Gospel Story Finder

In September 2013, a few weeks after I was baptized and confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I was called as a ward missionary. During the interview, my bishop told me, “Brother Achille, your duty is to preach the gospel and defend the truth before the world.” Then he asked, “Achille, are you ready?” I answered, “Yes, but I have a concern.” I told him that I did not have much understanding of missionary lessons and he advised me to make institute a priority.
So I began attending institute and the Old Testament was the course of study. It was my first time to study using the Old Testament Institute of Religion Manual, and it was a great joy.
One day after class, I met with a young brother, a member of the Church who was less active. I asked him why he was no longer coming to Church; he said that because in the Church not everyone is treated equally. Asking why he thought that, he told me that while he had attended institute classes throughout the year, he never received his certificate. I asked him if that was really what weakened his faith.
As I was thinking about what I could tell him regarding his situation, the Spirit prompted me to tell him about two older, remarkable, and courageous sisters: my mother, Hélène Kapinga, (62) and Sister Charlotte Nsamba (56). I told my friend that these women had set wise goals to better learn the gospel by joining with us every year at institute class. (In 2017, it was their fourth year attending institute!)
As I taught this young brother, I compared these two women to the strong women in the Book of Mormon who taught their children to fight against the enemies of their freedom, religion, families, and country. I gave this brother a reference from the Book of Alma, an epistle sent by Helaman to inform Moroni what the two thousand young men had told him about the source of their courage to fight against the Lamanites. These young men always knew that if they trusted in God they would be sustained in all things; and they had been taught by their mothers that if they did not doubt, God would deliver them. “We do not doubt our mothers knew it” (Alma 56:48). Even nowadays our mothers know the importance of the institute.
I also told this young brother that one day I asked my mother what she feels at the end of each year of institute when she does not receive a certificate: “Mom, don’t you feel bad when they don’t award you a certificate?” I told my young friend that I was surprised by her answer when she said, “My son, know that what I receive in these institute of religion classes is more important to me than the certificate.” And then she added, “Some young people come to institute just to get a certificate, but they forget what is important. I would rather lack a certificate than the knowledge of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.” I thanked my mother for her inspired words.
I explained to the young brother that—like the two thousand young warriors told Helaman I have no doubt my mother, Hélène, and Sister Charlotte both know the importance of institute.
Today, my older brother and I are both serving in the mission field. I am serving in the Kinshasa Democratic Republic of the Congo Mission, while my brother is serving in the Mbuji-Mayi Democratic Republic of the Congo Mission.
I testify to you that institute is an inspired program—and has changed my life. I testify to you that because of institute I had the desire to serve a full-time mission, and today I have the courage to defend the truth wherever I find myself. I am not afraid to testify of the Book of Mormon to anyone because I am well prepared; and he who is “prepared . . . shall not fear” (Doctrine and Covenants 38:30).
I know that I am well equipped with knowledge of the truthfulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ acquired in institute. Today I am a missionary, authorized to preach the gospel to the world, and an official representative of Jesus Christ and of his Church because I made institute a priority in my life before going on mission.

President Monson tells the story of a retired executive named Ed who lived the example of a quorum member. On one occasion President Monson was speaking with Ed and asked him, “‘Ed, what are you doing in the Church?’ He replied, ‘I have the best assignment in the ward. My responsibility is to help men who are unemployed find permanent employment. This year I have helped 12 of my brethren who were out of work to obtain good jobs. I have never been happier in my entire life.’” President Monson continues: “Short in stature, ‘Little Ed,’ as we affectionately called him, stood tall that evening as his eyes glistened and his voice quavered. He showed his love by helping those in need. He restored human dignity. He opened doors for those who knew not how to do so themselves.”

My three-year-old granddaughter Eliza went with her family to the open house of the Brigham City Temple in Utah. In one of the rooms of that beautiful temple, she looked around and asked, “Mommy, where is Jesus?” Her mother explained that she would not see Jesus in the temple, but she would be able to feel His presence in her heart. Eliza carefully thought about her mother’s answer. Then she said, “Oh, Jesus is gone helping someone.”
Eliza knew that the temple is the house of the Lord, but she also understood that Jesus has a body and can only be in one place at a time. If He was not at His house, she knew that He must be in another place. And she knew that He would be somewhere doing good for His Father’s children.
Spirit: another name for the Holy Ghost
The Spirit revealed to her mind and heart the comfort all of us need. Jesus Christ lives. He knows us, watches over us, and cares for us. In moments of pain, loneliness, or confusion, we do not need to see Jesus Christ to know that He is aware of us. His mission is to bless us.

Jimmie has stuck with Highland dancing even though it took a back seat to soccer for a while. Now he’s working on qualifying as a dance instructor. He could have qualified four years ago, but changing teachers twice slowed him down. Of course, he has learned a wide variety of styles by having three different teachers.
Jimmie still competes with his band, which has won most of the competitions around, but he has given up dance competitions for a while. “My main aim is to become a qualified dancing teacher,” he says.

I recently met a young woman whose family stopped attending church when she was young. When they moved to a new place, this young woman started going to church again. Then she brought her brother back, and eventually her parents also returned to the Church. This was only possible because she spent time with her family. They worked together, went to movies together, and had dinnertime discussions. Her parents knew her friends and knew that she was going back to church. Her parents were engaged with her in good things—they just needed some help from their daughter to return.

Since I could not escape my newfound notoriety, I decided to create opportunities that would add laughter to potentially uncomfortable conversations. I took a chance and dressed up as a nametag-wearing missionary for Halloween (a costume holiday celebrated in October). I knew this was a risky endeavor as I could be completely ridiculed, but I had a feeling that doing so would show that I was sure of my beliefs.

The risk paid off. Walking around campus as a missionary made everyone smile and sparked lively role-playing sessions. I broke some stereotypes and made some new friends.

When twins James and Jeremy Ruesch were eight months old, their mother, Lisa, hurt her arm and was not able to care for the two energetic babies during the day while her husband was at work. When babysitters volunteered to help out until she healed, James and Jeremy were split up between two tenders. They screamed the entire time they were apart. Once back together, the babies were quiet and content. After that, Lisa never tried to separate her boys. For 19 years they have rarely been apart, and even then for no more than a day.

Another time, Rachel worked with all of the young women as well as the adults in the ward to put together a cookbook. Everyone learned about cooking, shared recipes, and the adults noticed that the youth took an interest in them, too. That prompted her mother to work on a book of her own, what she calls an “heirloom” cookbook. “It includes recipes like my grandma’s recipe for rolls,” Sister Ross explains. “But it includes her photo next to the recipe so you get a feeling for her as a person.”

“My parents taught me Christian principles, and we read from the Bible together as a family, but I resisted attending their church. I tried to fill the emptiness I felt inside with the works of great philosophers. But that emptiness wasn’t filled until my sister introduced me to the missionaries. The gospel of Jesus Christ broke down the wall I had created between myself and God. As our entire family learned about the gospel and decided to be baptized, I came to understand in my heart that I had always hidden there the solid moral and spiritual principles that my parents had taught me. When I opened my heart, I was able to appreciate what my parents had always tried to teach me.”
Corrado Campisi,Alessandria Branch,Vercelli Italy District

Joseph Smith’s life was an example of unselfish sacrifice for the gospel of Jesus Christ. Though the Prophet Joseph suffered greatly, he remained optimistic and overcame many persecutions. Parley P. Pratt tells of a heartrending experience of being with the Prophet in jail in Missouri in the winter of 1838–39. Those six months of suffering and confinement tutored this foreordained, preeminent Prophet.
In the jail the Prophet and his brethren had listened to the boasting and the despicable abuses the guards had committed among the “Mormons.” Finally the Prophet could abide their sordid cursing no longer. Suddenly, he stood and in “a voice of thunder” said: “ ‘SILENCE, ye fiends of the infernal pit. In the name of Jesus Christ I rebuke you, and command you to be still. …’
“He stood erect in terrible majesty. Chained, and without a weapon; calm, unruffled and dignified as an angel. … [The quaking guards shrank] into a corner,” dropped their weapons, “begged his pardon, and remained quiet till a change of guards.”
Brother Pratt writes further: “I have seen the ministers of justice, clothed in magisterial robes … ; I have witnessed a Congress in solemn session … ; I have tried to conceive of kings, of royal courts, of thrones and crowns … ; but dignity and majesty have I seen but once, as it stood in chains, at midnight, in a dungeon in an obscure village of Missouri.”

When you think about being fashionably dressed, you probably think about exotic places—places like Milan, London, Paris, and New York. Or, if you’re not into high fashion, you might think about places a little closer to home. Perhaps the local shopping mall or discount store are the first places that pop into your mind when you need new clothes.
But it’s probably pretty safe to say that no matter who you are, when you think about new clothes, Slidell, Louisiana, doesn’t figure into your thoughts.
Unless, of course, Slidell is where you live.
Some of the youth in Slidell were having a difficult time keeping the standard of wearing modest clothing. And while it’s true that modesty can be a challenge no matter where you live, in Slidell it can be particularly difficult.
“It gets very hot here,” says Kelly Skinner. “Even when you know your standards, it can be a temptation to wear immodest clothing.”
And it’s not just the weather that makes it difficult.
“Most of us go to school with just one or two other members,” says Kristen Davis. “Sometimes you feel like you’re the only one who is trying to be modest. It can make you feel kind of weird.”
Many of the youth in Slidell were wearing modest clothing despite the challenges. But with fashion trends leaning toward short, sleeveless, or otherwise inappropriate styles, the Slidell Louisiana Stake youth committee decided to take action.
“We tried to find a way to make modest dressing fun,” says Kristen.
As the youth committee met together to find a solution to the problem of immodest and inappropriate dress, they talked about why the youth in their stake might choose clothing that isn’t in keeping with Church standards.
“First, we decided that part of the problem is that to find modest clothing, you have to work a little harder,” says Kristen, who serves on the youth committee. “In most stores, there will be lots of immodest choices and only a few modest ones.”
But the youth committee knew there were ways to dress well without compromising standards. After all, most of them were doing it successfully—their closets were full of good examples. And what better way to demonstrate good fashion sense than by putting on a fashion show?
“None of us who are participating as models went out and bought new clothes,” says Shawna Windom. “We all just went to our closets and pulled out things that we wear all the time.”
But the fashion show was only part of the answer to this problem.
“It can be really hard to keep your standards when you feel as if you’re the only one doing it,” says Aaron Martin, another youth committee member. “We wanted to somehow create a feeling of unity so that when the people from our stake are at school, they’ll remember that they’re not living the standards all by themselves.”
So Aaron talked with other youth in his ward, and he and his friend Jacob Snell read For the Strength of Youth. Then he and Jacob wrote a contract of sorts; those who signed it would agree to live the dress standards they outlined.
“Some guys think that modesty is only a standard for girls to keep,” says Jacob. “But how you dress sends messages to other people, and that’s true for boys and girls. It shows other people that you respect them, as well as yourself, when you dress appropriately.”
The night of the fashion show, the runway is ready, the refreshments are waiting, and there is a bit of chaos in the dressing rooms. With youth modeling everything from jeans to prom dresses and tuxedos, it’s hard to navigate the hallways. But even with all the excitement, it’s easy to see that the youth are not only modestly dressed but fashionably dressed as well.
Homemade New Era posters, touting the benefits of dressing modestly and appropriately, line the cultural hall walls. The lights dim slightly, and the music begins to play. Boys model clothing suitable for hiking—shorts that reach the knees and heavy boots—as well as appropriate attire for passing the sacrament. Girls wear everything from jeans and sneakers to dresses for the spring formal.
When the show ends, everyone has a chance to sign the modesty agreement. As a reminder of the promise they’ve made, everyone receives a CTR ring. Throughout the year, the agreement will be displayed at stake dances and other events to remind the youth of what they’ve agreed to.
“Being in this program has made me think a little differently about making clothing choices,” says Krystina Quist. “I think I’m more careful about what I choose when I’m in the store now.”
Many of the young men also felt that the fashion show was a worthwhile effort.
“I’m glad we did this activity,” says Bradley Hogan. “I feel good when I follow the standards, and I’m glad this might help other people do it too.”
For most of the youth in Slidell, the fashion show and modesty agreement won’t mean a huge change. Perhaps just a few items of clothing will be thrown out or forgotten, and maybe a little more thought will go into clothing selection. But for the most part, this lesson was just an enhancement for an already great group of youth.
“The kids at school know who we are,” says Shawna. “They watch what we do, and dressing modestly just makes us seem like a class act.”
So from now on, when you seek fashion inspiration, you might look a little further than pictures of runway models wearing the creations of fancy designers. Think about a youth group in Louisiana helping each other stay strong. Then think about yourself and the clothes hanging in your closet. They may not be high fashion, but if they are in keeping with high standards, it will be just the kind of style you want.

My name is Mardi Datakasi, I’m 16 years old, and I go to Mt. Barker High, where I’m in year 11 and study maths, (Australians use the plural), English, chemistry, modern history, geography, drama, Australian studies, and biology.
I am currently the state champion and third in Australia for BMX (bicycle motocross) racing. I just returned from Holland after competing in IBF championships, where I came in sixth. This was a great experience and an opportunity to meet people from other countries, as there were 32 countries competing.
My day is very long. I get up at 5:30 A.M. to arrive at the chapel for seminary at 6:15. That’s a 20-kilometer trip. We finish at about 7:10. I eat breakfast, then go to the local fitness center and do my morning training for BMX, which includes weights and swimming. At 8:30 I leave there and walk to school. After school I train on my bike and do my homework. Every Monday and Thursday night I work at the Meadows take-away (fast-food restaurant) and get home about 10:30 P.M.
On weekends I race BMX bikes and go to church. I have just completed my third year of seminary and am a Laurel.

When I was 17, some family members and I had to drive from Oakland, California to Portland, Oregon to find and rescue a stolen vehicle and a lost baby niece. The trip was scary and stressful, but we were hopeful and prayerful.
Through several tender mercies from a loving Heavenly Father, we were able to rescue both the minivan and my baby niece, who, by a miracle, was safe and sound.
The minivan was in working condition, but it was a mess. I was more than excited to clean it out, to prepare it for our drive back, but thoughts of those who had abused our vehicle—and the kind of chaotic life they must lead—brought me to frustrated tears. It was hard for me to understand how anyone can do such crazy things with their lives and with other people’s property. It made me so sad.
I couldn’t wait to get back to California. I knew we had a long drive ahead of us.

Our friend Zuleika comes from Alegrete, Brazil. Although her family was not religious, at age 12, Zuleika began to read the Bible and visit local churches, searching to know more about God. With her parents’ reluctant permission, she studied with the missionaries, gained a testimony, and was baptized. Zuleika told me: “During the discussions, I was shown a picture of the Salt Lake Temple and told about the sealing ordinances. From that moment, I had the desire of one day entering into the house of the Lord and having an eternal family.”

Although the hurricane was frightening when they were in the middle of it, most of the youth of Charleston learned something unique about themselves. They discovered that material possessions didn’t mean as much as they thought. Christina said, “When my dad went out to see if our house was still there, I thought, ‘It doesn’t matter because I know my whole family is all right.’ We would be glad if the house was okay, but if it wasn’t, we were still okay.”

The door burst open. Cold winter air rushed into the hall with Billy. Mike, his older brother, crowded in behind, followed by Mom and Dad.
“Grandma! We’re here for dinner!” Billy shouted. He hurried into the kitchen, smelling spicy pumpkin pie, roasted turkey, and sage dressing.
Grandma smiled. “It’ll take a while to get dinner on the table, boys,” she said. “You’ll find crayons and paper on the hall table. How about a picture?”
At the table, Mike began coloring, but Billy peered into the living room. It was full of porcelain figurines, an old sugar bowl, and other treasures. Grandma called them heirlooms. Each had its own pioneer story.
Billy’s gaze fastened on a small mirror on a shelf. Billy loved the mirror most because its story was his favorite.
It had come across the plains with Great-Great-Great-Great Grandma in a covered wagon. She was a little girl then—Billy’s age now. At the end of long days, she cried because her feet hurt from walking and her face hurt from sunburn. Sometimes she saw Indians and was frightened.
The girl’s mother would hand her the little mirror. “Look at yourself in the mirror,” she would say gently. “Heavenly Father will take care of His child.” And the little girl would be comforted, say her prayers, and go to sleep.
Billy turned away from the living room and was reaching for a red crayon when the big oval mirror at the end of the hall caught his eye. He forgot about the crayon, walked to the mirror, and stretched as tall as he could.
“What are you doing?” Mike asked.
“Trying to see a child of God.”
“Too short, huh?” Mike said. Under the mirror, a low shelf held Grandma’s prized Boston fern. “I’ll give you a boost up to the shelf.”
With Mike’s arms around him, Billy kicked his feet in search of the shelf. He found the shelf, but knocked the fern to the floor. Black dirt spilled all over the carpet. The fern was smashed and broken, its bare roots sticking into the air.
Suddenly the shelf gave way. Billy bumped heads with Mike as he fell, then landed facedown in the dirt.
“What will we do?” Billy whispered, pushing himself up.
“Sometimes the cat gets on the shelf,” Mike said. “Maybe Grandma will think the cat did it.”
“But it wouldn’t be the truth,” Billy said. “We did it, so we should tell.”
“OK, but let’s wait until after dinner.”
“Wash up and come to dinner, boys,” Mom called.
When the two boys sat down at the table, Grandpa said the blessing. Everybody started to eat, but the food tasted like rubber in Billy’s mouth.
“Is something wrong?” Dad asked.
“I don’t like peas very much,” Billy mumbled.
Dad frowned. “How did you get the bump on your forehead?”
“Excuse me,” Billy mumbled, and fled to the bathroom.
Mom and Dad followed him. “Are you sick?” Mom asked.
Billy shook his head. “I stood on Grandma’s shelf. It broke. When I fell, Mike and I bumped heads. I just wanted to see a child of God in the big mirror.” Billy’s chest heaved. “Grandma’s fern is ruined. I feel awful—not at all like a child of God.”
“I helped him get on the shelf,” Mike said in a soft voice from behind Mom and Dad. “We didn’t know it would break. I don’t feel like a child of God either.”
“We thought maybe you’d think the cat did it,” Billy said. “We decided to tell the truth after dinner.”
“Well, now,” Grandma said, joining them. “No matter what you do, you are always a child of God. But I’m glad that you chose to tell the truth.”
Grandpa looked at the bent brackets that had held the shelf to the wall. “I reckon this can be fixed,” he said. “Grandma’s fern can be repotted. It looks pretty bedraggled, but it’ll likely grow out again.”
Grandma put the broken fern into the pot. “Even if it doesn’t grow, I can get a new plant,” she said. “But I could never replace these two children of God.”
“Look,” Dad said, holding Billy up to the mirror. “See the child who was tempted to blame the cat, but didn’t? How about giving him a smile?”
Billy managed a weak smile.
Back at the table, Billy noticed that everything—even the peas—now tasted delicious.
After dinner, Billy held the little mirror as Grandma told the story of how it had comforted the girl who was his long-ago grandma.
When the story was finished, all of them took a turn telling something each was thankful for. Billy looked into the little mirror and said, “I’m thankful to be a child of God.”

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

President Hinckley’s grandfather, Ira Nathanial Hinckley, lost his parents and was sent from Michigan to Springfield, Illinois, to live with his grandparents. As a teenager he walked to Nauvoo, Illinois, and met the Prophet Joseph Smith.
He traveled westward with the pioneers. During the U.S. Civil War he volunteered for service in the Union army guarding the transcontinental telegraph line. Later he was sent by Brigham Young to Cove Creek, Utah, where he built the fort that stands today.
On the trek west, Ira Hinckley stayed back for one season to plow the prairies and plant grain that he would not harvest. The harvest belonged to those who came afterward. The forebearers of Brother and Sister Hinckley planted fields of faith for those who followed them.

A story about a newly married couple in South America has touched my heart. They lived thousands of miles from a temple. Their income was meager, but their faith was great.

They promised the Lord and each other to first pay a full tithe out of their income. Then they would spend modestly for a small apartment without any furniture, not even a chair or table. What was left over, after their food expenses, went into a temple travel fund.

Over a year went by. They kept their tithing promise to the Lord and their objective to go to the temple. The young man’s brother, a nonmember, watched their humble faithfulness. One day, like a ministering angel, he came with two airplane tickets so they could fulfill their dreams and go to their beloved temple.

They went to the temple and were sealed. And another great blessing came to them when their brother was baptized. He gained a testimony from their example and his own sacrifice. His sacrifice for others opened the door of salvation to his soul.

One who received and welcomed the gift of peace was Joseph Millett, an early missionary to the Maritime Provinces of Canada, who learned while there and in his later experiences in life of the need to rely on heavenly help. An experience which he recalled in his journal is a beautiful illustration of simple yet profound faith:
“One of my children came in and said that Brother Newton Hall’s folks was out of bread, had none that day.
“I divided our flour in a sack to send up to Brother Hall. Just then Brother Hall came.
“Says I, ‘Brother Hall, are you out of flour?’
“‘Brother Millett, we have none.’
“‘Well, Brother Hall, there is some in that sack. I have divided and was going to send it to you. Your children told mine that you was out.’
“Brother Hall began to cry. He said he had tried others, but could not get any. He went to the cedars and prayed to the Lord, and the Lord told him to go to Joseph Millett.
“‘Well Brother Hall, you needn’t bring this back. If the Lord sent you for it you don’t owe me for it.’
“You can’t tell me how good it made me feel to know that the Lord knew there was such a person as Joseph Millett.”
Prayer brought the gift of peace to Newton Hall and to Joseph Millett.