Gospel Story Finder

The next day the girls left their backpacks behind, carrying with them only canteens and crackers and cheese for lunch, and mounted the assault on the peak. As the elevation increased, forests gave way to scattered trees, trees gave place to shrubbery, and finally, there was nothing to climb but barren, broken rock.
“For safety’s sake, we have a system—we keep talking to each other and keep each other aware of where we are,” Sister Visker said. “That way, if loose rocks fall, we’re able to give warning and get out of the way.”
“It was hard climbing,” said 16-year-old RaLene Neal. “Sometimes we were on our hands and knees.”
“But we had our fun, too,” 17-year-old Shelly Michelsen wrote in her journal. “We took turns sliding down a glacier and had a super time. Then we pushed on along the ridge until we reached our goal. I sat down as close to the edge as I dared and, like the others, looked in all directions. A cool breeze was blowing around my hot face, but I felt calm and restful. We were so filled with the beauty of our surroundings—the rippling lakes, the pine forests, mountains in all directions, even out into Wyoming. I felt very in tune with my Father. I thought of how he must have felt when he looked over all he created and saw that it was good.”
“One of the men in the ward told us before we left that it couldn’t be done, that we couldn’t climb to the top of Mount Watson,” Becky Palmer, 15, said. “So when we got there we felt like we had achieved the impossible.”
“I thought,” Shelly continued, “that even though we’re not always up in the mountains, we can still have the same feeling, the same reverence for God’s work. I think life with its hardships is a big mountain, but if we keep at it, there’s a time when we’ll reach the top and look down at what we’ve done, and we’ll know that it’s good, too.”
Maria Lecon, 15, said she was “most impressed with the spirit we felt up there. I knew that the Lo.”
For Edie Coats, 17, it was a time of gratitude. “We just moved here from Virginia, and I was a little bit scared. But the first Sunday, everyone was so friendly to me. They were coming on this trip the next Saturday, and they wanted me along! I think by coming on the trip, I really got to know the girls in my ward.”
Most of the girls kept journals of their experiences and feelings, and there on the mountaintop, the group paused and wrote poems. “I felt like every poem was sort of a journal in itself,” Shelly said, “because it came from the heart and described a special time in our lives.” At a morning meeting the next day, the young ladies read their verses to each other.
Of course, the slide down the snowbanks left a pleasant memory, too. “We used the same garbage sacks we had used before in the rain as ’sleds,’” said Rachel Palmer, 17. “The glacier was less slick at the bottom—it looked steeper than it was. But a couple of times we did have to use our feet for brakes.”
Dinner that night and breakfast the following morning were cooked and served in number 10 cans, the main “pan” carried on the excursion. “We did bring utensils and a skillet or two, but the large cans really helped keep weight in the packs to a minimum,” Sister Visker explained. Around the campfire the girls each shared one positive thing they had learned about someone else since the trip began and also drew names to see who they would be the “wood elf” for. Wood elves do mysterious, anonymous kind deeds for someone else in a camping group.
The next day was to have been spent “puddle jumping” (visiting one lake after another). “But when we got to the first one, Wall Lake,” said Marlene Neal, 15, “we liked it so well that we stayed.” Activities at the lake included cliff diving, fishing, and swimming.
“We had to check it out and make sure it was safe before we started cliff diving,” Marlene explained. “We had to make sure there were no rocks on the bottom and that the water was deep enough. And an adult supervisor trained in lifeguarding and first aid had to be there all the time, too.”
At first, the divers were scaring the fish away, so the swimmers moved to another location. Then one of those fishing scared the fish away! “Sister Visker helped me get a little fake fly way out away from the shore,” Maria said. “As soon as it landed in the water, a big fish came along. It scared me, so I threw a rock at it.”
Marlene also had her problems fishing: “I’d hook the grass at the bottom and all my lures and sinkers would get torn off. But it was still fun.”
The various activities of the day left the girls tired, but not too worn out to express their feelings during a testimony meeting. They read their favorite scriptures to each other, spoke again of their love for nature, for the gospel, and for the Lord, and talked about the lessons they had learned on their trip: lessons of perseverance, sacrifice, relaxation, and sharing the load.
“It’s unbelievable the feeling you get on top of a mountain,” said Sandy Kay, 17. “If you have an open mind and a humble heart, it can really help straighten out your priorities and help you see the reason why we’re here.”
The next morning the girls had loaded up their gear and they were on the trail home. But they weren’t rushing away. Somehow they wanted to linger just a bit longer, savoring the strength of the hills they had learned to love.

Holly loved the towering pine tree in front of her home. Its branches shaded her favorite place to play.
The day of the accident, there were three younger children listening to Holly read under the tree. Suddenly, in her mind, something whispered to her. Holly’s heart started to thump as the command echoed in her head, “Move!” She responded at once. Scrambling to her feet, she shouted to the children to run. She grabbed the smallest one, and the rest followed. The children thought it was a game until they heard a terrible crash.
A driver had lost control of his car and hit the big pine tree where the children had been reading only minutes before. They would have been badly hurt if they hadn’t moved. Some of the children were so frightened that they started to cry. But not Holly. She was thinking about the small voice she had heard in her mind and heart that told her to move. She knew that the warning had come to her from the Holy Ghost. The gift that she had received from Heavenly Father after she had been baptized and confirmed had helped her, just as she had been promised (see Elaine Cannon, Baptized and Confirmed: Your Lifeline to Heaven, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1986, pp. 36–37).

In November 1950 Tumuaki Cowley wrote the history of the New Zealand Mission for his missionaries. He told of a convention that was called for representatives of certain tribes of the Maori race in March 1881. Many problems were discussed at the meeting, but the problem of greatest concern was the need to decide which church the Maoris should join so there would be a unity of religious belief among them.
Those attending the convention could find no answer to this great problem, so it was agreed that the matter should be decided by Paora Potangaroa, the wisest chief and the most learned man they knew. His immediate answer was just one word, “Taihoa” (wait). He wanted three days to think about the problem.
For three days Paora Potangaroa fasted and prayed for direction. Then he went before the people and said, “The church for the Maori people has not yet come among us. It will come soon. You will recognize it when it does, for its missionaries will travel in pairs. They will come from the rising sun. They will visit with us in our homes. They will learn our language and teach us in our own tongue.”
At this time the missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints had not yet taught the Maori people, although a few missionaries had been teaching the gospel to Europeans living in New Zealand.
In that very year, 1881, W. M. Bromley of Springville, Utah, was sent to preside over the New Zealand Mission. Before leaving home, he was told that the time had come for the missionaries to take the gospel to the Maori people.
When Tumuaki Cowley returned to New Zealand as mission president, he adopted the words Kia Ngawari as a slogan for all the Saints there. He had the phrase printed on little signs that could be taken into every home. Each talk Tumuaki Cowley gave ended with these stirring words. There is no exact translation for them in English. Some say the meaning is “be sincere”; others, “be loving and kind.”
Today the Maoris sing a song that has this slogan for a title. It was written in honor of Tumuaki Cowley, and as they sing it they remember him with special love.
Kia Ngawari!

The borrowed white tablecloths and snowmen centerpieces gave the cultural hall a festive look as last-minute preparations were being made for our family Christmas party.
As we waited for our guests, my gaze drifted to a table where an empty jar—labeled “Sub for Santa”—sat. I prayed that by the end of the night, the jar would be full.
During our party preparations we had discovered that my cousin’s husband had been out of work for over a year and a half. Her family’s main source of income consisted of handling five paper routes, which required them to begin each day at 3:30 a.m. The majority of their income went to paying the mortgage and other necessities, leaving little for things they wanted, such as Christmas presents.
My cousin’s family was one of the first to arrive. I watched as they made their way toward the dining tables, past our Christmas jar. As they approached, my cousin’s husband stopped to read the sign on the jar. Without hesitating, he took out his worn wallet, pulled out a couple of dollars, and tossed them in the container, oblivious to who the family “in need” was.
Emotion welled up in my throat, and I instantly recalled the New Testament story of the widow and her two mites. Wealthy men were flaunting their large donations to the treasury when “there came a certain poor widow, and she threw in two mites” (see Mark 12:41–42).
No one would have blamed my cousin’s husband for walking past the jar thinking, “If I had I would give” (Mosiah 4:24). His great example of charity and love for his fellowmen touched not only me but also other members of my family who were watching him. I knew his family would be fine because “charity is the pure love of Christ, … and whoso is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with him” (Moroni 7:47).
We had hoped to give his family something that night, which we did later on, but by giving in the midst of his own time of need, he showed us that when it came to what mattered most, he was already a rich man.

Delphine, a convert from Paris, France, has a difficult family situation, so when the missionaries taught her that families can live together in the celestial kingdom, she wasn’t sure she wanted that. As the missionaries continued to teach her about the three degrees of glory, however, she was comforted. She learned that she will get to be with those she loves who chose to follow the gospel. With a better understanding of the plan of salvation, she said, “I found it much more just, and that reassured me.”

During my last two summers of high school, my parents sent me to work for my uncle in Idaho. He operated Budge’s Golden Sunshine Honey, a family business started by my grandfather.
My father knew what I was in for. He had grown up “working in the bees.” He wanted me to learn how to work as he did. The job was hard, and there were few benefits, except for one: occasionally, my uncle let me ride his motorcycle.
One day, I decided to go for a ride. The blue skies, the bright sun, and the wind blowing through my hair were exhilarating! For a moment, all the long hours of hard work seemed worth it. Suddenly, the motorcycle sputtered to a stop. I had run out of gas in the middle of nowhere! This happened before cell phones, so I was all on my own.
I thought that my uncle would be upset if I abandoned the motorcycle and walked back to town, so I decided to push the motorcycle home. It was well after dark by the time I reached town. The gas station was closed. I was thirsty, hungry, and exhausted.
As I pushed the motorcycle through town, I saw my uncle’s truck parked outside the movie theater. I found him and told him what had happened. His response surprised me.
“How could you run out of gas?” he asked.
He walked out to the motorcycle and flipped a switch. He then turned the key and kicked down the starter. To my surprise, the motor let out a roar!
“How did you do that?” I asked.
“There’s a reserve tank in case you run out of gas,” he said. “All you have to do is flip the switch.”
Embarrassed and humiliated, I rode the motorcycle home.

Father and I are ready to leave in the morning to join the Saints. Uncle Samuel came today all the way from Avery to persuade Father to give up Mormonism. My dearest cousin, Lydia, came with him. I haven’t seen Lydia since Mother’s funeral. Lydia told me that I needn’t go with Father. I could live with her family. She said Father had been deluded and led astray by the Mormons.
I told Lydia that I also believed the Mormon church is the only true church on earth.
She said, “But that Joseph Smith is dead now. Father said he was possessed by devils!”
My heart hurt when I heard those words. “No,” I told her, “Joseph Smith was a prophet just like the prophets in the Bible. I know this is true!”
Lydia stared at me. “I feel sorry for you. I guess we’ll never see each other again.”
Am I going to be without friends for the rest of my life?

Marcus watched the crackling campfire as he listened to his father’s lesson.
“We should all follow Jesus Christ’s example so we can be happy,” Dad said to the family. They were sitting on logs around the fire. “It’s very important for each of us to show charity toward others,” he said.
“What’s charity, Dad?” Marcus asked.
Dad added more wood to the campfire. “Charity is the pure love of Christ,” he explained. “We cannot be saved in the kingdom of God without it.”
Marcus looked confused. Dad looked around at their family and asked, “Can each of you think of an example of charity, to help Marcus better understand what it is?”
Mom turned a marshmallow over the fire on a stick. “When Mrs. Clanton fell and hurt her hip, I helped do chores around her house,” she said.
Tanner told how last week he helped the deacons quorum collect food and clothing for some of the city’s poor and homeless.
Ashley had befriended a neighborhood girl whom other girls ignored.
“Dad helped fix Mr. Johnson’s roof because Mr. Johnson is in a wheelchair,” Mom said.
“Does taking care of Jo-Jo count?” Marcus asked. Jo-Jo was his hamster. “I feed him and change his water and give him a new sock for his bed.” Marcus bit into a toasty marshmallow.
“Any act of kindness or service we do for someone—including Jo-Jo—is charity,” Dad said.
“I want to do stuff for somebody bigger than Jo-Jo, like you and Mom and Tanner and Ashley do,” Marcus said. “But I’m too little, I guess.”
“You don’t have to be big to help someone, do you, Marcus?” Dad asked. “Or to have your prayers answered?”
Marcus smiled. “No.”
“Why don’t you ask Heavenly Father to help you find someone you can help, and when the time is right, you’ll know it.”
“How will I know it?” Marcus asked.
Ashley reached over and wiped a smear of marshmallow from the side of Marcus’s mouth. “You’ll feel it about as deep down inside you as that marshmallow you just ate,” she said.
Later that night, Marcus lay curled up in his sleeping bag. He listened to the tree branches rub against the outside of the tent. “Heavenly Father, please help me find someone I can help,” he prayed. “I’m just a little kid, but Dad said you don’t have to be big to be kind or helpful to others. I help Jo-Jo and my family by being kind and doing my chores, but I want to do something for somebody else. Jesus helped lots of people, and I want to be like Him.”
One Saturday afternoon two weeks later, Marcus worked alongside his mother in their flower garden. He noticed their next-door neighbor sitting alone in her front-porch swing. She looked sad. “Mom, what’s the matter with Mrs. Walton?” Marcus asked.
Mom straightened up from bending over the flowers and looked at their neighbor. “Mr. Walton died almost a year ago, and she misses him very much. Some days are hard for her, and it looks like this is one of those days.”
Marcus stood up and looked at Mrs. Walton across the low hedge that separated the two yards. He felt a feeling deep inside him. It got bigger and warmer just like the campfire did when his father added more wood to it. “Can I pick one of our big yellow flowers and give it to Mrs. Walton?” Marcus asked.
Mom smiled and nodded.
A few moments later Marcus stood in front of Mrs. Walton. She looked surprised. Marcus held out the flower to her. “This is for you,” he said.
She took the flower and then looked at Marcus. He climbed into the swing and sat beside her. He didn’t say anything. He just smiled. Mrs. Walton patted Marcus’s hand, and the two of them sat there together and listened to two red birds singing in her maple tree. Then Mrs. Walton looked at Marcus again. He was still smiling.
“You’ve got miles and miles of smiles,” she said. “Did you know that?” Marcus kept smiling. “Your smiles came at a time when I most needed them. Thank you.”
That night Marcus put clean bark shavings in his hamster’s cage before going to bed. “Jo-Jo, today I worked with Mom in the flower garden, and I helped Mrs. Walton be happy. It made me feel happy too. I don’t have to be big to help others. I can be like Jesus right now.”

I had searched and searched. Ties, shirts, cuff links, watches, pens, books, pictures, records, monogrammed socks—I had been looking for the perfect gift for Grandpa. Grandpa was dying of cancer, and this would probably be his last Christmas with us. I had been thinking for months about what would be the perfect thing to get for him. I wanted to give him something unique that would be just a small symbol of all the love and admiration that I had for him. But nothing that I saw seemed to be a worthy representation of that love.
Soon it was Christmas Eve and I still didn’t have a gift for Grandpa. I went shopping one last time, and once again I came home empty-handed. I started thinking, if Grandpa had this money, what would he do with it? How would he want the money spent? Ever so quietly the answer came. He would give the money to someone less fortunate than himself. So that’s how the money was used.
I got out a Christmas card and proceeded to put all the feelings that I had for Grandpa on paper. Sealing it all in an envelope, I took it downstairs to him. Along with the card, I gave him a big kiss and wished him a Merry Christmas; then, before he could say anything, I ran back up the stairs.
An hour or so later I went downstairs to get something for my mother. Tears were rolling down Grandpa’s cheeks. He drew me close to him and gave me one of those mammoth hugs that only grandpas can give. “That was the best gift you could have given me,” he said.
That was Grandpa’s last Christmas with us. The full impact of that experience did not become apparent to me until later. I slowly became aware that Grandpa had given me some of the most precious gifts that I’ll ever receive. He had helped me understand that the best gift that one can give is a portion of himself. Through example, Grandpa had given me a small portion of himself. He had kindled in me a desire to be like him and in so doing, had given me a more clear knowledge of the glorious personage whom he was striving to be like.

Through obedience we build spiritual strength that sustains us during times of adversity. My friend and counselor Joy F. Evans tells of such a time in her life. She had four young children and was expecting her fifth child. The much-anticipated day of birth arrived—about six weeks early. They had expected to have “a” baby, but they had twins instead—Michael and Amy, premature and very small.

They had already lost one child earlier, and Joy, being a nurse, felt certain those babies were also going to die. She was even afraid that her own lack of faith would contribute to their dying, and she wanted desperately for them to live!

In her words, “I think it was the first time I couldn’t say ‘Thy will be done.’ I just couldn’t say it.”

When her husband went home the second day after the babies’ birth, he prayed, not for the babies, but for his wife, their mother. Then a sweet assurance came to her that everything was all right: whatever happened was the Lord’s will. The babies did die, one after two days, and the other after three; but Joy still had her feeling of peace. She could draw from the wonderful reservoir of strength she had developed by keeping the commandments through the years.

Having the babies dressed appropriately for burial was very important to their mother, but they were so tiny that clothes could not be found small enough to fit them. When the Relief Society president came after the second baby died, she sensed Joy’s disappointment in not being able to dress the babies as she would like. The president went home and sewed busily that night. When she came back the next morning, the day of the graveside service, she had a darling little white suit for Michael and a dainty little white dress for Amy.

Peace can come to both the giver and the receiver as we follow the promptings of the Spirit to serve one another.

After the completion of his mission, “life was not easy,” says Prince.
“We were still struggling as a family to put meals on the table, but that did not affect my faith in Jesus Christ.”
A former mission friend suggested that he try to move to America to study.
But in order to do that, he needed to secure a study visa. “When I went to apply for my visa the first time it was rejected because I did not have strong enough family ties to prove I would come back to Kenya after my schooling,” he says. “I was determined. I felt this was my opportunity to excel in life and somehow improve life for my family. So, I tried a second time. Again, my application was rejected.”
Undeterred, Prince decided to give it one more go.
On the way to the embassy to submit a third application, he stopped in at his older brother’s office, who had agreed to provide a bank statement to bolster his case.
His older brother asked someone to prepare a drink for Prince, and after a few minutes he was presented with a cup of tea.
“I told my brother, who was not a member, ‘you know I do not take tea.’
“He apologized and laughed and asked the lady to prepare drinking chocolate for me. I responded, ‘Do not worry, just give me the documents and I will rush to the embassy.’
“But,” says Prince, “he insisted.”
Prince waited while the hot chocolate was prepared, drank it, got the document, and left.
He was walking past the Kenya Cinema—only a few meters away from the American embassy—when he heard a blast.
That blast was the sound of gunshots.
“If I had left only three minutes earlier, I would have been caught in the middle of the August 1998 terrorist attack on the US embassy,” says Prince.
“Those extra three minutes waiting for the hot chocolate to be prepared saved my life.”
More than 200 people died in terrorist attacks in East Africa that day, “but I feel I was protected personally because I lived the Word of Wisdom,” says Prince.
“I can testify that if I had thought that drinking tea was a small commandment, I am not sure I would be alive today.”
Prince saw the very real promises contained in section 89 of the Doctrine and Covenants come into play: “And I, the Lord, give unto them a promise, that the destroying angels shall pass by them . . . and not slay them” (verse 21).
In the end, Prince never went to America. He discovered that “the Lord had great plans for me here in Kenya,” he says.

During the Second World War we used to call the men and women in uniform to talk in our stake conferences. In Oakland we called on one of the women. She said, “I work over in San Francisco in the government hospital. One day they brought in a girl for medical treatment. She was a Mormon girl. When they sent her tray up, one of the nurses said, ‘Should we send milk or should we send coffee?’ I spoke up and said, ‘Send milk; she won’t touch coffee.’ ‘Why won’t she touch the coffee?’ asked the other nurse. ‘Because she is a Mormon.’ ‘Ah, don’t kid yourself,’ the girl said. So the tray went up with the coffee on it.”
That first girl was on the spot—not only for herself, but for the Church. She said she almost held her breath until that tray came back for fear that the Mormon girl would let her down. In a few minutes the tray came back. The coffee had not been touched. With it was a note: “Please send me a glass of milk.” That is what it is to be able to live up to your standards. The eyes of the world are upon us.

A year ago I went with President Kimball back to his home in Arizona. And we visited the home where he grew up as a little boy. We climbed the winding stairs up to a bare room. And there the little boy, before he was a deacon, read the Bible by lamplight. We looked out the window from that upstairs room, and we saw the barns out in back where the cows had been. He used to milk nine cows every morning and night, the old-fashioned way. And as he milked the cows he learned the Articles of Faith, he learned the hymns, and he learned the Ten Commandments. He wrote them down on a little card and put them on the ground where he could look as he milked the cows.

And as he did these things, he decided to make up his mind. He was growing up, and he knew there were a lot of things that were good and a lot that were bad. He decided that when someone offered him a cigarette, he would say no. If someone offered him tea or coffee, he would say no. If they suggested that he be immoral, he would say no; to lie or to cheat, he would say no. He made up his mind when he was a little boy, before he was a deacon. He would do as his mother had taught him. He would keep the commandments.

And so as he grew older and the boys all came around and said, “Spencer, will you have a cigarette? Will you have a drink of whiskey? Will you have some coffee?” he didn’t have to stop to think. He didn’t worry about hurting their feelings. He had made up his mind just once to say no, and after that it was easy always to say no to the bad things. And that is how he has lived his life all these years.

Much missionary work will be brought about by the Hong Kong Temple. Family, friends neighbors, and co-workers ask members about the majestic granite building that bears the name of their church.
Indeed, much was accomplished even while the temple was being built. “Initially the construction workers had no concept of this project,” observes Carl Champagnie, assistant project manager. “It was just a job to them. But as the building progressed, we saw the attitude of the workers change. They knew this was a building they could be proud of.”
Hong Kong Mission President John Aki says that a few workers even started investigating the Church, partly as a result of a luncheon for the construction workers hosted by young men and young women from the Hong Kong Kowloon East Stake. “Those men were impressed by the feelings they felt,” President Aki reports. “They knew the temple was a building of importance.”

I used to get upset at church when I was distracted by children making a noise or by people whispering together. One Sunday I prayed fervently to my Heavenly Father that I would be in tune with the speakers and feel the Spirit. I concentrated on what was said, and somehow the usual distractions seemed to disappear. I was so involved with the messages being delivered that I cried even through the closing prayer. I learned an important lesson that day.

Maria Espinoza AlvealChillan Chile Stake

“I had a good time as a youngster,” Elder Glen L. Rudd said. “We had a fine, big shepherd dog. My brothers and I would harness him to our wagon in the summer, and we would let him pull us around the block. In winter we would harness him to a sled, and he would pull us all over the neighborhood. I liked all kinds of sports, especially tennis, and I played basketball as long as I could. Even as a bishop, I played on the ward basketball team.
“When I was growing up, I had a great bishop, Bishop William F. Perschon of the Fourth Ward, one of the oldest wards in Salt Lake City. My twelfth birthday fell on a Sunday, and Bishop Perschon called me to the stand during sacrament meeting and told the congregation that I had been interviewed and was worthy to be ordained a deacon. After I was sustained, he announced, ‘We’d like to ordain him right now.’ He got a chair, and the stake president, who was there, ordained me a deacon in front of the whole ward!
“When I was sixteen, Bishop Perschon called me into his office after Sunday School and talked to me for forty-five minutes. He told me things that I needed to know and convinced me that I should change a few things in my life, such as not playing tennis on Sunday. I needed that talk, and it changed my life.
“He had spent another forty-five minutes that day talking to my friend Arthur Sperry, and ten years later, when I was in that same office as bishop, Arthur was serving as my counselor. He became the bishop when I was released, and he became a mission president and a temple president about the same times that I did. I have counted twenty-nine bishops, eleven mission presidents, and three temple presidents who grew up in the Fourth Ward while Bishop Perschon served there as bishop. Elder Theodore M. Burton, whose life was also influenced positively by Bishop Perschon, grew up in that ward too.”

Mozambique. The name, for some, conjures images of exotic wildlife, lush green vegetation, or white-sand beaches. More likely, it will send the average person scrambling for a map to discover its location in southeast Africa. But for Maria da Conceição, it means home. And thanks to the efforts of members in the Inhamízua Branch and a few missionaries, Maria now has a place in Mozambique to call her own.
Maria is a tiny woman with a gigantic spirit. Abandoned by her husband and oldest daughter, she was left to rear two small children on her own. Crippled by a debilitating disease she has had since birth, Maria struggled to pay the rent each month. In a country that has high unemployment, work and money are nearly impossible to come by. Yet Maria managed to make a meager living and do the best she could.
I was a full-time missionary in Mozambique. When I first met Maria, I was impressed by her positive attitude and zest for life. She worked relentlessly in her machamba (large garden) to provide for two children and herself and to pay rent on a small mud house.
Church members helped by providing food and medical care. Tragically, Maria’s two children died within three weeks of each other due to disease and no access to the right medical facilities. Death and suffering are common in Mozambique.
Serving as the branch president for our tiny branch, I was extremely concerned for Maria. Both the youth and adult members of our isolated branch did everything they could to help Maria. Some worked in the machamba, others offered food, and a few even helped pay the rent; but she needed a permanent answer.
Late one night, while I was pondering and searching for an answer, inspiration came to me in the form of an idea for an ambitious youth project: building a home for Maria. My companion, Elder Bis-Neto, and I proposed our idea to the younger members of the branch, and they jumped at the chance to help build Maria a house. There was little money and a great deal of work to be done, but with many willing hands and a vision of a traditional African mud-and-stick house, a plan took shape, and the youth went to work.
Everyone got down to business immediately. First job: get wood.
A trip into the African jungle to gather wood for building a home is not a job for the fainthearted. The youth and missionaries made many two-hour trips through thick, swampy savannas, endless rice fields, dense overgrown jungles, and waist-deep mud to find the perfect trees with which to build Maria’s house. Using machetes, we hacked down the slender trees and then organized them into bundles for the journey back. Some of the youth used tall wild grass to quickly weave hats to help protect their heads from the rough logs.
The most difficult leg of the journey now began. Carrying a heavy load on our heads, scratching our way through the dense undergrowth, and battling the scorching African sun, we hauled our loads back. As we walked, the youth sang hymns of Zion, with smiles on their faces.
Alves Elídio Eguimane Razão, 18, says, “It was a lot of hard work, and we loved every minute of it!”
The wooden frame went up stick by stick, with care given to ensure a sturdy and lasting structure. Many generous hands constructed the roof by laying down strips of plastic, which were secured with mats of woven weeds. This roof would need to repel the violent storms of the annual rainy season.
From mud walls to mud floors to mud pies, mud was the menu for most building days. Barrel after barrel of rich brown dirt was hauled in and then drenched in water. Dozens of youth and other branch members turned out to help hand mix the mud and cover the frame house. The exterior was done first, followed by the interior walls and partition. After we had packed the walls with several inches of strong, dried mud, the house started to take shape. To jazz up the interior, a special layer of mud was carefully applied to create the floor and solid water-resistant surfaces.
These days were full of hard work, but the atmosphere abounded in good humor and many smiles, not to mention the surprised eyes of the neighbors as they watched missionaries and youth carrying large bundles of sticks and gallons upon gallons of water and slinging handfuls of mud.
Finally the door was hung, a lock installed, and the house was done. After more than 1,000 service hours, given by more than 40 members and a number of missionaries, Maria da Conceição had a beautiful home of her own.

I was visiting Yellowstone National Park with my daughter and her family, and we had spent the day sightseeing. It had been a rainy day, but we were not going to let it get us down. My daughter had been driving for much of that day, but at the end of the night I was prompted that I should be the one to drive back to our lodging.
It wasn’t clear to me why I needed to be the one driving, but I always try to follow promptings of the Holy Ghost when I feel this way. As Joseph Smith taught, “Be careful and not turn away the small still voice; it will teach [you] what to do and where to go.”1
It had become dark, and the rain was coming down hard. Out of nowhere, something appeared in front of my truck. I wasn’t sure what it was, but it was close. I knew we were going to hit it. I realized a piece of the hillside had broken away and fallen in our path. As quickly as I could, I tried swerving around the large boulder, but it was too close and we hit it.
The momentum of the truck pushed us up onto the rock, causing the truck to tilt and go on two wheels. I tried to stop the truck, but the gas pedal was stuck. We continued to rapidly move forward, like a rocket flying down the road on two wheels. In that instance, I realized we were heading toward a guardrail by a cliff that led down into Yellowstone River. I had lost control of the vehicle, and I knew what was on the other side of the railing if we went over it.
In that moment, I said a silent prayer: “Father, please help me save my family!” All of a sudden, the Holy Ghost prompted me to turn off the engine. That would require me to remove one hand from the steering wheel, but it was taking both of my hands to control the truck. I thought, “I can’t let go.” I felt a comforting whisper from the Holy Ghost: “It’s OK. I will help you. Turn off the ignition.” I reached for the ignition switch and removed the key. When the truck started slowing down, I was able to once again steer it so we stayed on the road.
I know it was the prompting of the Holy Ghost that led me to turn off the engine. It was as if angels were holding tightly to the wheel so I could remove my hand to turn off the engine. I know Heavenly Father and the Holy Ghost helped me that night. I am so grateful for the gospel in my life that made it possible for me to be prepared to receive the promptings that guided us to safety.

It took about six months of planning, but the gifts the youth of the Menan Stake, in Idaho, started at their youth conference in June were signed, sealed, and delivered by Christmas.

They made toys and other things for the Deseret Industries to give to needy families at Christmas. They made doll blankets, doll furniture, jump ropes, bags of building blocks, animals and corral fences, wooden puzzles and games, villages painted on canvas, a crib-sized quilt, and one queen-sized quilt.

The youth were excited to have the Christmas spirit last half the year.

Early in 1957, two missionaries knocked on his mother’s door and she invited them in. This was the start of John Douglas Jeffrey’s learning about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. As he and his mother spent time with the missionaries, the Holy Ghost bore witness to him that the Church was true because the missionaries were able to answer all of his questions.
Later, John moved to Townsville, Queensland, where he met more missionaries who continued to teach him, and also his new wife, Lois. In September 1957 they became the first people to join the Church in Townsville. He was baptised in Bluewater Creek just north of Townsville. (Baptisms in creeks or swimming pools were common in the early days of the Church.)
“Learning about the true Church changed my life,” John reflects. “I have wondered what I would have done if my mother said ‘no’ when those missionaries knocked on her door!” With a new gospel perspective, John and Lois saved up to visit the Hamilton New Zealand Temple, where their family was sealed for time and all eternity. “It took us a good while because we had four children and of course we had to take them to be sealed to us!”
John taught at the Townsville Grammar School and witnessed the struggles of a growing small branch. In those days there were few chapels in Australia and members met in homes or in rented halls. After 15 years in Townsville, he received an invitation to teach at the relatively new police academy in Oxley, Brisbane. He had only been at the police academy two years when he was invited to join the Church Educational System as a coordinator in Brisbane.
The first stake in Queensland was organized in 1960 with William E Waters called as the stake president. He was followed by a man from Scotland called William E Proctor. It was during this time that John was called to be the bishop of the Inala Ward. His time as bishop was short because after two years he was called to serve on the high council.
In those days, the geographic area of the stake was huge, covering much of the southeast of Queensland around Brisbane — north to Nambour, south to the Gold Coast, and west to Toowoomba. In 1975, John was called as president of the Brisbane Australia Stake.
President Jeffrey noticed how far some members had to travel to get to church each week, so he took a map and drew an 8 km radius around each congregation. He then worked with Church physical facility authorities in Sydney to create branches in the areas lying within those circles. Those branches met in school halls until they were strong enough to qualify for a chapel. This meant that members didn’t have to drive as far to attend Church meetings. This direction paved the way for the future growth of membership in Queensland.
In 1978, just three years after his call as the Brisbane Stake president, John recommended the stake be divided. He then became the president of the new Brisbane Australia South Stake. Only three years after that, in 1981, another stake was created and called the Brisbane Australia West Stake.
Today there are 12 stakes in the greater Brisbane area.