to have a sincere desire to read the Book of Mormon; then you study and ponder the message with real intent and pray in faith, asking the Lord if it is true—something I had not yet done.
It was later one evening as I was kneeling by my bed in humble prayer that I received a feeling so powerful, so sweet, and so warm that it was as if I had just reached the crest of a hill in my spiritual race for truth and understanding. The Holy Ghost bore witness to my soul that the Book of Mormon was true. Like my physical second wind, no one can tell me that I imagined this witness. It was real! I knew it, and no one could take it away from me. From that point on, I had no problem bearing testimony of the Book of Mormon, living prophets, and the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. I could never deny it!

Reader 2: The story is told of the man and the pole.
Reader B: A man clung precariously to a flagpole, the only thing saving him from a certain fall off the roof of a building.
Reader 5: A crowd gathered below, and many cried out encouragement.
Reader E: “Hang on! Hang on till help comes.”
Reader B: The flagpole began to bend under the man’s weight.
Reader 5: “Hang on!” cried the crowd. “Help is coming.”
Reader B: The flagpole continued to bend.
Reader E: “Hang on. Try,” came the cries.
Reader 5: But, alas, the man let go of the flagpole.
Reader B: His would-be rescuers, the ambulance attendants and firemen, were just at that moment arriving on the scene. As they gently raised the bruised and battered man from the ground, those around asked him:
Reader E: “Why? Why did you let go of the pole?”
Reader B: The man raised his head and replied:
Reader 5: “I was afraid. I was afraid the pole would break.”

Take 60 young men and women from the Emerson Second Ward, Paul Idaho Stake, get them singing, and what do you have? Not only lovely music, but a unified ward, too. In an activity that 100 percent of the ward’s young people participated in, they presented a sacrament meeting of music and talks. Most of them had never sung in four-part harmony before, and the ward’s 35-mile boundaries made it difficult for some to attend rehearsals, but it was well worth the effort. “I think Heavenly Father really helped us to sing our best,” said Paula Gibbons, one of the singers. “I’m glad I could be a part of it.”

One day I was thinking about how I could step it up a little as a grandpa, so I asked myself what I most wanted to give to my grandchildren. The answer wasn’t financial help or more fun activities or travel to new places.
The answer was that I wanted to share with them the principles that I felt could help make their lives happy and productive and righteous. I wanted to leave a legacy based on faith in Jesus Christ and His eternal plan of happiness.1
I thought about what my grandchildren might want to know from me based on my own lived experiences. So I created a list of “Grandfather’s Principles.” The next week I read it to some of my older grandkids in hopes of engaging them in a little discussion.
It fell flat. Their looks seemed to say, “When will this lecture be over?”
I tried changing the name to “Grandfather’s Beliefs” and “Grandfather’s Tips,” but those didn’t work any better.
Then one summer at our family reunion, while I was with some of our elementary-age grandkids, I repurposed my list as “Grandfather’s Secrets,” and boom—I suddenly had their interest and their attention. I even had their curiosity!
Things got better from there. I polished my list of principles/beliefs/tips/secrets until I had 10 of them that were simple and basic but that genuinely reflected what I thought was most important and what I felt were the top-10 life guides that I wanted to share.
Nowadays, I spread out discussing these with each grandchild over a 10-year time period. When our grandchildren turn 8 (the age of accountability), they receive the first three “secrets.” When they are 10, they get one more; when 12, two more; when 14, two more; and when 18, the final two.
I give rewards and recognition for learning them. Some have memorized them. We talk about when and how they have applied them. I text back and forth about them with the grandkids who are old enough to have a phone. At reunions we have group discussions where they share examples of using them in everyday life. Older grandkids tutor younger ones on what the “secrets” mean and how they work.
Whenever I have a somewhat private moment with a grandchild or two, I ask them to give me an example of how they applied one of the secrets in the past or how they imagine they might apply one in the future. For the ones who live farther away, I text hypothetical situations they may find themselves in when one of the secrets might come into play, and I ask them to text back about what they would do.
I pray that my grandchildren will learn from pondering, memorizing, and using these secrets and that we will know each other better as we discuss them. I learned a lot about myself from writing them, and I’m still learning important things about my grandkids as I try to teach them.

Let me tell you a story—a parable.
There once was a man who wanted something very much. It seemed more important than anything else in his life. In order for him to have his desire, he incurred [took on] a great debt.
He had been warned about going into that much debt and particularly about his creditor, the one who lent the money. But it seemed so important for him to have what he wanted right now. He was sure he could pay for it later.
So he signed a contract. He would pay it off some time along the way. He didn’t worry too much about it, for the due date seemed such a long time away. He had what he wanted now, and that was what seemed important.
The creditor was always somewhere in the back of his mind, and he made token [small] payments now and again, thinking somehow that the day of reckoning [the day he had to repay all the money] would never really come.
But as it always does, the day came and the contract fell due. The debt had not been fully paid. His creditor appeared and demanded payment in full.
Only then did he realize that his creditor had not only the power to repossess [take away] all that he owned but also the power to cast him into prison as well.
“I cannot pay you, for I have not the power to do so,” he confessed.
“Then,” said the creditor, “we will take your possessions, and you shall go to prison. You agreed to that. It was your choice. You signed the contract, and now it must be enforced.”
“Can you not extend the time or forgive the debt?” the debtor begged. “Arrange some way for me to keep what I have and not go to prison. Surely you believe in mercy? Will you not show mercy?”
The creditor replied, “Mercy is always so one-sided. It would serve only you. If I show mercy to you, it will leave me unpaid. It is justice I demand. Do you believe in justice?”
“I believed in justice when I signed the contract,” the debtor said. “It was on my side then, for I thought it would protect me. I did not need mercy then nor think I should need it ever.”
“It is justice that demands that you pay the contract or suffer the penalty,” the creditor replied. “That is the law. You have agreed to it, and that is the way it must be. Mercy cannot rob justice.”
There they were: One meting out justice, the other pleading for mercy. Neither could prevail [win] except at the expense of the other.
“If you do not forgive the debt, there will be no mercy,” the debtor pleaded.
“If I do, there will be no justice,” was the reply.
Both laws, it seemed, could not be served. They are two eternal ideals that appear to contradict one another. Is there no way for justice to be fully served and mercy also?
There is a way! The law of justice can be fully satisfied and mercy can be fully extended—but it takes someone else. And so it happened this time.
The debtor had a friend. He came to help. He knew the debtor well. He thought him foolish to have gotten himself into such a predicament. Nevertheless, he wanted to help because he loved him. He stepped between them, faced the creditor, and made this offer: “I will pay the debt if you will free the debtor from his contract so that he may keep his possessions and not go to prison.”
As the creditor was pondering the offer, the mediator added, “You demanded justice. Though he cannot pay you, I will do so. You will have been justly dealt with and can ask no more. It would not be just.”
And so the creditor agreed.
The mediator turned then to the debtor. “If I pay your debt, will you accept me as your creditor?”
“Oh yes, yes,” cried the debtor. “You save me from prison and show mercy to me.”
“Then,” said the benefactor [one who helps], “you will pay the debt to me, and I will set the terms. It will not be easy, but it will be possible. I will provide a way. You need not go to prison.”
And so it was that the creditor was paid in full. He had been justly dealt with. No contract had been broken. The debtor, in turn, had been extended mercy. Both laws stood fulfilled. Because there was a mediator, justice had claimed its full share and mercy was fully satisfied.

When I was nine years old, my white-haired, four-foot-eleven-inch (1.5 m) maternal grandmother came to spend a few weeks with us at our home. One afternoon while she was there, my two older brothers and I decided to dig a hole in a field across the street from our house. I don’t know why we did it; sometimes boys dig holes. We got a little dirty but nothing that would get us into too much trouble. Other boys in the neighborhood saw just how exciting it was to dig a hole and started to help. Then we all got dirtier together. The ground was hard, so we dragged a garden hose over and put a little water in the bottom of the hole to soften up the ground. We got some mud on us as we dug, but the hole did get deeper.
Someone in our group decided we should turn our hole into a swimming pool, so we filled it up with water. Being the youngest and wanting to fit in, I was persuaded to jump in and try it out. Now I was really dirty. I didn’t start out planning to be covered in mud, but that’s where I ended up.
When it started to get cold, I crossed the street, intending to walk into my house. My grandmother met me at the front door and refused to let me in. She told me that if she let me in, I would track mud into the house that she had just cleaned. So I did what any nine-year-old would do under the circumstances and ran to the back door, but she was quicker than I thought. I got mad, stomped my feet, and demanded to come into the house, but the door remained closed.
I was wet, muddy, cold, and, in my childhood imagination, thought I might die in my own backyard. Finally, I asked her what I had to do to come into the house. Before I knew it, I found myself standing in the backyard while my grandmother sprayed me off with a hose. After what seemed like an eternity, my grandmother pronounced me clean and let me come into the house. It was warm in the house, and I was able to put on dry, clean clothes.

“Mom, can I ride my bike over to Jason’s house?” Zach called as he ran into his bedroom.
“Sure,” Mom said. “Just be careful.”
“OK!” Zach skidded to a stop next to his bed and grabbed his tennis shoes. When he glanced up, he saw the picture of Jesus he kept next to his baseball trophy. His grandparents had given him the picture at his baptism last month. Zach could hardly believe he was finally baptized. He thought back to that important day.
He remembered sitting in the chapel next to his dad. Both of them were dressed in white. His Primary teacher, Sister Jones, gave a talk about the Holy Ghost. She told Zach if he listened to the still, small voice he would be blessed.
Sister Jones held up a whistle. “Sometimes the Holy Ghost will warn you of danger, almost like a whistle in your mind.” Then she held up a helmet. “Following the Holy Ghost is like wearing a helmet in a dangerous world. His still, small voice will prompt you so you will be protected spiritually and physically.”
Zach had thought about the talk a lot since then. He was grateful to have the gift of the Holy Ghost. As he finished tying his shoes, he stood up and noticed his bike helmet in his closet.
“Wear your helmet,” a small voice inside him seemed to say.
Zach stood still. Is that the Holy Ghost? he wondered. OK, he thought. I’ll wear my helmet. He put it on and ran out of the room. “Bye, Mom!” he called as he ran outside.
The afternoon hurried by as Zach and Jason played pirates in Jason’s tree house. Finally Zach noticed it was getting late.
“I’d better go,” he told Jason. He picked up his bike and snapped his helmet into place again. “See you later.”
Zach pedaled carefully along the side of the street. When he came to the corner, he looked both ways, then started across the road. Just as he reached the other side, a huge blue truck raced around the corner. Suddenly it hit the back tire of Zach’s bike, knocking him to the ground.
Zach caught his breath, then carefully sat up. The road was empty, except for his twisted bike lying nearby.
Zach stood up. He was shaking, but he didn’t seem to be hurt. Then he remembered—his helmet! He reached up and felt it still fastened firmly on his head. It had protected him!
Zach picked up his bike and walked the rest of the way home. When he reached the front door, he ran inside.
“Mom, Mom!” he said, hugging her tightly, his voice shaking a little. “A truck hit my bike!”
“What?! Are you all right?” she asked.
Zach nodded. “I was wearing my helmet. I felt a still, small voice tell me to put it on before I left.”
Mom sighed with relief.
“Sister Jones was right,” Zach continued. “The Holy Ghost is real! I followed His prompting and He protected me—just like my helmet.”

I remember my first winter living here in Utah—snow everywhere. Coming from the Sonoran Desert, the first days I was enjoying it, but after a few days I realized that I had to get up earlier to remove the snow from the driveway.
One morning, in the middle of a snowstorm, I was sweating, shoveling snow, and I saw my neighbor opening his garage across the street. He’s older than I am, so I thought if I finished soon, I could help him. So raising my voice, I asked him, “Brother, do you need help?”
He smiled and said, “Thank you, Elder Montoya.” Then he pulled a snowblower out of his garage, started the engine, and in a few minutes he removed all the snow in front of his house. He then crossed the street with his machine and asked me, “Elder, do you need help?”
With a smile I said, “Yes, thank you.”
We are willing to help each other because we love each other, and my brother’s needs become my needs, and mine become his. No matter what language my brother speaks or what country he comes from, we love each other because we are brothers, children of the same Father.

Rosalie Lund began playing the violin when she was five. “I always liked playing. I always wanted to be a great violinist.”

So why would she take 18 months off to serve a mission, especially with such a promising musical future?

It’s a question Sister Lund became familiar with before she left in December of last year to serve in the Canada Vancouver Mission. She was performing for the Ballet West orchestra in Salt Lake City, and many nonmember musicians wondered what she was doing.

“Several of them thought I was crazy to go on a mission, especially in the prime time of my life,” Sister Lund recalls. “They were saying, ‘You’re going to do what?’”

“Knock on a lot of doors and tell people about the beliefs of my religion,” was her typical response. When the musicians talked about her potential and all the great things she could do musically if she stayed, she was quick to point out all the great things she planned to do as a missionary.

Sister Lund had played with numerous orchestras and symphonies, including the BYU Philharmonic and the Utah Symphony, while growing up in Bountiful, Utah. Sure it was the “prime time” of her life. And that’s why she decided to serve a mission.

“I had to do what I felt was right. I have had a very strong feeling that I needed to go on a mission. So here I am,” she says. “But I’m learning and teaching about Jesus Christ. He is the source of everything good. If there is any truth or beauty in music, it comes from Jesus Christ. So in a way I guess I am still continuing my music study.”

Sister Lund remembers her last performance with Ballet West before she entered the Missionary Training Center. Everyone was talking about practice schedules and what was next, something she wasn’t going to be a part of. “I wasn’t very sad, actually. I knew I’d be missing out. But in a way I felt like they were missing out,” she says.

There were also the inevitable questions about the potential loss of skill while she is gone, especially since mission rules prevented her from taking her violin to Canada.

“I’m sure I’ll get rusty. I’ve had many friends—also violinists—who went on missions and they came back and they were rusty. And I guess if the Lord wants me to play the violin, I’ll be able to get back into it.”

“For most of his early life, the only sports Stanley Moleni played were rugby and basketball. But before his junior year of high school, after his family had moved from New Zealand to Hawaii, Stanley discovered football. “I fell in love with it,” he says. It didn’t hurt that he was naturally good at it too.

Coaches were impressed with his size. Stanley is six-feet-two inches tall, and at the time he was a lean 200 pounds.

“I was still learning, but by my senior year I started catching on and the coaches stuck me at outside linebacker. I was still only 205 pounds, and I was missing a lot of plays. I really didn’t know how to play the game that well,” he says.

That didn’t stop college coaches from showing interest in him—especially after he bulked up to 250 pounds. The sport he’d taken up for fun was suddenly his ticket to college. After a lot of thought, he signed a letter of intent to play football for BYU. But instead of enrolling in school immediately after high school graduation in 1994, Stanley moved to Utah and worked to save money for a mission.

“My whole life I was planning on a mission,” says Stanley, now known as Elder Moleni as he serves in the California Ventura Mission. “There was nothing that was going to stop me from coming on a mission.”

And that included the glamour of playing big-time college football.

Says Elder Moleni, “One of our investigators said that he really admired us because he knew we really believed in what we were teaching. When he said he admired me for coming on a mission and leaving my scholarship behind, it felt really good.”

And now just three months short of the completion of his mission, Elder Moleni is concentrating on the work at hand. Soon enough, he’ll be a college student and an outside linebacker.

“I’ll be behind physically. I know that,” he says about football. “But I see a parallel between my not knowing how to play football and missionary work. Through hard work and sacrifice I became better at football. And through hard work and faith in the Lord, I’ve had a successful mission.”

When Ashley Rabon told his parents that he was going out “with a Mormon girl,” he assured them he wasn’t going “to join.” But after the wheels were set in motion and Ashley, who was at college at Appalachian State in Boone, North Carolina, at the time, began taking the missionary discussions, that plan changed.

“After the missionaries committed me to baptism during the second discussion, I called home and told [my parents] I was going to get baptized,” says Ashley. “They weren’t too thrilled with the idea.”

A year later, when Ashley started to feel he should serve a mission, things with his family really got tough. “They were not happy about it at all. I told my dad, and my dad was probably angrier than I had ever seen him in my life,” says Ashley, who is currently serving in the Utah Salt Lake City Mission. “My mom begged and begged me every day not to do this.”

But Elder Rabon was ready to serve. “Every time I had a dispute with my parents, especially with my father, the first thing I would do was go to my room and pray that the Lord would soften their hearts,” he says.

For a while, the contention remained. “I have the most wonderful family you’ll ever meet. But every time I told my parents I was going on a mission, there was an instant waterfall (tears) from my mom and my dad went straight to fury. I just knew that everybody has their things they have to go through to go on a mission.”

Although his mission call had already come, and although Elder Rabon was committed to serving, it didn’t make it any easier with his nonmember parents. “It was really difficult. I was just thinking about how my family was going to be while I was gone,” he adds.

Then, when it seemed that he’d end up leaving without his parents’ support, they suddenly reversed their stand. Elder Rabon describes the day before he went into the MTC: “My dad comes home from work, and he’s walking down the hall toward me with tears just running down his face. He puts his arm around me and says, ‘What can I do to help you?’”

Elder Rabon’s father went on to detail how much he was going to miss him and how he was having a hard time dealing with his son’s imminent departure. Hearts had been softened. “Since I’ve been [a missionary], I’ve received very spiritual letters from my family that I didn’t expect,” he says.

As Elder Rabon makes his way around his area on the east side of Salt Lake City with his companion, he says he’s still amazed that he’s actually a missionary. Three years ago he knew next to nothing about the Church. And today he’s teaching the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. “I know if you have faith in the Lord and you do what he asks you to do, he’s always going to see you through. This is where the Lord has really blessed me.”

As a youth I had many opportunities to perform baptisms for the dead in the San Diego California Temple. Though I always had a good experience, one trip in particular stands out in my mind.
I was 16, and my little sister had just turned 12 and was making her first trip to do baptisms for the dead. Since it was her first time, we decided to walk around the outside of the temple after we finished.
The temple grounds have a couple of lookout points on one side, so we walked over there. Because the San Diego Temple is situated next to a busy highway, when you stand at a lookout point, you actually look down at the freeway.
Standing on the temple’s higher ground that day gave me a new perspective on life. I was looking down at the world with its whizzing cars, crowded shopping centers, and graffiti-covered road signs.
It was then that the thought came to my mind: “You don’t want to be a part of that; it’s not what life is about.” I had always been taught that the purpose of life is to return to live with our Heavenly Father and become like Him. I knew I didn’t need the things of the world to accomplish that purpose.
I turned around and looked at the beautiful temple, and I was grateful for the knowledge of the gospel and the perspective it gave me. I knew that in the midst of the chaotic and treacherous world, I had found higher ground to stand on.
That day at the temple I promised my Heavenly Father that I would always stand on His side and not the world’s. No matter what the world throws at us, we can overcome it by keeping the covenants we have made and by standing in holy places (see D&C 87:8).

While serving as full-time missionaries in Chile, my companions and I had several opportunities to give priesthood blessings. On one occasion, after pronouncing a blessing on a single mother suffering from cancer, we expressed our appreciation for the opportunity of blessing her. Her response surprised us. She exclaimed, “Elders, you are the real blessing.” She continued, “Having worthy priesthood men in my home is the greatest blessing of all.”
As we thought about her comments, we recognized that God really does bless His children through righteous priesthood holders. If we hadn’t been there, ready to fulfill our priesthood duty, she could not have received the blessing we provided. We learned that fulfilling our duty to God meant living worthy to bless and serve others.

After I had children of my own, I realized how much the Savior loves children. I was tucking my son, Tom, into bed one night. I gave him a hug, and he said, “Dad, do you think that when Jesus comes again, I will be a little boy?”
I said, “Well, we don’t know when He’s going to come, so I don’t know if you will or not. Why do you ask?”
“I’ve been thinking about the stories I’ve heard in Primary about how when Jesus was on the earth, He really liked children. He invited the children to come, and He held them. I think I would like that, so I hope I’ll still be a little boy when He comes.”
I gave Tom a hug and said, “I’m really glad that you feel that way about Jesus, Tom, because that’s how I feel about Him, too. And I hope that you don’t have to be a little child for Him to hold you, because I would like that, too.”

I was born in Australia and lived in the community of Byron Bay, located on the eastern seacoast. I remember the great ships that used to sail up the coast of Australia. Very often they would come into port at Byron Bay. During storms, though, the ships would have to put out to sea again to avoid getting smashed against the rocky beaches or wooden piers.
When I was about seven or eight years old, I had an experience that had a tremendous impact on me. My father came bursting into the house very late one night. Outside, there was a blinding rainstorm, and a large ship—one of the largest to sail along the coast—was struggling to get out to the open sea. Its crew members had been celebrating in town and had delayed returning to the ship to prepare it properly for sailing. As a result, the coal-burning vessel didn’t have enough steam to sail out of port and away from danger.
My parents bundled my brother, sister, and me up in our oilskin coats, and we went down to the harbor to watch the crew frantically trying to sail to safety. The sea was rough. The waves were high. Hundreds of townspeople roused from their beds had gathered on the shore to watch and pray that the ship would make it.
I remember that the ship was all alight as it tossed on the waves. We knew that dozens of crew members were in the hold, shoveling coal into the engine’s furnaces, attempting to get up enough steam to sail to safety. It was an awesome and frightening sight to a little boy.
Suddenly a cheer burst from the crowd. The ship was obviously clear of the pier, and we watched as her bow turned seaward. It looked as though she would make it to the open sea. She went for a short distance; then, because she didn’t have sufficient steam, she lost the struggle. The waves beat too heavily against her, and that great ship swung around, raced straight up onto the beach, and splintered against the rocks. She never sailed again.
I’ve never forgotten that night. It’s as vivid in my memory today as it was when it happened so many years ago. I believe that I am a General Authority today because of the lesson that I learned that night—to prepare myself so that I can head in the proper direction with sufficient strength.

I hope a personal example will help you as you do the spiritually invigorating work to learn for yourself what it means to be endowed with God’s power.
One day I received a text message from my daughter-in-law Amy: “Say a prayer for Dottie.”
My granddaughter Dottie hadn’t slept the night before. Amy had been up all night with her and said that Dottie was feverish. Amy gave her some medicine, but Dottie was still hot and restless. And my son Connor was traveling for work and not scheduled to be home for another two days.
When morning finally arrived, Amy found Dottie’s lips blue. Her hands were likewise blue and cold to the touch. Amy immediately had the impression, “Get Dottie to the pediatrician.” She heeded that prompting, called the pediatrician’s office, and was assured they would get Dottie right in.
Fortunately, the pediatrician’s office is across the street from my mom’s house. Amy felt impressed to drive by my mom’s house. My mother was working in her yard and happy to take Dottie’s four-year-old sister, Goldie, while Amy took Dottie to the pediatrician. It was an answer to Amy’s concern about needing to keep track of Goldie and attend to Dottie at the same time.
The pediatrician found that Dottie had pneumonia, likely from aspirating some bath water a few days earlier. Dottie was treated with antibiotics and spent the rest of the day in her mother’s arms, elevated to open her airways and ease her breathing.
I offered to pick up some dinner on my way home. And Amy let me, for which I was grateful. I wondered how Amy had managed after a sleepless night, the stress of having a sick toddler, and the need to attend to Goldie.
I walked in their home with the sack of take-out food and found Amy and the girls peaceful. There was a spring in Amy’s step and light in her countenance. She was calm, even facing another night alone with sick Dottie. She wasn’t afraid. She was confident. It was a peace that defied understanding. I just wanted to sit in the moment and soak it in.
Amy strives to keep her covenants with God and is blessed by His strengthening power. The Spirit had prompted her to take the actions she did to care for Dottie. And the Lord’s power enhanced her capacity to address her family’s needs in patience and love and with a calm reassurance that all would be well.

“I had carried with me a Russian Book of Mormon through the entire tour, and by Saturday—the last day of the tour—I had not handed it out. I wondered why I had not given it away earlier,” said Wilma S. Livsey. “As I went to breakfast in our St. Petersburg hotel, up the stairs came one of our Russian guides—a beautiful young woman. She asked if I was ready to go. I said, ‘No, I have to find a place for my Book of Mormon.’ I showed it to her. She said she would like it. Surprised, I said, ‘No, this book is for someone very special. It must be. I have carried it all over eastern Europe waiting for the right person to give it to.’ She again said that she would like the book. ‘But this book must go to someone who will read it. It is Russian.’ Then she said with great intensity, ‘I read Russian. I will read it. I want the book!’ Tears welled up in her eyes as she said, ‘I’d like to start reading it right now.’ I then handed the book to her. I told her that the book was a second witness for Christ—and that the Bible was the first. I told her of the promise in the book of Moroni and told her that if she prayed after she read it, and if she felt the same about it as I did, she was to get in touch with missionaries. I gave her a card with the mission home address on it. Tears came down both our faces as we hugged, and she again said, ‘I want the book. I promise I will read it.’”

The residents of “Condie’s Terrace” were well known to President Harold B. Lee, who presided over the Pioneer Stake during the early Depression years. President Lee took a special interest in Tom Monson. Among other things, he ordained him a high priest and set him apart as a counselor in the bishopric. Later Tom sought Elder Lee’s advice about his status in the Naval Reserve and about a long-sought commission as an ensign he had received. At first he questioned Brother Lee’s advice that he decline the commission and request a discharge from the Naval Reserve. Tom reasoned that while declining the commission presented no problem, his request for discharge might not be granted, given the increased tensions in the Orient. “Have more faith, Brother Monson,” said Elder Lee. “Your future is not with the military.” Tom followed the advice and was released from the Naval Reserve in the last group processed before the outbreak of the Korean War. Elder Monson’s love for Harold B. Lee was reflected in the naming of his first son, Thomas Lee Monson.

I know that the healing power is in the Church and that numerous people are healed or improved or restored through the blessings of the Lord, sometimes with and without the skill of men.

We should do all we can for ourselves first: dieting, resting, taking simple herbs known to be effective, and applying common sense, especially to minor trouble. Then we could send for the elders, the home teachers, the neighbors or friends in whom we have confidence. Frequently this is all that is required, and numerous healings can be effected. In serious cases where the problem is not solved, we turn to our skilled and helpful men who can help so wonderfully. One young woman who was sent to the hospital for serious surgery, and who was very nervous and afraid, stated that when the doctor came to see her the night before the early morning surgery, he indicated he had been to the temple. She relaxed and felt at peace, realizing that she was in the hands of a righteous, skilled man of faith and the Lord was watching.

Yves also found a way to help several of his friends who wanted to share with each other what they were learning in the scriptures. They were attending church and seminary or institute, speaking when assigned and participating in lessons. But they wanted to talk with each other, youth to youth. So once a week they started reading the Book of Mormon together for about half an hour, and they started inviting others, especially some youth who were less active, to join them. Now they’ve been reading together for months, sometimes at one person’s house, sometimes at another’s.
“It started with my friends Larry Roseval, who’s in the Wanica Branch, and Saffira Zeegelaar from my branch. But now there are eight of us,” Yves says. “We read a chapter, talk about it, bear our testimony about it, and share something we learned during the week.”
These scripture readers have also encouraged each other in additional ways. For example, they challenged themselves to make fast Sundays more meaningful by fasting with a purpose. “Last fast Sunday we thought about specific people who are less active and fasted and prayed that they might return to full activity in the Church,” Yves explains.

Paul Cox had no idea the rain forest near the village where he and his family were living in Falealupo, Western Samoa, was about to be destroyed until he heard the roar of bulldozers one morning in 1987.
Villagers had reluctantly sold more than 12,000 hectares of forestland to raise money to build a new school. Building the school was required by the Samoan government; financing it was left up to the village. “The villagers didn’t want to allow the loggers into the forest,” explains Brother Cox, who is on leave from Brigham Young University while he serves concurrently as director of the National Tropical Botanical Garden in Hawaii and as a professor of environmental science in Uppsala, Sweden. “In fact, they had held off the loggers for 10 years. But they had no other way of getting funds for the school. They felt they had to choose between their children and their forest. It was a terrible, terrible decision for them.”1
Many people would feel powerless in such a situation, but in that difficult moment, Brother Cox made a decision. “I offered to raise the money to build the school if the villagers would protect the forest. … I had no idea how we’d get the money.”
But a more immediate challenge than finding the money was getting the villagers to accept his offer. Many of the village chiefs were suspicious of Brother Cox, but High Chief Fuiono Senio trusted him and persuaded the other chiefs to accept Brother Cox’s assistance.
The loggers had already begun clear-cutting the forest when the chiefs gave their agreement. Chief Senio ran several kilometers down the road, machete in hand, and chased the loggers away.
The next day, after talking with his wife and receiving her support, Brother Cox flew to Apia, Samoa’s capital, and signed a mortgage for the amount needed to build the school. Then, he remembers, “I came back to my wife with the good news and the bad news. The good news was that we’d helped save a 12,000-hectare rain forest; the bad news was that we’d have to sell our house and our car and we still might not have enough money.
“I guess it’s at a moment like this that you know your marriage is working because Barbara took my hand and said, ‘Paul, how often in our lifetime will we have a chance to do something so wonderful? What a great thing!’”
Brother and Sister Cox began preparing to sell their Utah home, but soon Brigham Young University students, family members, and community members heard about the cause and raised enough money that the Coxes did not actually have to sell their house and car.
Brother Cox worked out a covenant with the people of Falealupo that protects the forest for 50 years. Villagers can still use the forest as they always have: to gather food, medicinal plants, or materials to build homes and canoes. Loggers or other commercial developers, however, cannot harm the forest in any way.
Brother Cox did not stop after saving Falealupo’s rain forest. In 1997 the international community honored him and Chief Senio for their work in Falealupo with the Goldman Environmental Prize, which has been referred to as the Nobel Prize of environmentalism. Brother Cox used his portion of the prize money to set up a fund that will protect the Falealupo forest permanently, even after the original 50-year preservation covenant runs out.
By 1997 he had also established the Seacology foundation. Seacology works to “save the world one village at a time” by helping other Pacific island villages finance schools, water systems, health-care facilities, and other necessities without having to sell their forests.2
“They’re small projects that we’ve done in little villages,” Brother Cox says, “but they mean a lot to the people who live there. These projects are not changing the whole world, but they’re helping improve the lives of a few people in several villages, and that’s worth my time.
“I hope that when I leave the world, I can leave it just a little bit better than when I came. Let’s face it: the Falealupo forest is a small place. The country of Samoa is a small country, but at least I’ve made a difference there. And I think that’s what it comes down to—each one of us. We can all make a difference in our own way.”