Gospel Story Finder

Nearly a century ago, a family from Oregon was vacationing in Indiana—over 2,000 miles (3,200 km) away—when they lost their beloved dog, Bobbie. The frantic family searched for the dog everywhere but to no avail. Bobbie could not be found.
Heartbroken, they made the trip home, each mile taking them farther away from their cherished pet.
Six months later, the family was stunned to find Bobbie on their doorstep in Oregon. “Mangy, scrawny, feet worn to the bone—[he] appeared to have walked the entire distance … by himself.”1 Bobbie’s story captured the imagination of people across the United States, and he became known as Bobbie the Wonder Dog.

Casey wiped the inside of the bus window, trying to see the frozen world outside through the blinding snow.
“It’s coming down really hard,” Andy remarked beside him.
“Looks like a blizzard!” Casey exclaimed.
“Won’t our moms be surprised at our getting home from school at noon!” Andy chortled.
“I’m going to play video games all afternoon!” Casey announced.
“Lucky you!”
“Ask your mom if you can come over.”
Andy beamed. “OK! If she says no, I’ll call you and moan over the phone.”
Casey chuckled. “Don’t call till after lunch!” He licked his lips. “Mom fixes the best grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato soup and a glass of cold milk! It sure beats our cafeteria food.”
“It sure does. Here’s my stop—I’ll call you.” Andy hurried to the front of the school bus to get off.
After Casey got off the bus, he scurried along the lane toward his house. As the snow piled higher, his house seemed farther than ever from the road. It sure will be good to get inside! he thought as he reached the door.
“Mom?” He hung up his cap and coat. “School let out early! I’m home! Mom?” He went into the kitchen and circled into the living room. No Mom. He ran into the laundry room and looked for her. Where was she? He was home—cold and hungry!
He looked out the window and toward the garage. The doors were closed, so he knew she hadn’t gone anywhere in the car.
He raced up the stairs two at a time. “Mom?” he shouted as he ran to his parents’ bedroom door. Then he stopped abruptly. “Mom?”
He tiptoed to the bed. She was covered with a quilt pulled high around her chin. “Mom?” Gently he touched her shoulder.
Her red-rimmed eyes barely opened. Casey touched her forehead lightly—it was hot! “Mom, you’re burning up! Should I call Dad … or Grandma?”
Her eyelids closed, then reopened. “Water, honey—a glass of cold water,” she said weakly. “With ice.”
Casey hurried downstairs to the kitchen. “Pitcher, pitcher,” he muttered. “Where’s the pitcher?”
He found the pitcher on the shelf beneath the breakfast counter. Quickly he filled it with ice and water and started back toward the stairs. Then he spun around and returned for a glass and a straw.
“Mom.” Casey slid a hand under her head. “Here’s your water.” He lifted her head and put the straw between her lips. “Drink, Mom—it’s ice water.”
She sipped the water, and Casey felt her skin burn beneath his touch.
“I’m calling Dr. Marshall!” he announced.
“I talked to him, honey. He said it’s just the flu.”
Just the flu? She looked awfully sick! “What’d he say you should do?”
“Just take aspirin, drink liquids, and get plenty of rest.”
“Aspirin—did you take some aspirin?”
She nodded, smiled, and closed her eyes.
Casey held her hand for a long minute. Coming home from school, he had only thought of himself. Now he was concerned about her.
Quietly he tiptoed from the room. The phone rang, and he grabbed it right away so it wouldn’t disturb her. “Colby residence,” he whispered with his hand cupped around the mouthpiece.
“Casey?” Dad replied. “What are you doing home, Son?”
“School let out early because of the snow, Dad, but Mom’s sick! She’s in bed, and I gave her some ice water. Can you come home early?”
“I talked to your mother and Dr. Marshall this morning, Casey. He told her to go right to bed and stay there. I’ll stop at the pharmacy on my way home and pick up some things that may make her feel more comfortable, but the doctor said the flu simply has to run its course. I’ll try to get home early, Son, but with the roads as they are, I doubt that I’ll get there much sooner than my usual time. Is everything else OK?”
“Yeah, but I don’t like it that Mom’s sick.”
“She probably got it nursing us a couple weeks ago.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“If you need me, call. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
Casey ate a sandwich and drank some milk, then went back upstairs to check on Mom. Gently he put a damp cloth on her forehead. He felt the heat pouring out of her, and he suddenly felt awful. What if something happened to her? What would he and Dad do without Mom? She was always there for them. Please, Heavenly Father, make Mom better, he prayed silently.
When the phone rang again, her eyelids fluttered.
“I asked Mom, Casey,” Andy said on the other end. “The snow’s let up a little, and she said I could come over.”
Casey sat on the carpet with his back against Mom’s dresser and the phone cupped close to his face. His eyes were on his mother’s sick face.
“Sorry, Andy. Maybe another time. My mom’s sick, and the doctor told her to rest.”
“All your mom’s going to do is sleep, I bet!” Andy said. “Why don’t you come over here?”
Casey thought about how Mom had taken care of him when he was sick. “Thanks, but I’d better stay here. If she needs me, I want to be here. I’d better go now, Andy. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Wait! My mom wants to know if there’s anything she can do.”
“Tell her thanks, but everything is under control.”
“What about dinner?” Andy asked. “Can she send something?”
“Thanks, but I’m going to make waffles for me and Dad.”
“Waffles? When did you learn how to make them?”
“The frozen kind, Andy,” Casey explained. “Anyone can make them.”
“Well, OK. I’ll talk to you later, Case.”
Casey put the phone back on the nightstand. He pulled the quilt higher around Mom’s shoulders so she wouldn’t get a chill. As he tiptoed from the room, he smiled. It felt nice taking care of her for a change.

“Now your parents do remember they have an oldest daughter, right?” asked Susan, the girl I had shared a room with for the past two weeks at a BYU-sponsored summer camp. Her parents came to pick her up right on time. Mine were late.
“Well, they’ve always got seven other kids if they forget,” I laughed as we carried luggage down to her car.
Before Susan left she handed me a package. “Here,” she said. “For some reason, I just felt like you should have this.” Inside was a picture of the Savior.
“Thanks,” I said, not knowing what else to say. I loved the gift, but it seemed like an odd present from a girl who had known me for only two weeks.
I took the picture back to the dorm where I was staying and waited for my parents. They were driving to Utah from Arizona, a 14-hour drive, and had planned to split the trip over two days. Maybe they left later than they had planned.
After several hours, I grew nervous. My parents were often late picking me up, but never this late. As evening drew near, I began to panic. Where were they? I tried my house on the off-chance they were still at home, but the phone rang endlessly. I called my dad’s work and my grandparents’ house. No one had heard from them.
Finally I decided to talk to a camp counselor. “I think something’s happened to my parents,” I said, bursting into tears. After I told the counselor my story, she gave me a hug and pulled out her scriptures. “I don’t know what to tell you, Elyssa, except somehow I think everything will be all right.” She began reading to me from John 14:27, “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”
“You’re welcome to stay and talk with me until they get here, but you seem exhausted. Maybe you should try to sleep,” she said.
A bit calmer, I returned to my room. But as I lay down I was again consumed with worry. I read the verse my counselor had shown me over and over. I looked at the picture of the Savior Susan had given me and imagined Him speaking the words to me. “Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”
I knelt down and asked Heavenly Father to help my parents arrive safely. Immediately I felt calm, and the feeling came over me that everything would be all right. I felt peace. After a few minutes, I fell asleep. I awoke later to a knock on my door.
“Your parents are on the phone. They’re okay,” said the counselor. I picked up the phone. My dad was on the line. “Where have you been?” I asked. “You scared me to death.”
My dad apologized and said they were delayed and left much later than they had planned. He had called the number I gave him several times, but there was no answer. He said he left four messages, unaware that I didn’t know how to access the dormitory voice mail. And the camp’s main line had been busy until just now.
“We’re in a town just south of you. We’ll be right there,” Dad said. Relieved, I hung up and went back to my room to say a prayer of thanks.
At home I quickly forgot the trauma of the experience, but I will always remember the power of the Savior’s words in John 14:27. Now, whenever I feel scared or like my life’s starting to unravel, I read the scripture I learned as a 14-year-old at summer camp. And feel peace.

“I was excited about going on the Hole-in-the-Rock trip with our stake so I could see for myself the places that have been talked about,” said Cheyenne Johnson. “Walter Joshua and Elizabeth Kinney Stevens, my great-great-grandparents on my father’s side, were newlyweds. That trip was their honeymoon, and I think it must have been more honeymoon than they wanted since it was supposed to last six weeks and it lasted six months.
“Grandpa Stevens drove the first wagon down through the Hole. Also on my mother’s side of the family, great-great-grandparents Benjamin and Sarah Perkins were on that trip. Grandpa Perkins and his brother Hyrum had been miners in Wales and they were responsible for blasting out some of the places where they needed to build roadways down through the Hole. One place known as ‘Uncle Ben’s Dugway,’ was named after Grandpa Perkins. Platte D. Lyman, another great-great-grandfather on my mother’s side, was also on the trip. His wife Adelia stayed in Fillmore to have a baby who was born while the group was at the top of the Hole. He was carried through the Hole-in-the-Rock a few months later. That baby was my great-grandfather, Albert R. Lyman, who later married Mary Ellen Perkins, and they were the first settlers in what is now Blanding. They had 15 children, my grandmother being the 15th. Grandpa always kept a journal and wrote many stories and books. I was anxious to see the country where he had been a cowpuncher and to see his name carved in the rock at Lake Canyon. I felt a special closeness to him there.”

Sofía woke up early. Today was very special. She was going to sell lemonade at her aunt and uncle’s garage sale! Mamá made a huge jug of lemonade for her.
Sofía made a sign. She wrote “Lemonade!” in orange and yellow letters. She taped it to a little table. Then she sat down to wait.
Soon a man came by. “May I have a cup?” he asked. He put some pesos in her jar.
“Sure!” Sofía said. She poured him a cup of lemonade
Little by little, people came to look at the garage sale. And little by little they bought the yummy lemonade. The morning passed happily. Soon all of the lemonade was gone.
Sofía shook her jar. The pesos jingled. She had so many!
“Good job!” Papá said.
Sofía had never had so much money before. “I’m going to buy a yo-yo!”
Papá smiled. “Do you know what Mamá and I do when we earn money?”
Sofía shook her head.
“We pay tithing,” Papá said. “Heavenly Father gave us everything. He asks that we give Him a little part back. We pay tithing because we love Him.”
Sofía smiled. She wanted to show Heavenly Father that she loved Him too.
Papá helped Sofía count her pesos. Whenever she counted to 10, she put one peso in an envelope. Papá helped her write numbers on a little white paper. They put the paper in the envelope with the pesos. Then they sealed it shut. Sofía was going to give it to the bishop tomorrow at church.
“How do you feel?” Papá asked Sofia.
“So happy! And I still have money for a yo-yo.” She felt Heavenly Father was happy with her choice.

My brothers and sisters, how grateful I am to be here with you in this historic Tabernacle today. Seventy-four years ago, my grandfather Lars Peter Oveson stood at this pulpit and bore his testimony as an invited stake president from Emery County, Utah.
Although he died when I was just a boy, my grandfather has always been one of my heroes. I have studied his journal, which recounts over and over again his willingness to answer the calls that came to him throughout his lifetime. He and his parents converted to the gospel in Denmark, immigrated to this country, and came across the plains to join the Saints in Utah. One of the calls that came to him required leaving his new, young wife for six months to work on the building of the St. George Temple. He left her and their young family again to serve a two-year mission in his native Denmark. Later the calls of bishop and stake president necessitated their relocating and rebuilding their home and farm on three different occasions. Through all of these upheavals, he remained grateful, cheerful, and faithful to the principles of the gospel, leaving a great legacy of faith to those of us who bear his name.

I would like to share an example of how the Lord can help you. One of my youth leaders, Thad Carlson, shared it with me many years ago. Thad, who recently passed away, had an enormous impact on me while I was growing up. He was raised during the Great Depression, the ninth of 14 children. His family made a living by farming and raising cattle. It was a difficult time financially, and their greatest asset was their herd of cattle.

In Thad’s youth, one of his responsibilities was to care for and, when necessary, herd the cattle to assure that they found the best feed—a big job for a young boy. He was able to do this with the aid of a smart cow pony who knew exactly what to do with little direction. The pony was named Old Smoky. But Old Smoky had one fault: he never wanted to be caught. Whenever anyone approached him, he would run away, knowing that he was going to be put to work.

One day, after Old Smoky was caught, bridled, and saddled, young Thad rode out to the pasture where the cattle were grazing. The ground was dry, and so was the pasture, but Thad noticed that the grass outside the pasture along the sides of some railroad tracks was longer and greener. So he thought he would herd the cows outside the fenced pasture and let them enjoy some of the good feed along the railroad tracks.

With the help of Old Smoky, Thad herded the cattle out of the pasture, where they began to move back and forth along the railroad tracks feeding on the better, greener grass. The contented cows seemed to be taking care of themselves, so Thad got off his horse and sat on the reins of the bridle, enjoying the surroundings around him, playing and amusing himself. Looking to graze in the green grass himself, however, Old Smoky eventually drifted away, his reins slipping out from under Thad.

This idyllic and peaceful moment came to a crashing and abrupt halt when Thad suddenly heard a loud noise from far away. It was the whistle of an oncoming locomotive barreling down the very rail tracks where his cattle herd was lazily scattered right in front of him! He recognized that the consequences could be devastating to the herd and also to his family if he did not act quickly to get the cattle back into the pasture and away from the oncoming train. He felt that he would never be able to forgive himself for not fulfilling his trusted responsibility.

Thad swiftly jumped to his feet and ran to grab the reins of Old Smoky. Old Smoky saw Thad coming and quickly danced away from him, not wanting to be caught. Breathless and desperate, with images of dead cows and family tragedy flashing through his mind, Thad knew he had to act fast.

He later recorded what happened: “My Primary teacher had taught us to pray and reinforced teachings learned from my mother. With no other recourse, I dropped to my knees and started to pray for help to clear the cows off the tracks.”

Thad didn’t hear a voice, but a clear thought came to him: “Notice how the cows can walk by Old Smoky and he doesn’t move. So … now that you are on your knees, also get on your hands. Play like you’re a cow and crawl over to Old Smoky.”

Thad said: “I did. He didn’t move. I grabbed his reins, led him to the fence, hopped on his back, and we raced like the wind to get the cows back into the pasture. Old Smoky was unusually brilliant at every twist and turn.”

Later, when Thad was in high school, it fully dawned on him that he had received a clear answer to his prayer in a critical time of need. He observed, “Angels administered to Old Smoky beyond my ability, and our family was spared a tragedy.” Later he said: “This was the first of many promptings that [were] to come to me. ‘And whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my name, which is right, believing that ye shall receive, behold it shall be given unto you’ (3 Nephi 18:20).”7

One Saturday afternoon my little sister, my mom, and I decided to make cookies. My mom suggested we make a double batch and give them away.
While the cookies were baking, we talked about listening to the Spirit and serving others. My mom told us how grateful she was for inspired sisters around her that had recently brightened her day with a phone call or nice card. She then suggested that we give the cookies to someone Heavenly Father would like us to serve. We all went into different rooms and said our own personal prayer about who should receive the cookies. My mom and I had two of the same names, and my mom and little sister had also agreed on a family. The names we came up with were not even people that we typically interacted with.
From this experience, my testimony of prayer has been strengthened so much! Heavenly Father heard and answered our prayers and guided us to the people we should serve.
I will always remember that special day when we delivered the cookies to those who the Lord wanted us to. I am so grateful to have Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ in my life. I am glad that I can pray for direction and help. I love the Church and my family. I am so blessed to have Young Women leaders to teach me about our gospel.

After the bombing of Pearl Harbor by the Japanese on December 7, 1941, the United States entered World War II. Shortly thereafter, President Franklin D. Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066, authorizing the removal of anyone of Japanese ancestry from regions on the United States West Coast to internment camps located farther inland. Both of my parents’ families were relocated because of this order; all but two of them were U.S.-born citizens.
My mother, June Kazuko Takiuchi, was nine years old at the time she and her parents were ordered to gather their belongings (only what they could carry) and report to an assembly center in San Jose, California. They and other Japanese families were then transported to Tanforan racetrack, where they lived in horse stalls for several weeks until the construction of the relocation camps was completed.
Their final destination was a camp called the Topaz War Relocation Center, located in a desolate region of west-central Utah, just north of the town of Delta.
June, at age 10, with her father, Tadao Ernie Takiuchi, and mother, Tsugiyo Bessie Takiuchi
Surprisingly, my mother had some fond memories of being “in camp.” My mom shared how she learned to ice-skate “in camp.” I found it weird for someone to learn ice-skating “in camp,” thinking she was referring to just your average yearly summer camp. It wasn’t until I learned about WWII and the internment camps that I understood what she meant by “in camp.”
As I was growing up, she openly shared what she remembered from her camp years, and several times she mentioned the love and kindness of her “Mormon schoolteacher,” Mrs. Westover. I later learned that Mrs. Maurine Westover went above and beyond to love and serve her students. She gave them gifts during the holidays and planned parties with the understanding that all her students were of different faiths, including Buddhism.
June Takiuchi’s fourth-grade class at the Topaz internment camp. June’s teacher, Maurine Westover (far right), was a member of the Church. (You can watch a video in which Sister Westover shares her memories of the camp at westoverfamilyhistory.org/the-spirit-of-receiving.)
My mom and her parents endured a difficult three years, but whenever they spoke of camp, they always spoke with praise and gratitude for the members of the Church who worked in the camp, and of the compassion and empathy that they had for the Japanese people.
I believe it was the seeds of charity, service, and empathy that fostered such great feelings of appreciation and respect for the Church in my family. I know that their praise led to my desire to learn more about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints; about our Savior, Jesus Christ; and about His wonderful plan for families. It may have taken over 40 years for the seeds that were sown in desolate Topaz to take root, but I’m grateful for the opportunity that I will have to someday reap eternal rewards with my family.

Then there is the example of two young men not too many years ago-before you were born, maybe even a little before I was born—but not too many years ago. Two young Mexicans down in Mexico gave their lives rather than deny the faith. Many of you have perhaps seen the film produced here on campus, And Should We Die. Let me just read a couple of passages from that film:
The two young Mexicans talk together about what they will do if they really are to be killed for their religion.
Elder Monterrey says, “I have a good wife and children. I would love to see them grow tall, but the Lord has given me a testimony, and to deny it would be worse than death.”
His companion speaks of how much joy he has found since joining the Church. He says he does not want to die, but he could never deny the faith that had brought him so much happiness. They pray for strength and ask the Lord to bless their families, ending with “Thy will be done.”
The two young men are marched out into a field by Pancho’s men with guns, followed by a number of women and a few men and children. Monterrey’s wife falls on her knees beside the leader and begs for her husband’s life. He tells her, “I have offered them life. It is their decision.” He then gives them one last opportunity to give up their religion.
Elder Monterrey answers, “We cannot deny Jesus Christ nor the testimony we have of the truth.”
They are then asked if they have a last request. Elder Monterrey says, “Yes. We would like to pray.”
The leader says, “Well, pray and get it over with.”
The elder says, “Our Father in heaven, we approach thee in the final moments of our lives. Bless us with strength, and forgive these men who are about to take our lives. Bless our families with health and strength that they may live good lives.” His mother and wife stand together, watching, as the guns are fired and the two men drop dead.
These men exemplified honesty, integrity of the soul, integrity of the heart, integrity of the intellect.

Every year, sometime around our birthdays, my dad would take us children downstairs and mark our height on a wall in a basement room. This was an important ritual, especially for my brothers and me. I remember straightening my back, tilting my head to its highest angle, and even holding my breath so I could achieve the greatest height possible. When I felt mv dad lift the pencil off the wall, I would turn around to evaluate how much I had grown that year.
Some years I was disappointed to see how close the mark was to the previous year’s mark and how far away it still was from my older siblings’ markings. And then there were other years when I walked away feeling so tall that I just knew a professional basketball scout would be waiting for me upstairs.
But the feeling I remember most clearly was the steadiness, even the predictability, of my dad’s response. Whether I measured tall or short or just plain average, my dad smiled at me the same, put his arm around my shoulders, and said, “I’m proud of you, son.”
At the time I wondered why he wasn’t more exultant when I passed my own and others’ marks, or more disappointed when I was still so close to previous years’ markings. But now I realize that my father knew something of the ebb and flow of life and also of the unchanging worth of his children.
Whether I was taller or shorter in comparison to others did not matter to him. He loved me just because I was his son, and he was my father. I sometimes wonder if my dad didn’t measure us each year just to let us know that—however we measured up—he was equally proud of our growth. My father knew the dangers of comparing ourselves to others. He knew that when we compare our personal growth with that of others, we think either that we are better than someone else or that we’re inferior. Both attitudes are equally wrong, and my father taught me that when we take time to reflect, to ponder, and to pray, we see ourselves more as Heavenly Father sees us.
I think that for my father, measuring our height was a way of getting us to reflect about where we stood—not just physically, but also spiritually in relation to our Heavenly Father. Standing tall meant much more to him than physical stature.

I remember an experience that a young man went through during the years when he was in college. This young man was a good member of the Church. He told me that he was once invited to a costume party in the house of one of his classmates. Everyone was very excited to go to that particular party. The friend claimed that his college professors were also invited to attend, especially some of them who were very nice and friendly toward the students. All of this seemed very inviting and secure. So the young man accepted the invitation to go to the party. When he arrived there, he realized that the atmosphere was not exactly what he had expected. There were students drinking, smoking, using drugs, and doing other horrible things in every corner of the house. He said that he became very concerned about what was happening and began to think about how he could leave the situation.

The party was at a location far from his own home. He had gotten a ride with friends, and so he had no way to return home on his own. At that very moment he prayed silently unto the Lord, asking for help. After some pondering, he felt that he should walk outside the house. He followed his feelings and stayed outside the house until the party ended. That decision went unnoticed by his friends, who were all involved in that atmosphere and only regrouped when it was time to leave. During the ride home his friends talked about all the horrible things that had happened during the party.

This young man felt very uncomfortable with the whole situation. It was not easy for him to bear it, but the next day he went to sacrament meeting and partook of the sacrament. In that moment he felt calm, peaceful, and certain that he had made the correct decision. In that moment he realized what it means to grasp the iron rod and not let go, even in the midst of the mists of darkness. He understood clearly what Nephi taught his brothers when he said that “whoso would hearken unto the word of God, and would hold fast unto it, they would never perish; neither could the temptations and the fiery darts of the adversary overpower them unto blindness, to lead them away to destruction” (1 Nephi 15:24).

Imagine what might have happened if that young man, simply out of shame, had not been strong enough to continue holding onto the iron rod. As a result of this and other decisions in his life, that young man married a wonderful young woman in the temple, formed a special family, and went on to be very successful in his life in everything he has done. He serves faithfully in the Church and seeks to be a good example to his children.

Amy arrived at the city hall at 7:30 a.m., even before Mayor José Murgia Zannier, Trujillo’s mayor for more than 10 years. After being officially installed in her post, she met with Mayor Murgia to go over the day’s schedule and coordinate some details. Thus began her busy day as mayor.
In the mayor’s official vehicle, Amy made a visit to inspect a park where the city plans to build a sports and recreation center. She then visited a public school, where she met with the principal and surveyed the progress on the construction of two classrooms.
Back at city hall, Amy met with an official from the public defenders office and with the director of the San José Children’s Home. Amy quickly decided to send a group of workmen to the children’s home to make some needed repairs. She also received visits from several other schools seeking funding.
At a press conference, Amy launched her teen leadership program, titled “A Challenge for the Future.” Since her program started, teen leaders from more than 100 schools in the city have met monthly with government officials to discuss the needs of education.
Then Amy presided over the city council meeting, opening the session and calling roll. She also planted a tree at the opening of a newly renovated city park and listened to the requests of neighbors living in the area. That evening, she attended a cultural event in one of the town plazas.
It was a busy day for Amy, a young woman one of the local newspapers described as “outstanding in intellect, sobriety, eloquence, and leadership abilities, but most of all in her great goals and objectives.”
The experience Amy had while serving as mayor for a day opened her eyes to the many needs within her community. One of those needs—education—was already a primary focus of Amy’s plans and programs. But Amy realizes that while school is important, there are other aspects of our lives that should take precedence over a secular education.

Most of us recognize that God speaks to all His children in their own language. We have likely seen how He communicates with us in our language and how He communicates with others in their own language. This is especially noticeable if we have had the opportunity to live in a country other than our own. I initially became aware of this principle as a young missionary when my first companion and I taught the gospel of Jesus Christ in standard Italian, a language that was not our native tongue.

During our time together in Lugano, Switzerland, my companion and I found and taught a family from Sicily, Italy. We spoke Italian, but the family spoke Sicilian, which is distinct enough from standard Italian that it is considered a separate language. The local branch members spoke a different variation of Italian that is even less well-known: Swiss Italian. Yet the branch members used their native Swiss Italian to help us fellowship and teach this young family.

Despite the differences between standard Italian, Swiss Italian, and Sicilian, the Lord spoke to and through each of us by the Holy Ghost, according to our language and understanding. Eventually, this young family entered the waters of baptism and were confirmed members of the Church.

While my role of service in capacity as a priesthood holder provided my son with much needed relief, and we all experienced the power of the God that day, Nancy lived at Walter Reed with my son for the next five months, and had the opportunity to serve him nearly every moment of every day that she was with him. He couldn't walk or do many of the things he'd grown accustomed to doing for himself. She was his legs and, in many cases, his brains, advocate, paper filler outer, food getter, and a host of other things. It was hard for her. She was away from her other family members, her home, and friends. She had to witness on a daily basis the most terrible consequences war could inflict on the human body and mind with not only our son but many many men and woman. There were times she put our son to bed and go eat in the cafeteria by herself, but she was not alone—the Lord knew her personally, He loved her perfectly, and He supped with her and blessed her. She supped with the Lord by serving Him a meal, because His meal is served when we serve others.[12] "When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God."[13] The gospel challenges us to grow beyond a testimony of what we know, by doing His work so that we become even as He is.[14] Nancy grew and was strengthened with a gift of Christ-like love, even for the enemies that tried to kill our son - she came to understand that all are children of God.
Nancy and my son experienced God's love through service. She changed and became more God-like because God-like love dwelled in her, and because that love dwelled in her, God dwelled in her. "God is love; and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God in him."[15] God comes in and sups with those who serve others and he fills them with His love.

I remember handing in a paper to Dean Bruce B. Clark who was at the time the teacher of an English literature class I was taking. I loved the class and knew from the first day of instruction that three short papers would be due on clearly stated dates during the term. Yet I left those papers—in every case, I think—until the night before they were due. I remember Dean Clark handing one of them back to me, saying something like “You had the makings of a good paper here. It’s too bad you didn’t spend more time on it.” I was devastated. Here was the chairman of my major department, teaching only one class a semester that year, the very symbol of my academic hopes and dreams for the B.A., saying “You didn’t work very hard.” Oh, I had worked hard all right—from 9:00 the night before until 3:00 that morning—without stopping, without breathing.

Now, my young brothers and sisters, I deserved to be devastated. I should have been devastated. And it could have been a good paper. Perhaps that discouraged me more than anything. You see, I discouraged me. I discouraged myself. Remember, dear Brutus, “The fault . . . is not in our stars, but in ourselves” (William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar). And that’s the worst kind of despair, the kind of self-despising that eats at our image and crushes our hopes. It isn’t the class or the teacher or the paper. It never is. I simply should have done better. I should have been at work much sooner. I should have written a draft or two and then left it alone for a time. I should have gone back to it in freshness and strength. I might even have asked for some suggestions. I should have reworked it and shaped it and fine-tuned it over several rewritings. At the end I should have been working with a scalpel; as it was I delivered one butchered idea, the meat axe still dripping as I walked into class. And furthermore, you don’t type very well at 3:00 in the morning.

Augustine Okah of the Asaba Nigeria Stake took the PEF loan to study electrical engineering at Akanu Ibiam Federal Polytechnic Uwana in Afikpo area of southeast Nigeria and obtained a national diploma . He then obtained a higher national diploma from Delta State Polytechnic Ogwashi-Uku through personal funding. He worked and supported his education through his second degree. He was recently hired as a handyman for the Asaba Stake.

After years of inactivity, my dad announced out of the blue one day that we were going back to church again. This met with some protest from me. Throughout my childhood I knew only vaguely of the Mormon church. Basically I knew that there were rules against everything I was currently doing. Besides, what would my friends say if they found out?
Finally my dad and I agreed that I would just try it out for a while and that if I decided against it he wouldn’t force me to go. Sunday came. I sat through sacrament meeting and Sunday School as if I were deaf. Then came Young Women. I sat in the corner, arms crossed, eyes glaring. (Later I found out that I had actually scared my adviser as much as I had hoped to.) With that Sunday over I vowed never again! The following Sundays I contracted everything from a cold to tonsillitis in order to avoid going.
Although I would have denied it at the time, I felt something that Sunday. I felt something from this adviser who really seemed to care about this strange new girl in her class. I felt something, too, from an LDS schoolmate who took an interest in my spiritual well-being. Somehow she convinced me to go back to church.
Then I met our bishop, a large rancher who seemed too gentle for his intimidating stature. In my first interview with him he asked me to pray. I refused. I knew how to pray, but I couldn’t because I believed God wouldn’t listen to such a sinner. The bishop seemed to understand, although I didn’t see how he could because I was sure he had never sinned in his life. But he didn’t condemn me. He seemed to consider me of equal value to all the “saints” in our ward. Feeling so accepted, I continued to attend.
The next couple of months were filled with something I had never felt before. I came to realize that it was the Spirit of the Lord trying to tell me that everything I was hearing and feeling was true. I don’t think I had a testimony at that time. I only knew that I loved my schoolmate and her funny ideas. I loved my Young Women adviser because she loved me. I loved my bishop because he didn’t condemn me. I loved the feeling I had when I was with these people, and I wanted that always in my life.

I think back to 1951 when Sister Ballard came into my life. When I saw her, I fell in love. I have to admit that I worked very hard to get her to understand that I was the only true returned missionary.Brethren, sometimes you have to put forth that kind of effort! I have often told our children that the best sales accomplishment of my life was getting their mother to agree to marry me. In my case, I had to work hard to win the heart of my precious companion. Some of you may need to do the same.

We were married in the Salt Lake Temple. I had a part-time job and was attending the university (I won’t name which one). She also had a job. Together we were very careful. We saved what we could. We had a hard time and we had some desperate moments. But as we look back on our thirty-six years together, some of the most beautiful times of our lives were during those early days of our marriage when we were your age. Sister Ballard was nineteen and I was twenty-two. Do not miss living through the difficult times with your companion. I believe in many ways Barbara and I became more dependent upon each other and more dependent upon the Lord in those early days of our marriage than perhaps at any other time.

Some are concerned about supporting children. I tell you tonight: do not worry about it. If Barbara and I had sat down and figured out what children would cost and whether we could afford them, we never would have had any. Yet we are now the parents of seven children and grandparents of twenty-two grandchildren—and within a matter of weeks, twenty-three. Of all our life’s accomplishments, our children and our grandchildren are the most precious. We could not afford any of our children, but they are here and doing well. We have given them much love and they have given us much love in return. Today when we gather together as a family, it is glorious to us. We made it work and so can you.

Today is Elena’s turn to be the special helper at school!
“Good morning, Special Helper!”
The special helper gets to pick up Mrs. Glen’s blue folder from the office.
Elena gets to choose a friend to go with her.
“I pick Ruby!”
She gets to be the first in line to go to the library.
She even gets to show the class her favorite toy.
“This is Puga. She’s named after a dog my dad had, growing up in Brazil!”
It’s time to pick another friend to help take the blue folder back to the office.
Who should I choose?
Maggie? Josh? Emiko?
No one ever picks Lucas. Maybe that would make him happy!
“I pick Lucas!”
Elena likes helping her teacher. And she likes helping her friends too.