Gospel Story Finder

In 1895, Charles E. Jensen (from Riverton, Utah) and James R. Welker (from Safford, Arizona) where sent from Tongatapu to the northern islands of Vava'u to open the door for the Lord's work. Elder Jensen wrote in his journal about the call to go to Vava'u:

August 27, 1895: In the evening we had a counseling meeting, at this meeting myself and Brother Welker were chosen to go to Vava'u to open up that part of the Tongan mission. This was quite a task as I was unlearned in the language and my companion also, and also to leave our good house and brethren and friends and to go where the servants of God had not been yet (Jensen, Journal #1, p.142-143).

Just imagine for a moment. Here we have two elders, who were unlearned in the Tongan language, and they were called to open the way for missionary work in Vava'u. It is clear from Elder Jensen's journals that he struggled with learning the Tongan language. Nevertheless, he was committed to learning the language. He studied and prayed. Elder Jensen woke up every morning, he went to a bush nearby his home, and he knelt down and poured his soul to God. In this "sacred grove," Elder Jensen expressed his deep gratitude to God; he pleaded with God to help him learn the Tongan language. In the end, the Lord answered his prayers, and he was able to understand the Tongan language. Elder Jones, one of Elder Jensen's companions in Vava'u, took an interesting approach to studying the Tongan language. He studied the Tongan language by making a handwritten copy of the Tongan dictionary. The missionaries did not have a copy of the Tongan dictionary so they borrowed the dictionary from a friend, and then make a handwritten copy of it. To me, these two elders exemplified the words of the Doctrine & Covenants 88:118, "seek learning, even by study and also by faith."

In Vava'u, Elder Jensen and Elder Welker met Sione Pota, a preacher in the Free Church of Tonga. At the time there were only two Protestant churches in Vava'u, the Free Church of Tonga (Siasi Tonga Tau'at?ina) and the Wesleyan Church (Siasi U?siliana). Both churches strongly opposed the work of the two LDS missionaries. It was during this time that Sione Pota developed a close friendship with the two LDS missionaries. It is not clear from the journals how a preacher of a Protestant church became close friends with the LDS elders. Somehow, Sione Pota reached across both cultural and religious divide and embraced the missionaries. In other words, Sione Pota opened a path, t? e fihi, and laid the foundation for the Lord's work in the Vava'u islands.

After serving in Vava'u for several months, Elder Jensen remained while Elder Albert Jones (from Provo, Utah) replaced Elder Welker. Shortly after Elder Jones arrived in Vava'u, the missionaries needed to find a new home. In June 1896, they began looking for a new home in Vava'u. Sione Pota, heard about the missionaries situation and he offered his home to Elder Jensen and Elder Jones. Elder Jensen recorded the event in his journal:

July 2, 1896: "I arose about 7 o'clock washed and combed then started to read my bible when a native friend [Sione Pota] came in, he having heard that we would have to move from the place where we were then living, offered us his house, [he] said he did not care for any pay, but desired that we should come and live in his house. We decided the best way to keep a friend was to treat him well...The afternoon we went to his [Sione Pota's] place and made arrangement with him for his house for six months" (Jensen, Journal #2, p. 124).

It was a great risk for preacher to invite the missionaries to live in his home. I am sure that many of the people in Vava'u were wondering why a preacher would invite LDS missionaries to live in his home.

On July 9, 1896, Elder Jensen and Elder Jones officially moved into Sione Pota's home. It was at this home that many of the people of Vava'u heard about the principles of the gospel. The missionaries reported that people came to their home and asked questions about the Gospel. It was also at this home that the missionaries ran a school (taught English) and held their Sunday services. Every Sunday, the elders called the meeting by pounding a lali, a large Tongan wood drum. In Tonga, during this period, pounding a lali was the common method for letting people know that Church was about to begin. Tongans, both young and old, flocked to Sione Pota's home to hear the message of the Restored Gospel from the missionaries. It was not always easy to get people to attend their Sunday services. Young people were more interested while older folks were not so receptive. Perhaps it was difficult because the missionaries did not have a chapel to hold their meetings. Sometimes the Sunday service had about 12 people and other times they had only four people in attendance. Sunday services consisted of each elder speaking for about 30 minutes on the principles of the Gospel, and then performing the sacrament ordinance.

After serving in Vava'u for nearly a year, the elders finally saw the fruit of their labor. Yes, they had their first baptism in the island of Vava'u. Both Elder Jensen and Elder Jones noted this significant event in their journals.

July 12, 1896: "This was one of the happiest day that we had seen for a long time, at 11 am we commenced out meeting as usual but to a larger congregation than usual and some very high chiefs was present. I spoke first and the spirit of God rested upon me, and I spoke with ease and power. After meeting we had the privilege of taking two souls into the water of baptism the first two in the Vava'u group and in the evening confirmed them members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and after having confirmed them they bore a faithful testimony each which caused our souls to rejoice and we instructed them and encouraged them to do the will of God" (Jensen, Journal #2, p. 131).

July 12, 1896: "...May the glory be given to Him for opening the hearts of two of this people that they endure the mockery for the Gospel sake, and may many more will follow their example. I had almost given up in the hopes on even baptizing one while on this mission as my time is getting short and the people seem so indifferent to the Gospel. This evening at 7 o'clock as prearranged Namosi and Toutai came down and after offering up a few words of prayer we confirmed them to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Bro. Jensen confirmed Namosi and I Sione Tania [Tanea] (Toutai is only a nickname)" (Jones, Journal #5, p. 23).

Many of the people in Vava'u mocked Namosi and Toutai for joining the Church. Shortly after their baptism, Toutai returned to his island, Ha'apai, and Namosi remained in Vava'u with the two missionaries. You can only imagine what it was like to be the only Tongan member of the Church in all of Vava'u. Elder Jensen and Elder Jones understood the challenges that Namosi faced. As good shepherds, Elder Jensen and Elder Jones invested time and energy in nurturing and strengthening Namosi's testimony.

Namosi faced many challenges but he remained faithful to the gospel.

Elder Jones wrote about one of the challenges Namosi faced:July 30, 1896: "This evening Namosi came in and spent the evening, he told us that some were talking of putting him up as the mayor (or bulekolo) at his island Huga but because he has joined the Church they would not have him because he would not work hand in hand with the Free Church..." (Jones, Journal #5, p. 31).

In actuality, people refused to give Namosi the chiefly title Fulivai. Namosi did not care about being a chief. All he wanted to do was to remain true to his testimony of the Gospel.

Even with the baptism of Namosi and Toutai, and the assistance of Sione Pota, the progress of the work was slow. The early years of the LDS Church in Tonga were difficult. The missionaries faced great oppositions from other churches. The missionaries only baptized three people in Vava'u (Namosi, Toutai, and Olsen). Only five years after the arrival of the missionaries in Tonga, the Tonga District closed and all the LDS missionaries returned to Samoa. It was a very sad time for the missionaries, for Namosi, and for Sione Pota. The Sunday the missionaries gave their farewell speech, no one came. Elder Jensen wrote about the event:

Sunday March 14, 1897: "At 11 o'clock we gave our usual sign for meeting but no one came to hear our farewell speeches. This is the second time since I had been in Vava'u that we could not hold a Sunday meeting..." (Jensen, Journal #3, p. 60).

Sione Pota was so sad when he found out that the missionaries were leaving Vava'u. He wrote these two moving letters to Elder Jensen and Elder Jones. I quote a few lines from Sione Pota's farewell letters to the missionaries:

March 16, 1897: To the Missionary of the Church of Jesus Christ.
Dear Mr. Jenisini,
I write you this letter to express my love. Ever since I heard that the boat was on its way to take you, I have not been able to rest. We have become friends... You're like a father to all of us. Misi Jenisini, keep in your heart our love and memories. I will never forget you. Send my love to your mother, to your children, to your extended family, to your family, 'ofa atu, Jone Pota Uaine.
Dear Mr. Jones,
...I am almost unable to complete my letter as memories of our relationship are coming to my mind. The Lord has been with us in our stay and in our work. I will never forget you while I am still alive. Please express my love to your family, to your father and your mother, to your brothers and sisters, and to all your kin. 'Ofa atu, J.P. Uaine, Your True Kin (Ko ho kaiga mo'oni).

The work of Elder Jensen, Elder Jones, Namosi, and Sione Pota (and also Elder Welker and Elder Koffoed) cleared a path for the Lord's work in Vava'u. I am sure that as the missionaries were leaving, they probably wondered what would happen to all the people that they have worked so hard to introduce to the Gospel.

In 1907 (after 10 years), 'Iki Tupou Fulivai, invited the LDS missionaries to return to Vava'u. 'Iki Tupou Fulivai is Namosi's first cousin and Sione Pota next door neighbor. Elder Heber J. McKay and Elder W.O. Facer returned to Vava'u to re-open the Church in Neiafu, Vava'u. Namosi was still alive in 1907, and the elders lived in Namosi's home. The Church has remained in Tonga since 1907.

A few years ago, I was driving home from work when a large semitruck, traveling in the opposite direction, lost one of its dual tires. The tire flew over the median separating our lanes. It came bouncing down my side of the freeway. Cars were swerving in both directions, drivers not knowing which direction the tire would bounce next. I dodged left when I should have dodged right, and the tire took its final bounce right on the corner of my windshield.

A friend called my wife to inform her of the accident. She told me later that her first thought was of lacerations from shattered glass. Indeed, I was covered with beads of broken glass but did not suffer a single scratch. It was definitely not because of my driving skills; rather, it was because the windshield of my little car was made of tempered glass.

I want to begin with a couple of stories.
When I was about nine or ten years old, my parents decided that I was going to take piano lessons. I had already tried to learn how to play the violin, and it was clear that I did not have a talent for it.
In fact, many years later, one of my grandmas told me that one of the happiest days of her life was when I quit taking violin lessons. I don’t have a great ear for music, so it can be hard for me to stay in tune, and since I don’t have any rhythm, I struggle to follow a beat. Naturally, I wasn’t thrilled about taking piano lessons.
Practicing the piano was drudgery. I wasn’t efficient when I practiced, and as I recall, I let most people know how unhappy I was that I had to play the piano.
At some point during the years that I took piano lessons, I read a biography about John Philip Sousa, the great American composer and band leader from the early twentieth century. This got me motivated to practice for a few weeks, but it didn’t last.
Finally, after two and a half years of misery, my piano teacher told my mom that she should let me quit, and so I did. That was another happy day, even more for me than for grandma.
Now contrast this with my second story. My first year of university studies I tried taking Mandarin Chinese. I wanted to learn Mandarin because I figured that knowing Mandarin would be very useful in whatever career I chose.
Unfortunately, even though I was giving it my best effort and wanted to learn Chinese, I really struggled in the class.
Eventually my professor sent me for some testing to see why it was so difficult for me. The testing revealed that I couldn’t hear certain tones or accents (I’ve since wondered if this had something to do with my lack of natural talent with music). This is a real problem for learning Mandarin Chinese since in Mandarin words have different tones that give them completely different meanings.
For example, the word ma, spelled m-a in its anglicized form, with a different tone or accent can mean “horse,” “to scold,” “numb,” “mom,” or it could indicate that one is asking a question.
With these results, the university allowed me to take the class on a pass/fail basis. Fortunately, the professor wouldn’t give anyone less than a fifty-percent grade on the final exam. With that fifty percent, I passed the class with the equivalent of a D minus. Thankfully, it showed on my transcript as a “pass.”
At the end of my first year of university studies, I sent in my papers to go on a mission. When I was asked in the missionary application what my interest level was in learning a language, I put “low.”
However, when I received my call, I had been assigned to Peru to preach the gospel in the Spanish language. I was a little worried about trying again to learn a language, but I chose to believe that since the Lord had called me, He would also help me learn Spanish.
Before I entered the Missionary Training Center in Provo, my stake president blessed me that I would be able to learn Spanish. I’d like to tell you that it was easy after that. It wasn’t. I was by far the worst Spanish student in my MTC district. But I tried hard. I even played Spanish tapes at night so that I could get used to hearing the language.
When I finally got to Peru, I think I could only say “¿Dónde está el baño?” and “Tengo hambre.” My Peruvian trainer actually learned a little bit of English just so that he could communicate with me.
Eventually, I did learn Spanish. It took a long time. The most effective thing that I did was read the Book of Mormon out loud in Spanish while following along in my English scriptures.
But today, I speak Spanish fairly well. I can express myself in nearly every situation and on most topics, and people understand me. In fact, once or twice a year, when on assignment, I do a broadcast to tens of thousands of Spanish-speaking members of the Church. What’s more, I can now largely hear accents.
In fact, several years ago, I was in France attending church. As I listened to a non-native speaker give his talk, I turned to the French woman who was translating for me and said, “He has a really heavy accent doesn’t he?”
She looked at me with a quizzical look on her face and said, “His accent is terrible. I can barely understand him. But it is unusual for a non-French speaker to be able to hear that.”

When 15-year-old Jenni tells about having a prayer answered, she starts with an apology. She is sorry to admit that she hadn’t been praying regularly for almost a year. Things in her life had not been going well—not at school, not with her friends, not even at church.
One night, Jenni explains, she wanted to watch a movie. She bent down to look at the movies on the lowest bookshelf when she caught sight of a photo of her uncle who had tragically passed away not too long before. Suddenly, the weight of everything she was worried about made her want to cry. “I just knew in that instant that I had to pray,” says Jenni. She knelt where she was and prayed.
Jenni describes receiving her answer: “As soon as I was done, I had the answers to my questions. I felt that everything was all right again. Everything is going to be OK. Everything with my uncle is OK. I realized that I love school and my friends. As soon as I finished praying, I knew that I had to go to church because it is for me. It really hit me, and I felt so comfortable and so warm. I know my Heavenly Father loves me and He will help me through things.”
For Jenni, this prayer was one she had been wanting to say but somehow couldn’t. Now, even thinking about it, she gets that same feeling of comfort over again and the same assurance that her answer was from the Lord.

The headquarters of the Church are in this city which recently hosted the 19th Winter Olympics. We made a deliberate decision that we would not use this as a time or place to proselytize, but we were confident that out of this significant event would come a wonderful thing for the Church. The great buildings which we have here—the Temple, the Tabernacle, this magnificent Conference Center, the Joseph Smith Memorial Building, Family History facilities, the Church Administration Building, the Church Office Building, our Welfare facilities, together with scores of chapels in this valley—could not be overlooked by those who walked the streets of this and neighboring cities. As Mike Wallace once remarked to me, “These structures all denote something solid.”

And beyond this, we had total confidence in our people, many thousands of them, who would serve as volunteers in this great undertaking. They would be dependable; they would be pleasant; they would be knowledgeable; they would be accommodating. The unique and distinctive capacity of our people in speaking the languages of the world would prove to be a tremendous asset beyond anything to be found elsewhere.

Well, it all worked out. The visitors came by the hundreds of thousands. Some came with suspicion and hesitancy, old and false images persisting in their minds. They came feeling they might get trapped in some unwanted situation by religious zealots. But they found something they never expected. They discovered not only the scenic wonder of this area, with its magnificent mountains and valleys, they found not only the wonderful spirit of the international games at their best, but they found beauty in this city. They found hosts who were gracious and accommodating and anxious to assist them. I do not wish to infer that such hospitality was limited to our people. The entire community joined together in a great expression of hospitality. But out of all of this came something wonderful for this Church. Representatives of the media, so often a tough and calloused group, with very few exceptions spoke and wrote in language both complimentary and accurately descriptive of a unique culture they found here, of the people they met and dealt with, of the spirit of hospitality which they felt.
Television carried the picture to billions of people across the earth. Newspapers and magazines ran story after story.

Thousands upon tens of thousands walked through Temple Square, admired the majestic House of the Lord, sat in the Tabernacle and listened to the matchless music of the choir. More thousands filled this great Conference Center to watch a wonderful production dealing with the Church and its worldwide mission. Other thousands visited the Family History Center. The media were hosted in the Joseph Smith Memorial Building. We were interviewed for television, radio, and the press by correspondents from many parts of this nation and from across the world. I am told that nearly 4,000 stories about the Church appeared in the German press alone.
Georgie Anne Geyer, prominent syndicated writer whose column appears in many newspapers, wrote as follows: “How on earth could a largely Mormon state do something so daring as hosting an international celebrity meeting? Would the world come gladly to a state whose dominant religion asks members to abstain from alcohol, tobacco and even caffeine, three staples of international conferences?”
And then she went on to quote Raymond T. Grant, artistic director of the Olympic Arts Festival. He talked of the opening ceremony and said: “‘You know, 98 percent of the entire cast were volunteers, and that’s huge. In fact, most were not paid at all. This is an extraordinary story, and I’d link it directly to Mormon culture. As a Catholic boy from New York, I found it interesting that Brigham Young, the founder of the Utah settlement of the Mormons, built a theater before anything else.’
“He went on to tally up: The state has six dance companies; more pianos and harps are sold in Utah than anywhere in the United States; the Mormon Tabernacle Choir has [360] members; and the oldest Steinway dealership in Utah … was started as early as 1862. In Utah, their per capita spending on students is one of the lowest—yet they boast high test scores. ‘It has been fascinating for me, having to tap into this culture.’”
Miss Geyer concluded her story by writing: “It is simply the mix of a serious and upright religion, of families who foster and insist upon providing the highest levels of culture right along with the highest modern technology, and of generally sensible organizing and governing. In short, it is a modern mix of the old America” (“Salt Lake City and State of Utah Reveal Themselves to the World,” Salt Lake Tribune, 15 Feb. 2002, A15).
If there were time, I could give you many quotations from the seasoned journalists of the world, who wrote in a most laudatory fashion.
Was there anything negative? Of course. But it was minimal. We had private interviews with presidents of nations, with ambassadors, with leaders in business, and other fields.
In 1849, two years after our people first arrived here and following the discovery of gold in California, many were discouraged. They had struggled to wrest a living from the arid soil. Crickets had devoured their crops. The winters were cold. Many thought they would go to California and get rich. President Young stood before them and encouraged them to remain, promising that “God will temper the climate, and we shall build a city and a temple to the Most High God in this place. We will extend our settlements to the east and west, to the north and to the south, and we will build towns and cities by the hundreds, and thousands of the Saints will gather in from the nations of the earth. This will become the great highway of the nations. Kings and emperors and the noble and wise of the earth will visit us here” (in Preston Nibley, Brigham Young: The Man and His Work [1936], 128).
We have witnessed the fulfillment of that prophecy in these recent days. Needless to say, I am happy with what has happened. Those visitors tasted the distinctive culture of this community. We believe that culture is worth preserving. I compliment and thank our people who participated in such numbers and so generously, and I compliment and thank all others who worked together to make of this a wonderful and most significant event.
Now I wish to speak rather quickly of one or two other matters.
Speaking of Brigham Young has reminded me of the Perpetual Education Fund which we have established. It was only a year ago that I first spoke of this in our general conference. The contributions of generous Latter-day Saints have come in to assure us that this endeavor is now on a solid foundation. We will need more yet, but already it has been demonstrated that vast good will come of this undertaking. Young men and women in the underprivileged areas of the world, young men and women who for the most part are returned missionaries, will be enabled to get good educations that will lift them out of the slough of poverty in which their forebears for generations have struggled. They will marry and go forward with skills that will qualify them to earn well and take their places in society where they can make a substantial contribution. They will likewise grow in the Church, filling positions of responsibility and rearing families who will continue in the faith.
I have time to read only one testimonial. It comes from a young man who has been blessed by this program.
He says: “It is so wonderful that I do not have to just dream anymore about my education or my future. The Lord has cleared the way, and I am doing it!
“I am currently attending a great technical institute in our country, where I am studying to become a computer technician. … By going to school, I am discovering my abilities. The discipline I developed on my mission helps me to succeed. … Never before has any young man felt more blessed than I do. The PEF has strengthened my faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. Now, more than ever, I feel the responsibility the gospel places upon me to prepare myself to be a better member, a better leader, and a better father. …
“My dear mother, who has sacrificed so much, gets so emotional that she cries when she prays at night because of her gratitude to the Lord. …
“Now, I envision my town being blessed because of me. I envision the Church with leaders who have financial stability and who can support the Lord’s work with all their might, mind, and strength. I see the Church prospering. I am excited to start my own family and teach them that we can be self-sufficient. So I must finish my education. I will then repay the loan quickly to help my fellowmen. … I am grateful for the Savior’s mercy. He truly sustains us with His love.”
And so it goes, my brothers and sisters. As this great work moves across the earth, we are blessing now some 2,400 young people. Others will be blessed.
May the Lord bless you, and each of us, as we rejoice in our opportunity to be a part of this great cause in this wonderful season of the Lord’s work is my humble prayer in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Six-year-old Taylor loved stickers—big ones with lots of colors, and little ones that you could barely see. Sometimes he put them on papers or notebooks. And sometimes he put them on himself. Once he put an orange sticker on his arm, and a blue one on his chin. Another day he put a dog sticker on the toe of each tennis shoe. Today Taylor had a new sticker. He put it on his shirt, right in the middle of his chest.
Megan, his older sister, noticed the new sticker. “Where did you get that one?”
“Off the new socks Mom bought me yesterday,” Taylor said. “Isn’t it great?”
Megan leaned close enough to read the sticker on her brother’s shirt and began to chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” Taylor asked defensively.
“It’s your sticker. It’s so—”
Taylor covered the sticker with his hand. “What’s the matter with it?”
Mom heard the discussion and came into the room. “What’s going on here?”
“Megan’s making fun of my sticker.”
“No, I wasn’t,” Megan responded. “I promise. It’s just so cute! Look at what it says, Mom.”
Mom lifted Taylor’s hand from the sticker and read aloud, “Stain-resistant sole.”
“What does it mean?” Taylor asked.
Mom answered with a smile, “It means that some kind of protection was put on the bottom of your socks so that they won’t get dirty as easily.”
“Don’t you get it, Mom? Taylor has a stain-resistant soul! S-o-u-l!” Megan chuckled again.
“I don’t want people laughing at me,” Taylor said, starting to rip the sticker off.
Mom reached out to him. “We’re not, Taylor. You see, soul can be spelled two ways. One way, s-o-l-e, means the bottom of your foot—that’s what the sock that this sticker was on protects. The other spelling, s-o-u-l, means you—your body and spirit together. So when Megan said that you have a stain-resistant soul, that’s good. It means that you are trying your best to do what is right and keep your soul—your body and spirit—clean.”
Taylor smiled at Megan and decided to leave the sticker on. “May I go outside to play now?”
“Sure, but come right home for dinner when I call you.”
Taylor ran out the back door and saw his brother’s skateboard. His brother didn’t like other people riding it without his permission, but he was away for the weekend. Great! Taylor thought. He put one foot on the skateboard, then thought of his sticker and took his foot off the board. He wanted to stay a stain-resistant soul.
He looked up and saw his best friend, Colby, running out of his garage. “Colby—wait up!”
“You’re just in time,” Colby said excitedly. “I’m going to light some firecrackers.”
Taylor stopped. “My mom says I’m not supposed to light matches unless a grown-up’s with me.”
“She won’t know. Come on—it’ll be fun!”
Taylor started to follow his friend. Then he thought of his sticker. Would lighting firecrackers keep my soul stain-resistant? No. Maybe there’s something else we can do. He said, “I don’t want to do that, Colby. Let’s play on the trampoline.”
Colby liked Taylor’s idea, so the two boys jumped on the trampoline until Taylor’s mom called him. Taylor hurried home.
“Wash your hands,” Mom reminded him as he rushed into the kitchen. He went into the bathroom and turned on the water. He saw Taffy, their cat. She hated water, and Taylor loved to tease her by splashing water at her. But just as he aimed his wet hands at her, he remembered his sticker. He couldn’t tease the cat and stay a stain-resistant soul, so he dried his hands, and ran to the kitchen.
His dad was just coming in from the other direction. “How’s my big boy?” Dad gave Taylor a hug. “Hey, what’s this on your shirt? Another sticker?”
“Oh, that’s a special sticker,” Mom said.
“He got it off his new socks,” Megan added.
“Stain-resistant sole?” Dad asked. “Why is that so special?”
“Don’t you get it, Dad?” Taylor blurted out. He thought about how he had resisted riding on his brother’s skateboard without permission, how he had resisted playing with fire at Colby’s house, and how he had even resisted teasing Taffy. “I’m a stain-resistant s-o-u-l!”

Don Stout was drafted during World War II. In 1943 he wrote me a letter from Europe. The tank in which he was riding had turned upside down in a pond of water, and he and his comrades were there for several hours not knowing if they were going to drown or suffocate. He shared some of his experiences with me, and then in the last paragraph he said, “Vaughn, I want you to know I have never had a beer or a cigarette, never a drink of liquor or tea.” He said, “I have never had coffee or even a cola drink in spite of all the pressure from the boys in my company.” I told a friend about Don’s not drinking or smoking, and he said it was impossible; no man could do that. And I said, “If Don said he did it, he did it.”
I was 12 when I read his letter, and even then I wept as I thought about him, and I decided right then and there that I was going to walk in high places like Don Stout.

When I was older, I was on my high school’s football team. Before we played, I didn’t always button the chin strap on my helmet, and sometimes my helmet didn’t stay on. One time when my helmet came off, I got hit so hard that I was knocked unconscious. I was terribly embarrassed when I came to and saw my teammates looking down at me. From that I learned that we always need to keep our physical and spiritual protectors in place. Our spiritual protectors include our obedience to the commandments of God and to the counsel and direction of our parents.

Years ago, while I was serving as a bishop, a handsome young man resisted my invitation to become worthy to live with God in families forever. In a belligerent way he told me of the good times he had with his friends. I let him talk. Then he told me about a moment during one of his parties, in the midst of the raucous noise, when he suddenly realized that he felt lonely. I asked him what had happened. He said that he had remembered a time as a little boy, sitting on his mother’s lap, with her arms around him. For that moment while he told that story, he teared up. I said to him what I know is true: “The only way you can have the feeling of that family embrace forever is to become worthy yourself and help others to receive the sealing ordinances of the temple.”

The first time I walked into my new Relief Society, I wanted to turn around and run! I didn’t know anyone. I didn’t see anyone my age. And I definitely didn’t feel like I belonged.
Just a few months earlier, I was in a married student ward in Hawaii, USA, with my husband, Johnny, where most of us were newly married, navigating school, and thinking about starting families. Before that, I was in a student YSA ward that felt like an extension of Young Women. We were all unmarried, childless students, so it was easy to relate, make friends, and serve.
But that season of comfort and similarity didn’t last forever.
After graduating, Johnny and I moved back to the mainland and began attending a family ward. And wow—did Relief Society feel like a culture shock! Suddenly I was surrounded by sisters ages 18 to 98: single, married, divorced, widowed; some with children, some without; some working, studying, raising kids, or retired, and everything in between.
I wasn’t sure where I fit in.
A few weeks in, I got a ministering assignment, and I didn’t feel I had much in common with the sisters I was asked to serve or serve with.
Still, I tried to show up. At first I would send them quick texts or have some post-church chats, mostly just so I could say that I’d contacted them. But my ministering companion was intentional and kind. One day, she suggested we take each of our sisters out for ice cream. I was hesitant. I’m introverted and tend to be quiet around people I don’t know well. But I do love ice cream, so I agreed.
That weekend, my van broke down. The repairs would cost more than the van was worth. It was time to buy a new car. Johnny and I had been saving and were prepared, but it still felt like a lot. So, after a 10-hour workday and a stressful evening of test-driving cars, I really didn’t feel like meeting anyone, even for ice cream.
But I showed up anyway, late and exhausted.
To my surprise, the sisters were thrilled to see me. We ended up talking for hours. I couldn’t relate to their toddler potty-training stories, but I realized we had more in common than I thought. One sister had also been dealing with car trouble, and we bonded over the frustration.
That night wasn’t just about ministering. It showed me what Relief Society is meant to be: a spiritual community where covenant women lift, strengthen, and love each other as disciples of Christ.

Some of the first forks were brought to Europe from Byzantium, a rich and powerful empire to the east. About a thousand years ago a Byzantine princess came to live in Venice, a city in Italy. She ate with a fork. The priests thought her way of eating was so fancy that it was sinful. They scolded her. They preached against her in church. Soon afterward, the princess caught a terrible disease and died. Many people believed that she was punished for using her fork.

I wanted to let you know that “And the Winner Is …” (September 1991) was the answer to my prayers. For several months I’ve been training for the cross-country team to get in shape. As the season began, I realized I was much slower than my teammates. I wanted to quit, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I did, so I asked Heavenly Father for encouragement.
When I read Brother DeHaan’s article, I knew I had received my answer. Now I read it whenever I have doubts about my performance on the team.
Meredith QuinnPasadena, California

Earlier this year, when leaders of the New Zealand Auckland Mission planned to visit the remote island country of the Cook Islands for the district’s semiannual conference, they invited the Auckland New Zealand Harbour Stake patriarch, Steven Stebbings, to join them to provide an opportunity for members there to receive their patriarchal blessings.
Brother Stebbings and his wife, Kathy, who is also his scribe, arrived in the country during a torrential rainstorm. One might have thought that would discourage people from venturing out—it did not. Two young elders happily gave up their car for Brother and Sister Stebbings to use while they were on the island. The missionaries were more than happy to use bikes for the week.
The Saints came in that heavy rain. They came with hearts full of gratitude and excitement for what was about to happen. They came to listen to and feel the love of their Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ. They came to learn more about their potential and the blessings the Lord has in store for each of them. The people kept coming—the Spirit was strong, and the Stebbings experienced the sweet joy that comes from serving the Lord.
Brother Stebbings is used to giving about four blessings a week; he anticipated he’d interview and bless 15–20 people, so he was more than surprised that 40 members aged 12–74 came in from the outer islands to Rarotonga to receive their blessing.
Sister Stebbings said they started working early each morning and worked long into the night—and through their exhaustion, the Lord sustained and strengthened them to be able to accomplish all that they did.
The experience began in February 2023 when Elder Doneal White and Sister Claudia White arrived in the Cook Islands to serve a mission where there was no stake patriarch. In an early morning seminary class, they heard that 14 students told their teacher they had not received their patriarchal blessings. Wheels were set in motion and soon thereafter Brother Stebbings was authorised to travel to the Cook Islands to provide the desired blessings.
Elder and Sister White said they had prayed the Stebbings there—to the Cook Islands, and the timing was perfect—with a district conference during that time, and it was school holidays—plus a national youth soccer tournament the following week had brought in two groups of members for the tournament—and they could receive their blessings.
Brother Stebbings said patriarchal blessings are given to worthy members of the Church and contain personal counsel from God. “This blessing is intended to be like a road map that helps guide a person through their life,” he said.
“As a patriarch, I have no blessings to give,” Brother Stebbings said. “When I place my hands upon a person’s head, I receive inspiration and revelation for them by the power of the Holy Spirit, which then becomes their blessing.”
“These blessings are not to be neatly folded away and forgotten, and they’re not to be framed or published,” Brother Stebbings said. “It is to be read, followed and loved, and it will see a person through their darkest nights, and will guide them through all of life’s stages.”

I would like to start by sharing an experience from the life of President Joseph F. Smith, sixth President of the Church: Joseph F. Smith was raised in a single-parent home. His father, Hyrum, was martyred at Carthage Jail with the Prophet Joseph Smith. Little Joseph F. was only six years old at the time.

Years later, at the age of 19, Joseph F. Smith was returning home from a mission with a group of other missionaries. His wagon-train journey took him through a dangerous area where enemies of the Church had vowed to kill the Mormons.

I quote now from a biography of President Smith:
“One day after the little company of wagons had . . . made their camp, a company of drunken men rode into the camp on horseback, cursing and swearing and threatening to kill any ‘Mormons’ that came within their path. . . . Some of the brethren when they heard them coming had cautiously gone into the brush down the creek, out of sight. . . . Joseph F. was a little distance from the camp gathering wood for the fire when these men rode up. When he saw them, he said, his first thought was to do what the other brethren had done, and seek shelter in the trees and in flight. Then the thought came to him, ‘Why should I run from these fellows?’ With that thought in mind he boldly marched up with his arms full of wood to the campfire. As he was about to deposit his wood, one of the ruffians, still with his pistols in his hands and pointing at the youthful Elder, and cursing as only a drunken rascal can, declaring that it was his duty to exterminate every ‘Mormon’ he should meet, demanded in a loud, angry voice, ‘Are you a “Mormon”?’

“Without a moment of hesitation and looking the ruffian in the eye, Joseph F. Smith boldly answered, ‘Yes, siree; dyed in the wool; true blue, through and through.’

“The answer was given boldly and without any sign of fear, which completely disarmed the belligerent man, and in his bewilderment, he grasped the missionary by the hand and said: ‘Well, you are the —— —— pleasantest man I ever met! Shake, young fellow, I am glad to see a man that stands up for his convictions.’

“Joseph F. [Smith] said in later years that he fully expected to receive the charge from this man’s pistols, but he could take no other course even though it seemed that his death was to be the result.”

A young couple I know bought 40 acres of raw land. They were going to raise peaches. They had leveled the land, planted the trees, and then weeded and irrigated and watched until the time had come when they’d have a harvest. This particular spring the orchard was a sea of blossoms, and it looked as though they were going to have a bounteous harvest. Then without warning a frost wiped out practically the entire crop overnight. Well, young John didn’t go to church the next Sunday, nor the next Sunday, nor the next. Finally his good bishop came out to see what was wrong.
He found John in the field and said, “John, we haven’t seen you in church for several weeks. Is anything wrong?” John said, “I’m not coming anymore. Do you think I can worship a God who would let this happen to me?”
Of course, the bishop felt sorrowful and he expressed his feelings to John. And as he looked down at the ground for a moment, he said, “John, I’m sure the Lord knows that you can’t produce the best peaches with frost. But I’m also sure He knows that He can’t produce the best people without frost, and the Lord is interested in producing people, not peaches.” Well, John went to church the next Sunday, and another year a harvest came. He learned a valuable lesson that helped keep him active in the Church all his life.

I took one step into the air-conditioned house and collapsed into a chair. When my mom walked into the room, I gave her my best I’ve-had-a-rough-day-feel-sorry-for-me look. She looked at me for a moment and saw that I was covered with dirt and grease from the tip of my nose to my steel-toed work boots. Then she merely said, “How was your first day at work?”
I was disappointed that she couldn’t tell just by looking at me how awful it was to slave for eight hours in a machine shop. But I was grateful for the opportunity to tell my sad story. Trying to get the most sympathy possible, I started with the best and made my way to the worst. I began by telling about the loud machines and the heavy lifting. It’s not easy to make someone feel sorry for you and still maintain your state of honor. However, 17 years of practice paid off, and I think I did an excellent job.
Finally, I had built up to the worst part of my summer job: my co-workers. I told my mom how I was helping one lady shovel metal slugs when she began swearing. Now this was not unusual, but I must have given this woman an unintentional look because she began to defend herself. “I never used to swear before I started working here. If you work here long enough, you will too,” she said.
On my break, I bought a pack of gum from a vending machine. As I began chewing a piece, one of my co-workers said, “You really should smoke instead of chew gum.” At the machine shop, a person doesn’t have to be on break to smoke, so two-thirds of the people I work with are doing it all day. After that comment, I thought, What have I gotten myself into?
I finished my story by telling my mom that I wasn’t going back the next day. She had heard this line a million times before when I would come home from school, so she just nodded knowingly. When I told the rest of the family at dinner that evening, my dad said something like, “I think it will be a good experience for you. It’ll build character.”
I went back to work the next day and continued to be repulsed by my co-workers and their lifestyles. By the end of the week, I was spending my break time outside in the sweltering heat instead of inside listening to their vulgar stories and inhaling second-hand smoke.
At lunch I would drive to a nearby park and read the Book of Mormon as I ate. One day I had stopped reading and was thinking about my co-workers. Suddenly, something Jesus Christ had said came to mind. When I got home I found the scripture I had been looking for in Matthew 22:39. It says, “And the second [commandment] is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.” [Matt. 22:39]
All of this time, I had been thinking I was better than my co-workers because I didn’t smoke or swear. When I read that scripture, it really humbled me. It occurred to me that if I can’t learn to love my neighbor, it doesn’t matter how great the rest of my life is. The second greatest commandment isn’t to keep the Word of Wisdom. It’s to love your neighbor.
I soon changed my attitude about my co-workers and tried to appreciate them for who they are. Less than a week later, my car broke down and I locked my keys in the car. My fellow employees were quick to help. I’m not sure what I would have done without them. It was then that I realized that despite some bad habits, they are still children of our Father in Heaven.
At the beginning of the summer I wanted to quit. Then I learned to love others, and now I want to go back next year.

After I graduated from BYU in Provo, Utah, I returned home to Salt Lake City and took a job downtown working on the 6 th floor of the Utah Woolen Mills building across the street from Temple Square.
One December night, I finished work and rode the elevator down to the ground floor. I exited the building through the front door and stepped out onto the sidewalk.
I was used to seeing people holding cardboard signs that had messages written on them, usually asking for money. And a similar sight presented itself in front of me that night.
The man was sitting, cross-legged, on the brick sidewalk, his head was bent down behind his sign, and I could not see his face. I noticed his dirty stocking cap, his bulky brown winter coat, his Levi’s, and his very well-worn tennis shoes.
I also noticed his cardboard sign with words written in big, black capital letters. It said, “NEED HELP TO GET HOME. GOD BLESS.”
Instantly, in my mind, heaven and earth collided. I saw irony in the man’s request as I lifted my eyes from where he sat on the ground to the brightly lit Salt Lake Temple directly behind him. In a split second, I thought of the light and truth, blessings and covenants, comfort and peace that are available to all who enter the Holy House of the Lord.
I looked back down at the man; he was obviously seeking blessings of comfort and home, but I knew that the “Home” on the cardboard sign was not referring to the spiritual blessings of the Lord’s House. He probably wanted to go home to his family.
I knew that this man needed, more than anything that night, temporal blessings—I’m sure he needed money, transportation, and, likely, some food. But on that cold, winter night, I wanted so much to have him stand up, turn around, and fully understand the blessings of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and the Holy House of God that was, literally, just steps away.
When heaven and earth meet, like they did for me that night, we can get glimpses into the eternal perspective. When we recognize, even for brief moments that the heavens are open, that God, our Father in Heaven, wants to communicate with us, and that we can, at any time, and any place, communicate with Him, we can actively seek for and receive messages and blessings from our Heavenly Home.

I grew up in the Church and had always planned on serving a mission. Yet as the time for me to serve approached, I longed to have a powerful conversion experience of my own such as I heard other people talk about when they described joining the Church.
I knew that leaving on a mission would require sacrifices. I had a good job that paid well, and I wondered if I would be able to find one as good upon my return. I worried about interrupting my education and leaving family and friends. But I knew deep down that serving a mission was right, so I continued to prepare.
As part of that preparation, I went with the elders in my area to their teaching appointments. One evening the missionaries and I were teaching a man about the Word of Wisdom, but he would not accept the principle. When we left his home, I could tell that the elders were discouraged, and I felt sad too.
I wasn’t sure why I should be sad though, because I didn’t really know this man. I kept thinking about it, and I realized that I had these feelings because I had felt the Spirit during the lesson. I was saddened that this man had rejected something that had brought me so much joy.
With that thought I realized I was truly converted. I knew the gospel was true, and I couldn’t wait to share it. I was soon called to serve in the Italy Rome Mission.
I was blessed abundantly for the sacrifices I had made in preparing for my mission. I taught the gospel to many wonderful people, I made lifelong friends, and I learned English. The blessings continued after my return home. I was hired at the same job I had before my mission and even received a promotion.
Perhaps the greatest blessing, however, was an increased testimony of the gospel. My mission was a period of unparalleled spiritual growth, for which I will always be grateful.

With that background, listen to this true story of a missionary who was completing his mission in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. He was a faithful and diligent missionary. When the day arrived for him to go home to Liberia—one of the poorest nations in Africa—his mission president in the Democratic Republic of the Congo provided him with one hundred dollars in cash to cover any unexpected expense he might incur on his trip home.

In Africa, traveling is complicated, and there are frequent delays in flight schedules. The one hundred dollars—drawn from Church funds designated to support missionary needs—was given with the instruction that the returning missionary was to use it for food and any bus, taxi, or lodging expense incurred on his way home. He was asked to keep track of his expenses and to provide receipts, along with any unused money, to the priesthood leader who would be releasing him.

When the missionary landed in his home country, he was greeted by his priesthood leader—the mission president in his home country. The priesthood leader extended to him a release as a full-time missionary. At the conclusion of the release interview, this young returned missionary handed his priesthood leader ninety dollars and the receipts for the ten dollars spent en route. After the interview, the local priesthood leader drove this young man some distance into the bush near his village. When they arrived at the place where his mother was waiting for him by the roadside, the missionary got out of the car. As the mission president watched this young man walk away with his mother, he realized that the ninety dollars could have fed this young man’s family for many months.

Sometimes there is a temptation for a returning missionary living in a poor country to say that they lost the receipts and that they spent all the travel money—and then keep any remaining funds for themselves or their family. But this elder did not fall to that temptation. This young man proved that day that he could be trusted—he was honest and true.

My grandmother, Mildred Riggs, was a great influence in my life. When I was a young boy, my grandfather died, and Grandma Riggs moved into our home. She lived with us during most of the time I was growing up. She went on a mission, and when the time came for me to go, not many people from my hometown were serving missions. But I thought, “If Grandma Riggs can go on a mission, then I can go on a mission, too.” She was a wonderful example to me. She exercised, read the scriptures, and prayed regularly.