Gospel Story Finder

For many years, I carried a quiet but persistent desire in my heart—to find more names to add to my family tree. As a Church leader, I often encouraged others to engage in family history and temple work, but in my own journey, I kept hitting barriers. I spoke to older relatives, made calls, asked questions, but it felt like every path led to a dead end. Some family members had passed on, others could not remember, and some simply were not willing to talk. It was discouraging, and at times I wondered if my family’s history would remain forever hidden.
Still, I kept praying.
One day, I received an unexpected phone call from my brother who lives in the United States. He told me he would be travelling to attend a village reunion—a gathering of people from our ancestral hometown, now living abroad. At the reunion he said, “You won’t believe who I found.” It was a distant relative we had been searching for over the years, someone who had moved away and lost contact with the rest of the family.
But that was not all. This family member had preserved something I never imagined—a detailed family organogram (family organization chart) with dozens of names and family connections, some going back generations. When my brother sent me the files and shared voice notes explaining the stories behind each name, I was overwhelmed. It felt like heaven had opened a door that had been shut for so long.
As I reviewed the names and saw the faces in old photos, I felt the spirit of Elijah very strongly. These were not just names—they were my ancestors, real people, children of God who had been waiting for their temple ordinances. I felt their presence, and I knew they were aware that the time had finally come. The Lord had remembered them.
I shared this miracle during a FamilySearch training recently. I told the participants, “We may feel like we are working in darkness sometimes, but when we move forward in faith, the Lord brings light. He prepares the way. He hears our prayers—even the quiet ones.”
Through this experience, I have come to know with even greater certainty that God knows every family. He is not limited by distance or time. If we persist, if we pray, and if we act, He will guide us to the people we need—and to those who need us.

Fifteen-year-old Andy Tuitupou’s feet left the court long enough to grab the rebound during basketball practice. Gliding through the air, Andy was confident—he was good-looking, popular, active in his teachers quorum in our Utah ward, and a member of the school basketball team. But when his feet touched the ground again, his life changed. His strong body crashed to the floor—never to walk again.
Surgeons pinned and cast Andy’s broken leg. Pain became his constant companion. Long days, determination, and patience seemed to bring only more suffering. Although Andy gave it his all, physical therapists weren’t able to help him learn to walk again.
In desperation Paul and Carolyn Tuitupou, Andy’s parents, took him to a hospital where skilled surgeons operated and found the source of Andy’s intense pain: bone cancer. Andy made the difficult decision to have the doctors amputate his leg. Whatever the price, he wanted to beat the cancer.
Several days after the amputation, Andy asked me—his bishop—if he could receive his patriarchal blessing. I wondered what a blessing would hold for a young man facing possible death. I rushed to my office to get a patriarchal blessing recommend. Then I jumped in my car and headed for Andy’s bedside, where I found him waiting patiently for his interview. I asked Andy where he was getting his obvious strength and peace. “From the things I learned in family home evening,” he answered without hesitation. Andy was worthy to receive a patriarchal blessing.
As I visited with him throughout the next few months, I saw him as a brother who loved his family, friends, the gospel, and life. Although his spiritual health was strong, his physical well-being seemed only to worsen. Chemotherapy treatments left him violently nauseated for four or five days each week.
All hopes of a cure were dashed when a tumor in Andy’s hip erupted. His lungs began failing as cancerous tumors started their deadly invasion. But Andy wasn’t content to watch life pass him by. With the help of a devoted Scout leader, Andy soon fulfilled the requirements for his Eagle Award.
During one of my routine visits with this young member of my ward, I felt prompted to set up a formal appointment for his annual priesthood interview on the next Sunday.
On Sunday I headed for the hospital and found Andy in agony with his eyes closed. Not wanting to disturb him, I quietly sat by his bedside. After several minutes of listening to Andy’s labored breathing, I heard him whisper, “Bishop, are you going to interview me?”
After a tender prayer, I began the interview.
“Andy, are you morally clean?”
“Yes.”
“Do you honor your priesthood?”
“Yes.”
Our interview was a spiritual feast. After I asked him all my questions, he had one for me: “Bishop, how many priesthood blessings can I have?”
“As many as you want,” I said.
A few days later, I awoke to a ringing telephone.
“Andy is pretty bad. Can you come over?” Carolyn Tuitupou asked.
When I reached my friend, he asked for a blessing and then said, “I want to go home.”
As his humbled bishop, I placed my hands on my young friend’s head and knew Andy was nearing the end of his mission on earth. I asked the Lord to please take Andy home if it was His will.
After the blessing, I held Andy’s hand and said to him, “It’s okay to go home, little brother; it’s okay to go home.”
Before he went home, though, he had a few things to finish. Andy’s pain subsided, and breathing became easier, enabling him to talk to each of his brothers and his sister privately. He expressed his love to each of them and challenged his brothers to serve missions.
When I talked to him again, I asked him what he wanted me to tell the youth in the ward.
“Tell them you don’t have to be ‘cool’ for your friends; real friends don’t care if you’re ‘cool,’” he said.
Andy called several special people on the phone to say good-bye. He called an aunt he was close to and wanted to challenge her to become active in the Church again. Afraid of offending her, he didn’t quite have the courage to do it.
I looked at Andy and knew I had one last calling for him.
“Andy, will you serve as a ward missionary?”
Andy smiled. “Yes.”
I once again placed my hands on his head. After I set him apart, I gave him his first assignment: “Andy, I want you to get on the phone and bear your testimony to your aunt.”
I left the room, and he went to work—an honorable missionary.
Throughout the day, friends and neighbors dropped by to see Andy. Because it is traditional in the Tongan culture to sing in front of the home of someone who is dying, a member of the ward organized a group to come later that evening and honor Andy by singing on the Tuitupous’ front lawn.
Midafternoon, Andy’s breathing became very labored. His father and I laid our hands on his head. Brother Tuitupou pleaded with Heavenly Father to allow his son to return home. Andy died in his mother’s arms.
Their front yard was soon full of ward members singing Andy’s favorite hymn, “Because I Have Been Given Much” (Hymns, number 219). Music surrounded the home, and the family wept as love filled their hearts.
Although the Tuitupou family said an early good-bye to their son and brother, they knew they had been given much: the chance to love and learn from Andy.

Fifth, let’s be prepared. I think often of Brother Herschel Pedersen, who was a basketball star at Brigham Young University many years ago. He said he was eating his lunch and reading his scriptures one day at the place where he worked and a rough individual looked in the door and said, “Oh, you’re reading that stuff, are you?”
Brother Pedersen said, “Yes. What do you know about these books, anyway?”
The man said, “I know all about them.”
“Oh, do you?” asked Brother Pedersen. “Tell me, then, when the Savior comes again what color will his clothes be?”
The man said, “That’s easy. They’ll be white.”
Brother Pedersen said, “That’s not what it says in here.”
“Oh, what color will they be?”
“Why don’t you try to find out?”
Brother Pedersen wouldn’t tell him. A week or two later the man came back ready for further discussion. After some time, he said, “Tell me, do you think there is any hope for a guy like me?”
You might think of asking questions you have worked out ahead of time. What would a person who doesn’t belong to the Church understand by reading this scripture:
“It shall come to pass in the last days, that the mountain of the Lord’s house shall be established in the top of the mountains, and shall be exalted above the hills; and all nations shall flow unto it.” (Isa. 2:2.)
Now all of us know what that means. It focuses our minds on the picture of the Salt Lake Temple. But if you weren’t a member of the Church, what would you think it meant? You wouldn’t know. You can ask that question. You might also ask what the Savior meant in the tenth chapter of the book of John:
“And other sheep I have, which are not of this fold: them also I must bring, and they shall hear my voice; and there shall be one fold, and one shepherd.” (John 10:16.)
If you weren’t a member of this Church, that statement would be a mystery. You could ask somebody who the lost sheep were who heard the Savior’s voice. Just remember, you have the answers.
Sixth, we need to share our testimonies. We don’t have all the answers, but we don’t have to know everything to have a testimony. If you don’t know the answer to a question, bear your testimony. Maybe the one asking the question won’t believe it, but he will know that you are sincere in your faith.
Seventh, we must live our religion. We must each consistently live our religion so that other people will recognize what we stand for. Many years ago now, when I served in the armed forces, I think I never had a close non-Mormon companion who didn’t know that I was a member of the Church and who didn’t know I had been a missionary. They treated me with the utmost respect and admired my standards. I don’t believe that I ever gave my companions cause to think less of the Church in all those years that I served with them.
One of those companions joined the Church. I didn’t preach a word to him about the gospel. Somebody else found him and taught him, but I suppose he remembered a young fellow named Bangerter who was a Mormon and remembered the way I had lived. I hope so.
Now let me make our position clear. Although we should treat others with kindness, tolerance, and respect, we must stand firmly for the things that have been revealed to us. We do not apologize that we do not have the same doctrines and principles that other churches have. We can talk about it in a warm and friendly way, but we do not apologize. We didn’t initiate this restoration. God did. If others do not appreciate the Church or its doctrines, we nevertheless know they are true.
Some people don’t want the gospel to have been restored. Some people are offended that there might be living prophets and Apostles. Some people hate the thought that God would actually speak out of heaven again. I don’t know why, but I suppose the traditions of their fathers have promoted those attitudes to the point where the idea of a Restoration is offensive to them.
Nevertheless, we know what God has spoken to us—that in these last days he has brought forth the fulness of his everlasting gospel to prepare mankind to return to his presence and be exalted in his celestial kingdom. Our testimony is that God lives, that Jesus is in reality the Savior and the Redeemer, that Joseph Smith was called as the instrument of God to bring forth the Restoration in the last days. Latter-day Saints understand these truths, and we must be true to that understanding.

As a young missionary I was assigned to a small island of about 700 inhabitants in a remote area of the South Pacific. To me the heat was oppressive, the mosquitoes were terrible, the mud was everywhere, the language was impossible, and the food was—well, “different.”

After a few months our island was struck by a powerful hurricane. The devastation was massive. Crops were ruined, lives were lost, housing was blown away, and the telegraph station—our only link to the outside world—was destroyed. A small government boat normally came every month or two, so we rationed our food to last four or five weeks, hoping the boat would come. But no boat came. Every day we became weaker. There were acts of great kindness, but as the sixth and seventh weeks passed with very little food, our strength slipped noticeably. My native companion, Feki, helped me in every way he could, but as the eighth week commenced, I had no energy. I just sat under the shade of a tree and prayed and read scriptures and spent hours and hours pondering the things of eternity.

The ninth week began with little outward change. However, there was a great inward change. I felt the Lord’s love more deeply than ever before and learned firsthand that His love “is the most desirable above all things … yea, and the most joyous to the soul” (1 Ne. 11:22–23).

I was pretty much skin and bones by now. I remember watching, with deep reverence, my heart beating, my lungs breathing, and thinking what a marvelous body God has created to house our equally marvelous spirit! The thought of a permanent union of these two elements, made possible through the Savior’s love, atoning sacrifice, and Resurrection, was so inspiring and satisfying that any physical discomfort faded into oblivion.

When we understand who God is, who we are, how He loves us, and what His plan is for us, fear evaporates. When we get the tiniest glimpse of these truths, our concern over worldly things vanishes. To think we actually fall for Satan’s lies that power, fame, or wealth is important is truly laughable—or would be were it not so sad.

I learned that just as rockets must overcome the pull of gravity to roar into space, so we must overcome the pull of the world to soar into the eternal realms of understanding and love. I realized my mortal life might end there, but there was no panic. I knew life would continue, and whether here or there didn’t really matter. What did matter was how much love I had in my heart. I knew I needed more! I knew that our joy now and forever is inextricably tied to our capacity to love.

As these thoughts filled and lifted my soul, I gradually became aware of some excited voices. My companion Feki’s eyes were dancing as he said, “Kolipoki, a boat has arrived, and it is full of food. We are saved! Aren’t you excited?” I wasn’t sure, but since the boat had come, that must be God’s answer, so yes, I was happy. Feki gave me some food and said, “Here, eat.” I hesitated. I looked at the food. I looked at Feki. I looked into the sky and closed my eyes.

I felt something very deep. I was grateful my life here would go on as before; still, there was a wistful feeling—a subtle sense of postponement, as when darkness closes the brilliant colors of a perfect sunset and you realize you must wait for another evening to again enjoy such beauty.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to open my eyes, but when I did I realized that God’s love had changed everything. The heat, the mud, the mosquitoes, the people, the language, the food were no longer challenges. Those who had tried to harm me were no longer my enemies. Everyone was my brother or sister. Being filled with God’s love is the most joyous of all things and is worth every cost.

Shortly before the April 2020 general conference, President Russell M. Nelson invited my wife, Kalleen, and me into his office, where he called me to be the General Young Men President. As our heads were spinning over this totally unexpected turn of events, he stood and said: “This is an important time for the youth of the Church because it’s an important time for the Church. The youth will play a critical role in this wondrous time.” He added, “You know, I have invited them into the Lord’s battalions.”
“Yes, President Nelson,” I said. “I know you have, and I know they are listening.”
“Well, it’s important that they do, because they are needed.”
I am paraphrasing only a little here, but he then went on to talk with great energy about the long-prophesied gathering that is taking place and the important work the Lord has for our youth to do. He spoke with a sense of urgency and great immediacy that they have been specifically sent to prepare for the Savior’s return.

“Play some defense! Make your free throws! Run harder!”
The smell of sweat and the sound of whistles filled the high school gym. Basketball tryouts came around quickly that November.
I wanted to quit the team. The previous year our team had gone to the California State playoffs, but this season would be much different. I reluctantly ended up as the only senior on the varsity team and was asked to serve as team captain. It was okay at first, but after a while, losing got really old, really fast. I started having a major attitude, and it was reflected in the way I performed.
It wasn’t just about basketball though—I was struggling off the court as well. I hated the idea of having to stick to rules and schedules. Each day started with the dreaded five A.M. alarm clock, dark mornings in our broken-down Volvo, and early-morning seminary. Then it was off to school, with tons of hard classes and annoying people. Playing ball was not my first priority, when so many other things seemed to be weighing me down.
After a few months, I was trying to decide if I should just quit the basketball team. I talked to my dad about it. “Your attitude can change everything if you let it,” he said. I didn’t know what he meant at first. I wasn’t the one making us lose! Then I heard a talk in Young Women class that really hit home. It was about having a positive attitude and how it not only affects your situation but also others around you.
From that point on, I decided to change the way I was looking at things both in and out of basketball. I started to go to Mutual again and tried to support other youth activities, and I prayed that I could be more optimistic in seminary and school.
Most importantly, I realized I could learn from trials and become better through them. Instead of complaining about losing, I started working harder at practice. Soon others noticed, and it helped the whole team become more unified because everyone saw that I was continuing to try even though we were still not winning.
Our basketball team didn’t win a single game that year, but it turned out to be one of the best experiences of my life. With a change in attitude, both on and off the court, I learned to be a more positive person in dealing with difficult things. I did not miraculously make our team better, but a change in my attitude really affected the younger players around me. The season was successful because of the friendships we formed and the way we were still able to have fun when most people would have given up.

Stacy’s seventh Christmas was one her family would never forget. It was unforgettable because it was almost so very, very awful.
One autumn day, Stacy’s family had gone for a drive to see the colorful trees. When a truck suddenly came into their lane, Dad swerved to miss it and hit a tree instead. Dad and Mom were fine, and so were Adam and Will. But Stacy was hurt. Dad called for an ambulance to take her to the hospital.
Stacy woke up in the hospital with a bandage on her head and her leg in a cast. She would need to stay in the hospital for a while until she got better.
Stacy shared a room with three girls named Jenny, Tamika, and Kelly. Kelly could get out of bed, so she played games and read stories with the other girls. Stacy was glad to meet new friends in the hospital.
Every day the doctor checked on Stacy. Her leg was healing well, and soon the nurses removed the bandage from her head.
One day Kelly went home. The girls hugged and said good-bye.
“I’m glad you’re well, Kelly,” Stacy said.
“Thanks. Now you and Jenny and Tamika get better too,” Kelly said.
Eventually Stacy was allowed to get out of bed. Walking with crutches was hard, but once she learned to get around on her own she made friends with children in other rooms. There were many children in the hospital, all with different injuries and illnesses. Some were there only a short time, while others had to stay for many months.
In December, Stacy was finally able to go home. “I’m glad I get to go home, but I’m going to miss everyone so much,” Stacy told her parents.
As Christmas drew near, Stacy’s cast was removed, and she worked hard to walk without limping. One night Mom and Dad asked Stacy what she wanted for Christmas.
“There’s really only one thing I want,” Stacy said. “I want to take presents to the children in the hospital who don’t get to go home for Christmas.”
Mom hugged Stacy. “Is that really what you want? You don’t want anything for yourself?”
“That’s really what I want,” Stacy said.
Mom and Dad explained the plan to Will and Adam and added that there wouldn’t be much money left over for family presents.
“That’s OK,” Will said. “I think it’s a good idea.”
The family went shopping and picked out toys, games, and books. Then they wrapped the gifts and piled them in the car.
On Christmas morning, Stacy and her family drove to the hospital. Stacy grinned as she passed out the gifts. Some of her friends had gone home, and now other children were in their beds. Stacy had a gift for each one. Seeing their excitement when they opened their gifts filled Stacy’s heart with joy.
“How do you feel?” Mom asked as they left the children’s wing.
Stacy hugged her. “This might sound funny, but I loved Christmas at the hospital!”

A few months ago, I was visiting with a fellow in an airport. After we talked and I asked about him, he asked about me. I said, “I guess you could best describe me as a Mormon missionary. Would you like to know about the Mormon Church?” I asked. He said he would. I got his name and address and asked if I could have two members of the Church call on him. In about three or four weeks, I got a letter telling me how wonderful the experience was. I think the Lord places many of his elect in our paths, puts them near us, and it is up to us to bring about the linkage between that person and the truth.

One Sunday afternoon when I was a bishop, a very disillusioned woman came to talk with me. She and her large family had recently moved into our ward. She told me that while she was growing up she had been taught many times that if she lived a faithful life and sought spiritual guidance, she would find her “one and only eternal companion,” and that temple marriage and righteous living would guarantee her a successful marriage. She had tried to follow this counsel, but after many years of an apparently happy marriage, her husband abandoned her for another woman, leaving her with many children and no financial foundation.
“What went wrong?” she asked. “Doesn’t God keep his promises?”
After attending to her feelings of pain and confusion, I reassured her of God’s love and suggested that the problem wasn’t with God or with her, but with her former husband—and with people who had led her to believe some things that just aren’t so.

On June 7, 1844, a group of dissenters, including several prominent Church members who had apostatized, published the first issue of the Nauvoo Expositor. This newspaper denounced Joseph Smith as a “fallen prophet,” a political demagogue, an immoral scoundrel, and a financial schemer. It accused Mormonism of promoting such activities and it maligned other individuals. Those attacked by the paper included several members of the Nauvoo City Council as well as the new mayor, Joseph Smith. After lengthy discussion, the council decided the libelous newspaper violated public nuisance laws. They voted to stop the paper before it aroused anti-Mormon mobs. Therefore, the city marshal destroyed the press, scattered the type, and burned available papers.
Owners of the paper then charged the city council with fomenting a riot (even though the destruction of the paper had been accomplished in orderly fashion). Council members were arrested and went through court proceedings which eventually legally acquitted them. But before this procedure could take place, anti-Mormon newspapers stirred up such a commotion that Joseph Smith mobilized the Nauvoo Legion and placed the city under martial law. Illinois Governor Thomas Ford was informed of the controversial actions and personally investigated. He obtained pledges that both sides would observe strict legality and nonviolence. Ford traveled to Carthage, Illinois, the county seat, to conduct negotiations between the opposing parties, and decided a trial would be the best solution.
The fifteen men named in the riot charge presented themselves at Carthage on June 25, where a justice of the peace freed them on bonds pending trial. Later that evening Joseph and Hyrum Smith were served an improperly issued writ charging them with “treason” for declaring martial law in Nauvoo. It was enforced without a hearing and the two were held in Carthage Jail. John Taylor, Willard Richards, and others accompanied them to jail.
On June 26 Governor Ford visited the Prophet in jail and was satisfied that the city council’s action and mobilization of the Legion had been taken for legal procedures. Ford left two companies of the anti-Mormon Carthage Greys (the local militia) to guard the jail. Although he promised to take the prisoners with him if he visited Nauvoo, the governor ignored this promise and left for the city of the Saints on the morning of June 27.
At Carthage, June 27, 1844, a body of men daubed their faces with mud and gunpowder, rushed the jail, and quickly overpowered the cooperative guards, who had agreed in advance to load their guns without balls. The mob rushed upstairs to the jailer’s sleeping room where the four Latter-day Saint leaders waited. Shots punctured the thin bedroom door. Hyrum Smith was the first to fall mortally wounded. John Taylor was struck from the doorway and from shots fired through the window. Seriously injured, he rolled under a bed to safety. Joseph Smith ran to the window. He was struck by two balls from the open door, another from outside the window. He was struck by a fourth ball as he plunged through the window. The attackers rushed outside to assure themselves that the Prophet was dead, leaving Willard Richards, still behind the door, uninjured. Someone shouted that a posse of Mormons was coming. The rumor was untrue, but the mobs fled.
They had killed the Prophet, believing that his death would mean the end of Mormonism. But members of the church recognized Joseph Smith and his brother Hyrum, the Patriarch to the Church, as martyrs to the Lord’s cause. Faithful members reaffirmed their belief in the ultimate triumph of the latter-day work restored through the Prophet. Joseph Smith had risen from obscurity to national renown, and the Saints believed that his name would be “had for good and evil among all nations,” (JS—H 1:33) as promised by Moroni. They thus set about the task of carrying forward a sacred mission that had only just begun.

They’ll tell you about the area’s religious climate and how it once turned chilly. Ideologically speaking, Welch and Pineville are located somewhere near the buckle of the Bible Belt. There’s a church on almost every block. Families can trace their membership in one congregation or another back for generations. These devout neighbors have sometimes had a little trouble accepting the Christian credentials of the Latter-day Saints.
A couple of years ago an anti-Mormon group sprang up in the area, preaching against the Church over the radio and in local congregations. The members responded with an unusual tactic—love. Instead of arguing, they showed increased friendship for their detractors. Instead of boycotting the businesses of these people, they went out of their way to patronize them. They prayed sincerely for the members of the group, both in meetings and privately. They came to dearly love their critics, because the branch had never been more united. As for the opposition group, it melted away without a trace, and some of the Church’s bitterest enemies became its friends.

The trail seemed new to Zeb, who was only six when he traveled it to Utah. So, like a tourist, he watched for famous landmarks along the trail. At one, Devil’s Gate in Wyoming, he examined the spot where the snowbound handcart companies holed up in November 1856. Those pioneers had left behind much of their baggage and buried many prized possessions until someone from Utah could pick them up. According to Zeb, he and the Utah Boys “dug out a piano, and several sacks of salt, which had been cached 4 years ago. They were not damaged in the least.”

Later that night, when they were both in bed, Mike asked, “Lance, do you really believe what Mom said about the Holy Ghost?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“How come?”
“I’ve never told anyone this, but do you know Bobby Morrison?”
“The tall kid with red hair?”
“That’s the one. Well, last year he and I planned how to cheat on a history test. I’m not going to tell you what the plan was, because I don’t want you trying a dumb stunt like that.”
“If it’s so dumb, why did you do it?”
“Well, I’m getting to that part. When the test started, it was like I could feel this voice. And it was really strong. It said, ‘You know it’s wrong to cheat.’ After that, I just couldn’t go through with it.”
“And that voice was the Holy Ghost?”
“Yeah. So I know that there is a Holy Ghost. If Mom says that He spoke to her, I believe her.”

She also held her own with the other missionaries. Once, as a joke, two elders replaced her coconut’s natural water with regular water at breakfast. The joke “disappointed” Emma, but she paid the elders back by serving them coconut covered with salt instead of sugar.

Such joking aside, the missionaries had an immense respect for “Sister Purcell.” One missionary observed that she was “full of the spirit of her office and calling.” Another elder wrote with appreciation about her kindness. Once, Emma left some bananas along a trail so that he and his companion had something to eat while traveling.

The first is illustrated by an experience when a stake president and I took the opportunity to visit a young woman in her home near Atlanta, Georgia. She was young; her husband had been killed in a car accident; she was living in an apartment with her two young children. I suppose we expected to find her upset and discouraged at having received a “bump” not of her own making. On the contrary, she was cheerful, calm, and very gracious. She thanked us for coming and said, as nearly as I can recall: “Brethren, I want you to know that I believe in the plan of redemption. I am grateful to my Savior for the promise of a glorious resurrection with my husband. I am grateful for his redeeming sacrifice.” Then, putting her arms around her two children, she said, “Our faith in Jesus Christ will see us through.”
We came expecting to comfort and strengthen, and we left humbled, buoyed, and blessed by her wonderful expression of faith.

Lynne Hoet, co-founder of The Stables with her husband, Pastor Sonny, shared the history and mission of the centre with the volunteers.
The couple saw a need to provide a facility that would bring people together to develop strong families through skill training programs aimed at breaking the cycle of poverty.
They purchased the 37-acre property in 1993, renovated the horse stables, and held church for six years in the building. The current building opened in 2000. After Sonny’s stroke in 2016, running the property and programs has become more and more difficult.
“We appreciate that your Church has joined us in this clean-up,” Lynne said, “as the work is quite extensive. We are well on the way to restoring the site so that we can invite families, vulnerable people and people with disabilities to enjoy our unique property that we see as the Lord’s place and a place of blessing.”

Once, when I was about seven years old, I had a pal whom I liked very much. We often walked home from school together. We talked about such things as what happened at school that day or what we were going to be when we grew up. We talked of being brave and of being able to do many things.

Sometimes we would dare each other to jump across a ditch or to climb a tree just to prove that we were brave or that we could do things we had seen older boys and girls do.

As we came to my home one day we stood out by the road and talked about who was the fastest runner in the school. The discussion got a little louder as both of us began boasting. When I strongly insisted that I could run faster than my friend, he turned to me and said, “If you’re so fast, I dare you to run across the road before that car gets here!”

I looked up the road and saw a car a short distance away. Without another word I dashed into the road to prove that I was fast and brave. A moment later the car’s brakes squealed! Its bumper hit me, and I landed in an unconscious heap.

When I opened my eyes, my aching body, a hurt pride, and my mother’s anxious face made me realize that I had been neither fast nor brave. I had only been foolish. I had brought sadness to myself and to others.

Fortunately, my injuries healed quickly. Of greater importance was the lesson I learned that has been valuable to me throughout my life. I learned that the only dare a person should ever accept is the DARE TO DO RIGHT.

During the difficult economic conditions of postwar Germany, opportunities for education were not as abundant as they are today. But in spite of limited options, I always felt an eagerness to learn. I remember one day, while I was out on my bike delivering laundry, I entered the home of a classmate of mine. In one of the rooms, two small desks were nestled against the wall. What a wonderful sight that was! How fortunate those children were to have desks of their own! I could imagine them sitting with open books studying their lessons and doing their homework. It seemed to me that having a desk of my own would be the most wonderful thing in the world.
I had to wait a long time before that wish was fulfilled. Years later, I got a job at a research institution that had a large library. I remember spending much of my free time in that library. There I could finally sit at a desk—by myself—and drink in the information and knowledge that books provide. How I loved to read and learn! In those days I understood firsthand the words of an old saying: Education is not so much the filling of a bucket as the lighting of a fire.

I wasn’t what you would call physically intimidating. In fact, I couldn’t even qualify as a 98-pound weakling. As a sophomore in high school I weighed in at a lanky 95 pounds. In an attempt to develop some kind of self-confidence, I had turned to wrestling.
Things were going well for me too. I’d finally broken into the varsity lineup and won a few matches when my coach decided that it would be “good experience” for me to travel with the junior varsity team for a match with a much smaller high school’s varsity team.
We were all pretty cocky by the time the bus pulled up beside the gym. I mean, after all, what kind of wrestlers could such a small school have? We piled out of the bus and headed straight for the wrestling room to check our weight. The wrestling room was typical—hot and stuffy with an odd assortment of mats and weights scattered across the floor. On the wall by the scales was a chart giving their team and individual statistics. My eyes scanned down the list to find my opponent’s record.
My heart fell to my stomach. He had nine wins against two losses and had placed second in a major tournament. My own record was a not-so-spectacular four and four. In addition, he led their team in almost every category—including pins.
When their team entered the room, I quickly spotted my opponent. He found me just as fast. He looked me over from head to toe. I looked him over from shoulder to shoulder. He was built like a tree stump. I was thin and lanky. In my mind I could imagine the years of bucking hay and other farm chores that had put muscles on his muscles. I looked down at my skinny arms and protruding ribs.
Right then I knew I would be victim number ten.
As the team wasted away the hours before the match, I rationalized the loss in my mind. He was obviously much stronger than I and, according to the stat sheets, also more skilled. Besides this was only a junior varsity match in a faraway town. No one would see me lose.
When we headed back to the locker rooms to dress, my heart sank again. There stood my father. He was in the area on business and had driven over to watch me wrestle. I cried inside as he introduced me to several of his friends from the area. Didn’t he know I was about to be destroyed? He told me to “go get ’em.” I replied with a very hollow, “Yeah, sure.”
As we dressed, my mind raced. What could I do? How could he show up for this match? I resolved to not get pinned. That was respectable. It was obvious that I was outmatched. Winning was out of the question.
I halfheartedly went through the warm-up routine with the rest of the team. I could see my father up in the balcony of the small gym seated with his friends.
Mine was the first match. As I shook hands with my opponent in the center of the mat, my dad yelled out, encouraging me. How could he? Now everyone would know he was my dad. I felt embarrassed for him, knowing that my opponent was about to wipe up the mat with my skinny body.
The referee blew the whistle starting the match. The crowd erupted with cheers. In all my previous matches, once the whistle blew my mind blocked out all sounds—my coach, the cheerleaders, even the roar of the crowd. This time I could still hear my father calling, yelling, even begging me to keep going—to do my best.
I struggled, I fought. One second I was on top; the next I was flat on the mat squirming to get free. The six minutes raced by faster than ever before. My father never stopped calling to me. The final buzzer sounded. The gym fell quiet—too quiet.
I had won.
One point separated us. By listening to my father’s voice, by picking it out of the crowd, I had won—something I had considered impossible just six minutes earlier. My coach called it my greatest victory. It was—not because I had won but because I knew my father’s voice and I knew that he believed in me.

Mine has been the opportunity to meet many wonderful men and women in various parts of the world. A few of them have left an indelible impression upon me. I share with you a story I spoke of some years ago. I met a naval officer from a distant nation, a brilliant young man who had been brought to the United States for advanced training. Some of his associates in the United States Navy, whose behavior had attracted him, shared with him at his request their religious beliefs. He was not a Christian, but he was interested. They told him of the Savior of the world, of Jesus Christ born in Bethlehem, who gave his life for all mankind. They told him of the appearance of God, the Eternal Father, and the resurrected Lord to the boy Joseph Smith. They spoke of modern prophets. They taught him the gospel of the Master. The Spirit touched his heart, and he was baptized.
He was introduced to me just before he was to return to his native land. We spoke of these things, and then I said: “Your people are not Christians. What will happen when you return home a Christian, and, more particularly, a Mormon Christian?”
His face clouded, and he replied, “My family will be disappointed. They may cast me out and regard me as dead. As for my future and my career, all opportunity may be foreclosed against me.”
I asked, “Are you willing to pay so great a price for the gospel?”
His dark eyes, moistened by tears, shone from his handsome brown face as he answered, “It’s true, isn’t it?”
Ashamed at having asked the question, I responded, “Yes, it’s true.”
To which he replied, “Then what else matters?”
These are questions I should like to leave with you: “It’s true, isn’t it? Then what else really matters?”