Gospel Story Finder

If you don’t like the thought of graduating from school as the only member of the Church in your class, you can always do what Tammy Shick of the Ridgeway Branch, Pennsylvania Pittsburgh Mission, did. She helped convert two of her classmates.
But her missionary work didn’t stop there. She gave a class presentation on the Book of Mormon and presented a copy of the book to her non-LDS teacher. She also wrote a class research paper on Church history.

Many years ago when I served as a bishop, I presided over a large ward with over 1,000 members, including 87 widows. On one occasion, I was visiting, along with one of my counselors, a widow and her mature handicapped daughter. As we left their apartment, a lady from the apartment across the hall was standing outside her door and stopped us. She spoke with a foreign accent and asked if I were a bishop; I replied that I was. She told me that she noticed I often visited with others. Then she said, “No one visits me or my bedfast husband. Do you have time to come in and visit with us, even though we are not members of your church?”
As we entered her apartment, we noticed that she and her husband were listening to the Tabernacle Choir on the radio. We talked with the couple for a while, then provided a blessing to the husband.
Following that initial visit, I stopped by as often as I could. The couple eventually met with the missionaries, and the wife, Angela Anastor, was baptized. Sometime later, her husband passed away, and I had the privilege of conducting and speaking at his funeral services. Sister Anastor, with her knowledge of the Greek language, later was to translate the widely used pamphlet Joseph Smith Tells His Own Story into the Greek language.

First, allow me to share the parable of the green chalkboard.
We might come home one day to a child who says something like “I hate school.” (None of you here would ever say that!) President Eyring explained that after some digging, we might come to realize it’s not school itself the child hates but rather the fear of failure. President Eyring admitted that he had experienced similar feelings after concluding he couldn’t do math.

Luckily, in the Eyring household there was a single decoration in the family room: a green chalkboard.

If that seems strange, let me read a brief passage from an article published on the Nobel Prize’s website about President Eyring’s father, Henry Eyring, a world-class chemist.
The article reads:
[Henry Eyring’s] brilliant theory for the rates of chemical reactions, published in 1935, was apparently not understood by members of the Nobel Committee until much later. As a compensation the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences gave him, in 1977, its highest honor, other than the Nobel Prize, the Berzelius Medal in gold.
In other words, the Nobel Prize’s own website acknowledges that the only reason President Eyring’s father didn’t win a Nobel prize was because his theory was simply not grasped by even the Nobel Committee itself! Not too shabby.
In short, maybe we would all do well to incorporate a green chalkboard into our family room decor.

Well, there at the family chalkboard, father and son toiled together on math problems.
President Eyring reflected:
I didn’t wonder if I could work the math problems; I’d proved to my satisfaction that I couldn’t. . . .
But Dad wasn’t satisfied. He thought I could do it. So we took turns at that chalkboard. I can’t remember the gifts my dad wrapped and helped put under a tree. But I remember the chalkboard and his quiet voice.

They remind me of the characters in a parable written a few years ago by Dr. Hugh Nibley. And I would like to quote part of his parable:
A young man once long ago claimed he had found a large diamond in his field as he was ploughing. He put the stone on display to the public free of charge, and everyone took sides. A psychologist showed, by citing some famous case studies, that the young man was suffering from a well-known form of delusion. An historian showed that other men have also claimed to have found diamonds in fields and have been deceived. A geologist proved that there were no diamonds in the area but only quartz: The young man had been fooled by a quartz.
“When asked to inspect the stone itself, the geologist declined with a weary, tolerant smile, and a kindly shake of the head. An English professor showed that the young man in describing his stone used the very same language that others had used in describing uncut diamonds: He was, therefore, simply speaking the common language of his time.
“A sociologist showed that only three out of 177 florists= assistants in four major cities believed the stone was genuine. A clergyman wrote a book to show that it was not the young man but someone else who had found the stone.
Finally an indigent jeweler Y pointed out that since the stone was still available for examination the answer to the question of whether it was a diamond or not had absolutely nothing to do with who found it, or whether the finder was honest or sane, or who believed him, or whether he would know a diamond from a brick, or whether diamonds had ever been found in fields, or whether people had ever been fooled by quartz or glass, but was to be answered simply and solely by putting the stone to certain well-known tests for diamonds.
“Experts on diamonds were called in. Some of them declared it genuine. The others made nervous jokes about it and declared that they could not very well jeopardize their dignity and reputations by appearing to take the thing too seriously. To hide the bad impression thus made, someone came out with the theory that the stone was really a synthetic diamond, very skillfully made, but a fake just the same. The objection to this is that the production of a good synthetic diamond, for the farm boy, would have been an even more remarkable feat than the finding of a real one."[4]

“Two sandwiches? I want three! Gimme three!”
“Man, I can really use this. Thanks.”
“Hey sweetie! You’re kinda cute.”
“Can I take one home to my kid? We haven’t eaten in a while.”
“Peanut butter? I can’t eat this stuff. Ain’tcha got no cheese?”
Mark looked around in the tray for something that he thought was a cheese sandwich and handed it to the hungry man standing at the open side door of the big white van. Mark and three other priests from the Arlington Ward, McLean Stake, were distributing food as fast as they could to the needy and homeless of Washington, D.C. This was a service project a little out of the ordinary for the priests, one they wouldn’t soon forget.
The plan had sounded simple enough. They’d go to a charity kitchen called “Martha’s Table,” where food had been donated and prepared. They’d load a van, which was driven by another volunteer, then head out to give away the food at three prearranged locations.
Mark Wolthuis, 16, was to hand out sandwiches, fruit, and pastries. Taylor Holsinger, 16, would do the same thing. Gonzalo Vargas, 17, would be at the back of the truck, wearing yellow rubber gloves and ladling up hot vegetable soup. And Keith Haraguchi, 16, would pour drinks from big plastic coolers he’d set up outside the van.
A line about 50 people strong had already formed by the time the van pulled up to the first stop, a busy downtown street corner bordering a small square. The young men were surprised to see a business suit or two and several bicycle couriers in line. They were also surprised the first time they saw what they later understood to be standard operating procedure: People would stand in line, get their food, then go straight to the end of the line. By the time they got to the front of the line again, they had finished their first helpings and were ready for seconds.
The second stop was Lafayette Park, right across the street from the White House. There were even more eaters there, their numbers swollen by those who had run over from the last stop. While some tenderly fed their last sandwich crumbs to the pigeons, others were trying to cut in the line, and a fight erupted. The boys just kept on dispensing food.
The last stop was in a more residential neighborhood. Old brick apartment buildings surrounded a small park where the food was handed out. There some of the people stopped to chat, explaining that with rent and food costs so high, they couldn’t afford both. “Prices here are some of the highest in the country,” agreed Taylor.
Gonzalo turned the big soup kettle on its side, trying to ladle out the last drops of broth, and Keith poured his last drink. They loaded their equipment back in the truck for the final time and pulled away from the curb. One or two lone, shabby figures remained to pick through the discarded wrappers, hoping to find a crumb or two worth eating. On the way back to Arlington, after the van had been returned and the empty trays, pots, and coolers unloaded, the boys talked about what they’d learned from the experience. They had done their part to help the needy, but the needy had also helped them.
Taylor said it made him realize how important it is to work hard in school and to take advantage of the educational opportunities he has right now to prepare for future employment. “I don’t ever want to end up in the streets,” he said.
Keith learned about gratitude. Although the food they gave out was simple, he noted that many people were grateful for any little thing they could get. “A lot of people said thank you, and really meant it,” he said.
Some questions were raised in the boys’ minds, too. “Could this whole thing be kind of futile?” Taylor asked. “I mean, we feed them for not working. Why work when you can survive on handouts? Do you think, by giving them food, we’re making them lazy?”
“But what about the old people, and the ones who are sick?” asked Gonzalo. “There are some guys who really can’t take care of themselves.”
“Those are the ones we need to have shelters for, I guess,” said Taylor.
“It would be best to help some of the others find good jobs,” offered Mark.
The boys realized that they were dealing firsthand with a social situation that has no easy answers. They’d never know what the people they’d been helping had been through. All they could see was that there seemed to be an awful lot of people in need.”
“There was no way you could judge them, and no reason to,” said Gonzalo. “You just gave something to everybody.”
What Gonzalo said brought to mind the great speech King Benjamin gave in the Book of Mormon about helping the needy. He said: “Ye yourselves will succor those that stand in need of your succor; ye will administer of your substance unto him that standeth in need; and ye will not suffer that the beggar putteth up his petition to you in vain, and turn him out to perish.
“Perhaps thou shalt say: The man has brought upon himself his misery; therefore I will stay my hand, and will not give unto him of my food, nor impart unto him of my substance that he may not suffer, for his punishments are just—
“But I say unto you, O man, whosoever doeth this the same hath great cause to repent. …
“For behold, are we not all beggars? Do we not all depend upon the same Being, even God, for all the substance which we have … ?
“And now, if God, who has created you, on whom you are dependent for your lives and for all that ye have and are, doth grant unto you whatsoever ye ask that is right, … O then, how ye ought to impart of the substance that ye have one to another” (Mosiah 4:16–19, 21).
Somehow, the strange things the priests had seen didn’t matter as much as the good things they’d done. They’d been able to ease some of the pain, if only temporarily, for some people who were suffering. They knew they’d be back to do it again, and they knew they couldn’t judge the people they were helping.
Because, deep down inside, the seed of understanding had been planted that would teach them what was really meant when King Benjamin asked, “Are we not all beggars?”

If you were to ask me if I believed in honesty, I would be a little bit offended. I would feel that you ought to know I believed in honesty. But let me tell you what I did a little while ago.

As our family was driving from Arizona, we stopped at a service station, and while the car was being serviced one of the children said, “Could we have some soda pop?” So, I went over to the vending machine. I put in one dime and I got out one bottle. I put in another dime and I got out another bottle. I put in a third dime and I got a third bottle. But then the gadget didn’t lock, and I got the fourth bottle out free. In all, I got four bottles for thirty cents. And as I was going over to the car to make the delivery, I thought, “They charge too much for this stuff anyway.” However, I have a little mental night watchman on duty up here in my brain someplace who started to make a fuss, and he said, “Look, Sterling, if you’re going to be a crook, you had better get more than ten cents out of it.”

I don’t know just what I would have done if soda water had cost a quarter, but I went back and put the other dime into the machine. Now, how can anyone tell whether or not I believe in honesty? By what I say about it, or by what I do while I am over at the vending machine where no one can see me except myself? Or, how are you going to tell whether or not I believe the gospel is true? By what I say in testimony meeting, or by the way I carry out my church assignments?

Mom poked her head into David’s room. “I have a surprise.”
David looked up from his toy cars and smiled. “What is it?”
“We’re going to lunch with your cousins.”
“Yes! Can we get tacos?”
“That’s a great idea. But before we go, put your cars away.”
“I’ll do it later.”
Mom frowned. “You know the rules, David. You have to clean up before you go anywhere.”
He didn’t want to put his cars away. “Rules, rules, rules.” Suddenly he remembered something he had learned in his Sunbeam class. One of Heavenly Father’s rules was to obey your parents. He put his cars away.
At the restaurant, David stared at the huge taco on his plate. There were also rice, beans, and little green things. He picked up one of the green things.
“No, David!” his sister yelled. “Don’t eat that.”
“She’s right,” Mom said. “Don’t eat that. It’s a hot pepper.”
“More rules,” David thought. He popped the small green thing into his mouth and chomped down. Very spicy pepper juice filled his mouth. His mouth and throat felt on fire. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He coughed. “Water! My mouth … my mouth is burning.”
He grabbed his water and drank every last drop.
“Eat a corn chip,” Mom said. “It will help.”
He grabbed the chip and chewed. His mouth felt better, but his throat still hurt. The taco on his plate didn’t look good anymore. Tears still rolled down his cheeks. He looked at Mom. She had tears in her eyes, too.
Sadness came over him. He should have listened. Mom loved him. She didn’t want anything bad to happen to him, just like Heavenly Father loved him and didn’t want anything bad to happen to him. That’s why Heavenly Father gave him a wonderful mother and the commandment to obey his parents. His mother’s rules and Heavenly Father’s rules would help him to be happy and safe.
He wiped away the tears. The taco started to look good to him again.

Within my first few days of arriving in the Dominican Republic, my companions brought me to visit a man by the name of Amado. During that visit, we talked about the plan of salvation and the opportunity he will have to see his wife again, who had passed away. The Spirit was strong during that conversation. His daughter and a few of his grandchildren were there, testifying of the joy they had felt through living the gospel. They testified of temples and the ability to be with our loved ones after this life, through the sacred ordinances of the temple.
During the following months, we returned to visit Amado weekly. We talked about the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ, and that this gospel has the power of God so that we can take the necessary steps and make promises that will help us return to live with God. We taught him about the priesthood, the power of God here on earth. We explained that God loves us so much, that He gave us another testament of His Son, Jesus Christ: The Book of Mormon. Little by little we taught him about the truths of Christ and His doctrine.
He questioned why we believe this Church is the only true Church on the earth. We invited him to come to church with us to experience it for himself. He enjoyed it but missed the comfort of his usual church. We invited him to pray and sincerely talk with God to ask Him which church is His. Amado prayed and received an answer in a way that he could not doubt that Jesus Christ had restored His Church on earth again. He continued attending church with us. We invited him to enter the waters of baptism and make a covenant with God through the proper authority. When we invited him to be baptized, he asked us if he would be able to see his wife again if he were to get baptized in a different church other than where the two were married. We testified of the perfect love of God and His plan that makes it possible for everyone that has passed on to be able to accept the gospel of Jesus Christ, and that being baptized is our responsibility. We have the opportunity to be baptized in the name of and for our ancestors, so that those people who no longer have their bodies can still enter into the kingdom of God.
Amado wanted this. He was baptized by his grandson, and it was a very special day. Everyone who attended the baptism felt the Holy Ghost testify that the step he took that day was correct and was ordained of God. In the following visits, Amado testified to us that he knows that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints is God’s church, and that he knew we were called by God to help him understand this. He had told many previous missionaries to go and preach to the people who didn’t know God, because he already knew God and didn’t need the missionaries. I learned even more that God places us where He needs us and that we can be instruments in His hands through our obedience and the love we have for Him and His children.

Our last daughter left for college this past month, and the eighteen years of daily living with her were suddenly over. Where had they gone? What minute, what hour, what day or night had swallowed up all those joyous, giggling, growing-up years? The first night she was away, I slipped into her bedroom, looked at her record player, and thought of all those times I had mechanically said, “Would you turn down the music!” And I thought, too, how often in the days ahead we’d be longing to hear the music. Thank God she and her parents have many wonderful memories to savor in the years ahead.

The story is told of a 14-year-old boy who had come to Nauvoo in search of his brother who lived near there. The young boy had arrived in winter with no money and no friends. When he inquired about his brother, the boy was taken to a large house that looked like a hotel. There he met a man who said, “Come in, son, we’ll take care of you.”
The boy accepted and was brought into the house, where he was fed, warmed, and given a bed to sleep in.
The next day it was bitter cold, but in spite of that, the boy prepared himself to walk the eight miles to where his brother was staying.
When the man of the house saw this, he told the young boy to stay for a while. He said there would be a team coming soon and that he could ride back with them.
When the boy protested, saying that he had no money, the man told him not to worry about that, that they would take care of him.
Later the boy learned that the man of the house was none other than Joseph Smith, the Mormon prophet. This boy remembered this act of charity for the rest of his life.2

The chain reaction continued as Ana Carolina reached out to a new investigator. Tatiane Pimenta, age 16, began attending church when she and her family were introduced to the Church by Sister Pimentel. “I felt very timid because I didn’t know anyone,” Tatiane says. “I quietly stayed in the corner.”
But soon things began to change for Tatiane. “I started feeling good because I made a friend.” In one class, Sister Pimentel introduced a game in which all the girls put their shoes in the middle of the floor, put on someone else’s, then got to know the owner of the shoes they had picked. “That’s how I started talking to Ana Carolina,” remembers Tatiane. “She became my first friend, a friend who encouraged me a lot. Because of her, I felt able to join the Church.”

My son Taylor (Elder Mulford) is serving a mission on the island of Bora Bora in Tahiti. He told me that not long ago the stake president came out to Bora Bora and told the missionaries about how he had visited a barber, who was a member, for a haircut. He asked the barber why there were no Liahona magazines among the others he had for patrons to read. The barber promised him that the next time he came, there would be Liahonas there. However, the next time the stake president went to the barber, there were still no Liahonas. Disappointed, he asked the barber why. The barber explained that each time he put a Liahona out, someone would read it, ask him many questions, and then ask if he could keep the magazine. The barber said he had no more magazines to give away, but he added that many of the people who took the magazines were taking the missionary discussions.

On October 7, my wife, Frances, and I will have been married forty years. Our marriage took place just to the east of us in the holy temple. He who performed the ceremony, Benjamin Bowring, counseled us: “May I offer you newlyweds a formula which will ensure that any disagreement you may have will last no longer than one day? Every night kneel by the side of your bed. One night, Brother Monson, you offer the prayer, aloud, on bended knee. The next night you, Sister Monson, offer the prayer, aloud, on bended knee. I can then assure you that any misunderstanding that develops during the day will vanish as you pray. You simply can’t pray together and retain any but the best of feelings toward one another.”

When I was called to the Council of the Twelve just twenty-five years ago this weekend, President McKay asked me concerning my family. I related to him this guiding formula of prayer and bore witness to its validity. He sat back in his large leather chair and, with a smile, responded, “The same formula that has worked for you has blessed the lives of my family during all the years of our marriage.”

Although many of our experiences in the house of the Lord are too sacred to share publicly, some we can share. Forty years ago, while living in Florida, Kathy and I traveled to the temple in Atlanta, Georgia. On Wednesday night, May 9, 1984, as we completed a session in the temple, an ordinance worker approached me and asked if I had time to do just one preparatory initiatory ordinance. The name of the person I represented was unusual. His name was Eleazer Cercy.
The next day, the temple was full of Saints. As I prepared to perform my second endowment of the day, I was given the name of the person I would represent. Surprisingly, the name was the same individual from the night before, Eleazer Cercy. I felt the Spirit of the Lord as the endowment was completed. Later in the afternoon, still in the temple, Kathy saw an elderly family friend, Sister Dolly Fernandez, who now lived in Atlanta. With no male members of her family with her, she asked if I could possibly assist in the sealing of her father to her father’s parents. I was of course honored.
As I knelt at the end of the altar for this sacred ordinance, I heard once again the name that was now inscribed in my mind, her father, Eleazer Cercy. I fully believe that following this life, I will meet and embrace a man known in his mortal life as Eleazer Cercy.

Will Hagen, a 17-year-old from Salt Lake City, Utah, was a baseball player through his childhood and most of high school, but he’s known for almost his entire life what he really wants to be—a violinist. And being a violinist isn’t just something Will wants to do, it’s something he feels he’s meant to do.
Will started playing the violin when he was almost four years old, and since then the instrument has been a major part of Will’s life, sometimes making it hard for him to balance his other responsibilities. Though he had been playing on his high school’s varsity baseball team for several years, Will decided to give up the sport his last year of high school to concentrate on his music. His music career has become more serious, and he spends a lot of time traveling for lessons and concerts, which can make it challenging to keep up in the classroom.
After playing the violin for 13 years, however, Will has a better idea of how to manage his time and priorities. “I do what’s important first. I try not to get too bogged down in one thing.” With his regular teenage life and his music life often pulling him in different directions, he finds that his membership in the Church is what keeps him on track. “Being a member of the Church is one thing that keeps me steady. The Church is a wonderful constant in my life.”
Playing the violin as seriously as Will does takes a tremendous amount of discipline, which he says is the hardest part about playing the violin. “It’s hard to practice slowly,” he explains. “It’s hard to practice every day.” It also takes discipline to balance his social and school life and his music life “because they’re so completely different.”
Will was first attracted to the violin after hearing people play the instrument in a Church meeting. “I’ve always felt that I’m meant to play, because I’ve always had a very personal connection to the music.” He says that the techniques associated with string playing distinguish the violin from other instruments, like the piano. “With the piano, you don’t have vibrato, you don’t have slides, and those slides and vibrato can make it sound more human. The violin is a great instrument. It’s really expressive, and you can really sound like you are saying something.”
He sees music as more than just notes on a page. While few classical composers have been LDS, Will believes “that many were inspired by God in some way, and there’s a good connection there.” He continues, “I treat the music like it really is more than a song.”
With such clear talent for the instrument, Will could easily let his ability get to his head, but he keeps his motivation on track: “I just love the music. That’s what I’m in it for.” He recognizes the power music has to influence people and tries to stay in tune with the Spirit when he performs. “Music is very, very powerful. I pray every single time before I go on stage. It’s really strengthened my testimony of prayer, because prayer really does work. Many times I’ve had prayers directly answered, and it’s strengthened my testimony.”
Will has a bright future ahead of him as he continues to develop his talent on the violin. He’s learned that through dedicated effort and continual prayer, the Lord will help him magnify his abilities. We, like Will, need to follow Paul’s counsel and “neglect not the gift that is in [us]” (1 Timothy 4:14).

The ability to receive a patriarchal blessing was a profound opportunity for the British Saints, to strengthen their testimonies and better understand what it was the Lord would have them do. At a London district conference in 1932, Samuel Bantock, a seventy-three-year-old member, was filled with excitement. With tears in his eyes and a glowing face, he rushed up to President John Widstoe and whispered, “The Patriarch told me that my life’s offering was acceptable to the Lord. Think of it. The Lord is pleased with my humble efforts! I would rather know that than… possess all the riches or honour of earth.”10

With hands clasped together, the two men stood facing each other with tears in their eyes. Samuel had truly learned how to measure the values of life. Recalling the event, President Widstoe stated, “How many of the hundreds who in this land have received their patriarchal blessings during the last six months, place the true value upon them, as did this veteran soldier in the army of the Lord?”

The patriarchal blessing was of profound value and importance to Samuel, and he was filled with gratitude that he had the opportunity to receive it. He was one of the almost 1,400 members who received patriarchal blessings during the Wallis’ two-year mission. However, the work grew heavy and in March 1933, John B Stagg, a Lincolnshire-born missionary, was assigned to be the patriarch’s recording secretary.11 This extra support enabled the Wallises to continue their monumental assignment.

Almost twenty years ago I had the opportunity to serve as a bishop. We had several young married couples in our ward. I recall one summer in particular when two young couples moved in. They had both been recently married in the temple, they were both working and going to school, and they were both poor as church mice. They accepted callings to serve and strengthened our ward.

During tithing settlement that year, the first of these young couples came to see me. When I asked, “Are you full tithe payers?” the couple responded, “Well, this has been a difficult year. Between rent, food, gasoline for the car, and tuition for school—we are sorry, but it just wasn’t possible to pay our tithing this year.”

Oh, how my heart broke for them. Earlier in the year they had knelt at the altar in the temple. They had entered into sacred covenants and had been promised all the blessings of eternity. Now, just eight months later, they were lacking the faith to live worthy of those promised blessings. What a tragedy! We made plans to meet again after the first of the year.

A week or so later, the second couple came in for tithing settlement. Again I asked the question “Are you full tithe payers?”

Oh, how my heart swelled with joy at their response: “Yes, Bishop, we are full tithe payers.”

I looked at them and smiled. There they were, seated together, hand in hand, worthy of all the blessings that had been promised to them in the house of the Lord eight months previously.

Then I thought, how did they do it? This couple also had to pay rent, buy food, buy gasoline, and pay tuition. They were still poor as church mice. When I examined their annual donation sheet, I saw that they had paid tithing nearly every week. The amounts were usually quite small, but they were consistent. I was impressed with how their humble donations added up to a magnificent miracle as the Lord provided for their family and they remained worthy of their temple blessings. Even now, many years later, I am in awe of their faith.

We have witnessed two watershed events: September 11, 2001, the World Trade Center terrorist attack brought Christians and Muslims into confrontation. The December 27, 2004, tsunami opened opportunity for Christians and Muslims to cooperate. The first was a wake-up call; the other pushed us out of bed.

The December 2004 tsunami, which devastated the Indian Ocean region, struck Indonesia particularly hard. Two days after the tsunami, I called Brother Alwi on his cell phone. He said, “I am standing at Banda Aceh, next to President Yudhoyono. You cannot believe what we see.” I told him we would help.

They first asked for 20,000 body bags. We located them in China and had them air-freighted to Jakarta. Not long after that, they asked for 30,000 more.

Shortly thereafter, Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve, Dr. Gerrit Gong of Brigham Young University, and I traveled to Jakarta and then on to Banda Aceh which is on the north end of the island of Sumatra, vulnerable to the open ocean. We witnessed scenes words cannot describe. Over 200,000 were dead, families broken and dislocated, homes washed away. We saw one cemetery where 40,000 bodies had been buried.

The First Presidency called a special fast for funds to aid the victims of the tsunami. The money flowed in—several million dollars.

Part of our purpose in traveling to Indonesia was to review the significant Church humanitarian relief to those hardest hit. The assistance began flowing immediately, and it continues today.

In 1989, Yuri and Liudmila Terebenin of St. Petersburg (then called Leningrad) and their daughter, Anna, were visiting friends in Budapest, Hungary. A Latter-day Saint friend invited them to church, where they felt the Spirit and decided to meet with the missionaries. They were eventually baptized. Though initially the only members of the Church in St. Petersburg, the Terebenins were not left alone for long. Members of the Church from Finland were already sharing the gospel with Russians, including Anton Skripko, who became the first Russian baptized in Russia.

At the time, Russia was experiencing political change, and Americans living and working in Moscow began to reach out to their Russian friends and acquaintances. Dohn Thornton met Galina Goncharova in 1989, and religion became a topic of discussion between them. Brother Thornton later recalled, “As I gave [Galina] the Book of Mormon and Joseph Smith pamphlet, the most incredible thing happened. It was [as] if all the light in the room at that moment focused on the book. The Spirit came over us and [she] started to cry.”8 Galina told him that she felt the book was from God. She began attending church and was baptized in June 1990, becoming the first convert baptized in Moscow.

As Russians from St. Petersburg, Vyborg, Moscow, and other cities joined the Church, a new chapter opened in the history of the Church in Russia. On April 26, 1990, Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve offered a prayer of rededication for Russia in St. Petersburg, reaffirming the dedication that Elder Lyman performed nearly a century earlier and asking the Lord to extend the blessings of the gospel to the people.

Also in the spring of 1990, Tamara Efimova of St. Petersburg brought the missionaries to her home after meeting them at a friend’s home. Her father, Vyacheslav Efimov, was skeptical at first that these young men could teach him anything new about God. However, he became impressed by their gospel message. He wrote: “[It] gave me the opportunity to receive answers to my own questions and, most important, to understand that God loves each of us—we are his children and he has given us a Savior, his Son Jesus Christ, and each of us will be resurrected.”9 In June, Vyacheslav, Galina (his wife), and Tamara were baptized. From 1995 to 1998, Brother Efimov served as Russia’s first native mission president.

Jackie Biggs, 17, from the Syracuse First Ward, said the discussions at the conference had helped her understand ways in which she could improve her relationship with her parents. “Sometimes it seems like lessons don’t apply, but this one did. Sometimes I forget my parents are human, too.”

Jackie’s sentiments reflected feelings a lot of others shared, both during a testimony meeting and during an early morning seminary session.

“After the seminary lesson on parent-child relationships, my mother (who, as stake Young Women president, was at the conference) told me that she loved me,” Sherry said. “My back was to her and I didn’t hear her for sure. I thought maybe I was just wishing. Then turned around and saw her.”