Gospel Story Finder

Recently my wife and I attended a sacrament meeting away from our home ward. Just before the meeting started, a young man approached me and asked if I would help pass the sacrament. I said, “I’d be happy to.”
I took my seat with the other deacons and asked one who was sitting next to me, “What is my assignment?” He told me I was to start passing at the back of the chapel in the middle section and that he would be on the other side of the same section, and together we would work our way to the front.
I said, “I haven’t done this for a long time.”
He replied, “That’s OK. You’ll be fine. I felt the same way when I started.”
Later the youngest deacon in the quorum, ordained only weeks earlier, gave a talk in sacrament meeting. After the meeting, the other deacons rallied around him to tell him how proud they were of their fellow quorum member.
As I visited with them that day, I found out that each week, members of all the Aaronic Priesthood quorums in that ward reach out to other young men and invite them to be part of their quorums.
These young men were all great leaders. And they clearly had some wonderful behind-the-scenes Melchizedek Priesthood holders, parents, and others who mentored them in their duties. Caring adults like these see young men not just as they are but as they can become. When they talk to or about the young men, they do not dwell on their shortcomings. Instead, they emphasize the great leadership qualities they are demonstrating.

“He doesn’t remember me,” Jeremy sobbed, burying his face in a pillow. “How could Grandpa forget me?”
Mom sat down beside him. “Remember the doctor told us that because of Grandpa’s illness his memories will come and go. Later, he may not remember much at all.”
Jeremy sniffed. “I just didn’t think he’d forget me.”
“He hasn’t forgotten you in his heart,” Mom said. “This life is a short time. Our family will be together for eternity, and then Grandpa will remember everything.”
Jeremy went to his room and tried to read a book, but he couldn’t concentrate. All he could think about was how to help Grandpa. Suddenly, a picture on his desk caught his eye—a picture of him and Grandpa on a fishing trip. “That was the most exciting thing we ever did together,” he thought. Then it hit him. “Pictures,” he murmured. “Of course!”
Grabbing the picture, he raced downstairs, skidded around the corner, and headed to Grandpa’s room. He knocked quietly just in case Grandpa was sleeping.
“Yes?” Grandpa called out.
“It’s me, Jeremy. May I come in?”
“Sure.”
With the photo in his hand, Jeremy stepped through the door. “Remember this, Grandpa?”
Grandpa adjusted his glasses. “You bet I do! That’s my favorite fishing spot. I’ve been going there since I was a boy.”
Jeremy fought back the tears. Grandpa remembered the fishing spot, but not him.
“You took me fishing there,” Jeremy said. “We fished all day. I got my nose sunburned and you fell in the stream trying to net my fish! Then we made a fire and cooked the fish for dinner. Remember, Grandpa?”
“Well, I can’t recall,” Grandpa admitted. “Let’s have another look. Hmm, is that my old truck? I bought that when my son was about your age. The boy in this picture looks a lot like my son.”
“The boy in the picture is me, Jeremy—your grandson. Your son is my dad, and we look a lot alike.”
“Oh, now I remember,” Grandpa said, looking hard at Jeremy. “We went there for your birthday, didn’t we? We had a great time, as I recall. Say,” Grandpa said slowly, “didn’t we lie on the ground at night and count stars?”
“Yes!” Jeremy squealed. “We counted as far as I could. You said that no matter how old I got, I’d never be able to number all the stars that Jesus scattered in the heavens. You said stars were to help boys like me learn how to count.”
“Maybe so. That was a great fishing trip. We should do it again sometime.” Grandpa’s head began nodding and Jeremy knew he needed a nap, so he patted him on the hand and quietly slipped through the door.
“Mom!” Jeremy yelled as he burst into the kitchen. “He remembered!”
“Who?” Mom questioned.
“Grandpa. He remembered me and the fishing trip we took. He actually remembered counting stars! I even forgot that. And now I know how to help him remember lots of things.”
Running back to his room, he pulled a shoebox from the closet and dumped the contents on his bed. All afternoon Jeremy worked. He cut. He pasted. He wrote. Finally he was finished. He took his project to Grandpa’s room.
“I made a book for us, Grandpa. I want us to remember all the great things our family has done together, so I got all my photos and I put them in this notebook. It’s like our own family picture book!”
“Family picture book?” Grandpa asked, opening to the first page. “Well, well!” he murmured. “This is my son, James, and his wife. James is my oldest son, you know.” Squinting his eyes and holding the book close, Grandpa murmured, “The writing under the picture says ‘James, Carolyn, and Jeremy.’”
“I know, Grandpa. They are my parents. See the baby James is holding? That’s me, Jeremy. This picture was taken the day I was born. And look at this one, Grandpa,” Jeremy said, turning the page. “That’s you holding me. I was eating the cake Mom made for my first birthday.”
“My, my,” Grandpa said. “It’s all over both of us!”
“See this one, Grandpa? That’s all of us at the lake one summer. We camped for a whole week.”
Page after page of pictures told the story of the family’s life together. Grandpa remembered some, and Jeremy described the others. When Jeremy got up to leave, Grandpa took his arm.
“Come back soon, Jeremy. I’d love to see that book again.”
Jeremy looked down at Grandpa and saw tears in his eyes. “I’ll be back later, Grandpa. I’ll show you some more. I love you and I’m so glad you’re my grandpa.” He bent down and gave Grandpa a hug.
“I love you too, Jeremy. You’re the best grandson in the whole family!” he said with the old twinkle in his eyes.
“Grandpa! I’m the only grandson in the whole family!”
“Yup. And you’re the only one I ever counted stars with!”

My good friend at school asked me what I did over the weekend. I told her, and the topic of general conference paved the way for her follow-up questions about my beliefs and the Book of Mormon. I was able to use the Articles of Faith to share some essential differences of our Church from other Christian churches, and I was also able to clearly explain what the Book of Mormon is and how it relates to the Bible.
I am so grateful for this opportunity I had! I know the Spirit guided me with my answers to her questions, and if it weren’t for general conference, I probably wouldn’t have been in the right spirit to readily answer them.
Ellie W., England

Garrett felt a terrible fear in his heart when he watched the news. There was always something sad or scary in the stories that the reporters told each night. Somewhere in the world there was a war; there were children who didn’t have enough to eat or a place to sleep. Somewhere in the world someone had been killed, or there were tornadoes or earthquakes. All these things made him worry that something bad was going to happen to him or his family.
It was nighttime, but Garrett couldn’t sleep. Although it was dark outside, the moon shone through his window and he could see all the corners of his room. On the desk was a picture of his brother and him. He wished that he was Allen. Allen was older. He was stronger and smarter. Garrett knew that if he was Allen, he would not be afraid. He thought that if he shut his eyes tightly and wished hard enough, maybe he would be Allen.
When he opened his eyes, he was still Garrett. And he was still afraid. He tried to think of something else. It would be his birthday soon. He and his mother had looked through the toy catalog together just the other day so that he could show her some of the things that he really liked. He tried to think of them now. Still, the frightening thoughts would not leave his mind.
He tossed and turned until he could think of nothing else but being with his mother and father. He always felt safe with them. They were in the room right next to his. He could sleep on their floor, and they would protect him.
All was quiet in the house as he made his way to their bedroom.
Garrett’s dad rubbed his face sleepily as he awoke to Garrett’s nudges. “What is it, Son?”
“Dad, can you give me a blessing? I’m afraid.”
Mom was awake now, too. “Garrett, are you all right?”
“I’m afraid.”
“What are you afraid of?” Mom asked.
“I can’t stop thinking about the news.”
“It’s all right,” Dad told him. “Of course, you can have a blessing.”
His father got out of bed and slipped on his robe. They sat quietly for a moment while he collected his thoughts. Then he placed his hands upon Garrett’s head to give him a father’s blessing.
Garrett listened carefully as his father told him that everything would be all right. He reminded Garrett that because he had been baptized, he was entitled to have the Holy Ghost, who is a comforter, with him. If he listened closely enough, his father explained, he would be able to feel the Spirit and feel peace and calm. And, his father added, Heavenly Father was aware of Garrett and was watching over him and would protect him.
Garrett remembered his baptism day. He remembered being confirmed a member of the Church. His father had said, “Receive the Holy Ghost.”
Garrett thought about the times when he had felt the Holy Ghost. There was always a good feeling in the chapel, and he usually felt the same way when he listened closely in Primary and when he prayed at home or read scripture stories with his family. He knew that what his father was saying in the blessing was true.
When his father had finished, Garrett kissed his parents good night.
“Do you want to sleep in here with us?” his mother asked.
“I think I’ll be all right now,” he replied. “Thanks, Dad. I love you both.”
Garrett’s room was still dark when he returned. He lay in bed, quietly trying very hard to listen. Then the still small voice came to him and he knew that everything would be all right. He was glad that he had chosen to be baptized so that he could have the Holy Ghost as a companion! He slipped into a peaceful sleep.

We four missionaries had just left the home of a senior missionary couple when we waved down a bus to take us back to our areas.
We shouldered through a standing-room-only crowd and grabbed the metal bar above our heads. Standing, we soon had to lean our bodies over the seated passengers to make room for other passengers crowding in.
A middle-aged woman sat below me, her lap piled with shopping bags and boxes. Her dark eyes told me she was tired, and her long face spoke of her discomfort sitting in a crowded bus moving through the sticky, hot Panamanian air.
Closing my eyes, I imagined that I could smell the Chinese food my mom and sisters were preparing for Christmas Eve dinner. I also imagined that I could hear the Christmas music Mom always played. Those comforting thoughts soon washed away the heat and humidity, and I began to hum a Christmas carol. The eyes of the woman below me lightened a shade. I gained courage and started singing a Christmas hymn to myself in Spanish. Elder Glazier joined me, and then we fell silent.
“Please, don’t stop,” the woman said, her eyes tearing up.
Looking at my companions, I pulled out my hymnbook.
“Brothers and sisters,” I called out over the din of the bus. As my companions also grabbed their hymnbooks, I added, “We would like to sing some Christmas songs to share the spirit of Christmas with you—a small message from missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
We sang every Christmas hymn in the Spanish hymnbook. We weren’t a heavenly choir, but the power of the music and words about the Savior’s birth touched hearts. The excitement of serving in the mission field during Christmas filled the four of us elders with peace, joy, and light.
We sang until we reached our stop. The woman below me cheered and said, “Thank you, Christmas singers!”
After stepping off the bus, we waved goodbye to the crowded vehicle. Passengers applauded as the bus pulled away, and we climbed a hill into the tropical night. I always look back at that night with gratitude for the woman who gave us an opportunity to testify of the Savior through song.

When Dinah Boitumelo Rakwela received word that her brother was going to be baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, she felt confident in her opinion that the Church was false. Over the years she had visited many churches—where she received brochures about Joseph Smith—and she believed their negative information. Convinced of his error, she went to see her brother to talk him out of his decision.
With her brother, she discussed until midnight the “mistake” he was about to make. Finally, he said, “It is too late to discuss this anymore, but I need to tell you one thing.” He bore his testimony and said: “This is the Church of Jesus Christ and I do not want to join any other church.” She felt defeated; she knew that he had made up his mind. He gave her a copy of the Book of Mormon. She didn’t want anything to do with it and when she returned to her home, she put it on the highest shelf in her bedroom—a place where she could ignore it.
Dinah has always loved reading, and one day—a few years later—she needed a book. As she was searching her bookshelves, the Book of Mormon fell off its upper shelf and landed open at Chapter 10 of Moroni. She read the open page and was struck by Moroni’s words. This caused her to read the entire book of Moroni and then to start at the beginning in 1st Nephi. She read steadily for two days, and when she finished the book, she knew that it was the word of God.
By this time, her brother was serving as a missionary in the Cape Town South Africa Mission. She called his home ward bishop—whom she had met before his departure for his mission—and when she told the bishop that she wanted to join the Church, he insisted that she needed to be taught the lessons. But Dinah did not want the lessons; she just wanted to be baptized!
So following this bishop’s counsel to be properly taught by the missionaries, she and her mother—whom she had also convinced to read the Book of Mormon—traveled eight hours each weekend from their home in Serowa (Botswana) to Gabarone (Botswana). There they were taught by the missionaries and attended church services before returning home. In due course, both Dinah and her mother were baptized.
Despite having no organized branch or ward in their village, they met and studied with other members. Together they regularly fasted and prayed for a branch to be organized. Eventually, a member of the Church who held the Melchizedek Priesthood moved to their village and a branch was formed. She considers this a miracle, explaining, “Everything is possible with God.”
Today, Sister Rakwela is a member of the Mochudi Ward in Botswana and serves as a Sunday School teacher. And her brother—the one who joined the church despite her efforts to dissuade him—is Elder Clement Matswagothata, who currently serves as an Area Seventy in the Africa Southeast Area.

I was having a hard day and had some troubling questions on my mind, so I decided to read my scriptures. Suddenly I felt like I should read the New Era, so I started reading the June issue and read “My Journey to Faith.” The last sentence really stood out to me: “I know that Heavenly Father loves each one of us and answers our prayers if we have faith in Him.” So I decided to pray about what was worrying me and trust that God would help me. Ever since, I’ve been at peace. Thank you so much!Karen A., Wyoming

I have since learned that my father was born in Tiruchirappalli, Tamil Nadu, India. He was the youngest of six children. His father, Harold Norman Watts, was a railway man in the signals division. When my dad was just eighteen months old, his father Harold passed away, leaving his mother Daisy to care for their large family. Through the kindness of Christian boarding schools and Daisy’s hard work, all the children received a good education and made good their lives.
In 1972 my father, his mum and two brothers and two sisters immigrated to Australia establishing themselves in Perth, Western Australia. My father joined the Australian army in 1973, serving in various postings. He met my mother in Melbourne in 1982 and their first date was to a Stake YSA dance. Later, my mother introduced him to the missionaries. Accepting what he had been taught and with the faith and testimony the size of a mustard seed, he was baptized on 9 May 1982. A year later my parents were married and sealed in the New Zealand Temple. Together they had five children. Heavenly Father and living the Gospel have been a blessing in all our lives.
In 2011 my brother Anthony was called to serve in the India Bangalore Mission. I was twelve years old and I remember him telling us how hot it was and how the electricity would always go off and you just lie in bed in a puddle of your own sweat! He would always talk about the rats he would catch in his apartment too and how he would use a bucket to go to the toilet. It all seemed so foreign and different.
Seven years later I too was preparing to serve a mission. I remember the night my call letter came, and I had all the family gathered around. Everyone had made their guesses as to where I would go. We all thought that I for sure would go to Temple Square. When I actually read my call, I was absolutely shocked! I thought, “Do they know that I am a girl!?” I knew that there were girls serving in India when my brother was on a mission, but they were Indian girls! I had no idea that they sent foreign sisters there and I wondered if I was the first one? Later I learned that I am the first sister from Australia to serve in India.
Another shock was how soon they wanted me to be prepared and ready to leave. I had just eight weeks from the time I received my call to the time I had to report to the Provo MTC. I quickly applied for my overseas Indian citizenship. It normally takes 6-8 weeks or more to arrive which meant that it would have come on the day I was supposed to leave. I knew there was a reason I was to leave so soon so I just put my faith and trust in the Lord that everything would work out. I ended up getting my visa in just five weeks! That is just one of the miracles I saw as I prepared for my mission. It was a crazy whirlwind getting ready for my mission, but it was a testimony to me that the India New Delhi Mission was where I needed to be.
Before leaving Australia for India, I was blessed to participate in the sealing of my father’s family members in the Melbourne Australia temple. Although I did not know my grandmother very well, this made me feel closer to her. And now that I am here, I am coming to understand my father better. I see his friendliness and hospitality in the Indians I meet every day and have come to know that it is part of the culture.
I am so thankful to be able to experience the joy and growth that sharing the gospel I love brings to me and to others. I know that this is the Church of Jesus Christ, restored and established once again on the earth. I know that the Saviour lives and that his Atonement is real. I have been able to feel comfortable no matter where I am in the world as I know that I will always have the constant companionship of the Holy Ghost and always be able to feel of my Heavenly Father’s love for me.

“I ended up staying with the family for a while,” Tyreece says. During his time with them, he continued to receive lessons from the missionaries, participated in the Church’s youth and then young single adult programmes, and was able to learn the routines of a Latter-day Saint home. He began to truly study the scriptures, and when he discovered the Lord’s commandment to honour our parents, Tyreece knew he had to make things right with his own family.
He and his parents started talking again and slowly rebuilt their relationship. His mother even started attending Church with him—she wanted to know the cause of her son’s change of heart. Around this time, Tyreece witnessed his friend Siale prepare for and be called to serve in the Brisbane Australia Mission. His testimony of the Church continued to grow and to strengthen. He just knew that all the blessings pouring into his life came from his choice to follow the teachings of Jesus Christ.

Tamika curled up under the soft blanket and took a deep breath. The quilt smelled sweet, like the cherry lotion her grandma used. She loved that smell.
“Gram, I’m glad Mama and I came,” Tamika said.
Gram sat on the bed next to Tamika and stroked her hair. “I’m glad too. Do you want a bedtime story?”
Tamika nodded. “Tell me about when Grammy Rose escaped.” Tomorrow they were visiting a place where her great-grandma Rose might have stayed, and she wanted to hear the story again.
“Again?” Gram laughed. “All right. That’s one of my favorites too.” She leaned back and got comfortable.
“Your great-grandma Rose lived on a big farm called a plantation with her mama and daddy. They were slaves, and they wanted to be free,” Gram said. “One day, Rose’s mama died of a fever. Her daddy decided it was time to escape with Rose.”
Gram’s fingers traced lines along the quilt as she talked, like she was tracing a map of the journey.
“They left at night and followed the North Star. It’s part of a constellation called the Big Dipper,” Gram said. “Back then, slaves called it the Drinking Gourd.”
“What’s a gourd?” Tamika asked.
“It’s like a squash. Slaves would use hollowed-out gourds as spoons to scoop water from buckets to drink,” Gram said. “Rose and her daddy followed the Drinking Gourd north. People from the Underground Railroad helped them along the way.”
Tamika nodded. She knew that the Underground Railroad wasn’t really a railroad. It was a name for the people who helped slaves escape to safety. Tomorrow Tamika and her mom were going to a house called Slave Haven, where some of the slaves hid on their journey north.
“But we don’t know for sure if Grammy Rose stayed in Slave Haven,” Tamika said.
Gram looked thoughtful. “That’s right. Rose couldn’t write, so we don’t know the exact places she stayed,” Gram said. “But when I was a girl, Rose told me her story, and I wrote it in my journal.”
Tamika sat up. “Can I read what you wrote?”
Gram nodded. “We can look at it tomorrow—”
Just then, Mama came in to kiss Tamika goodnight.
“Are you two still talking about Grammy Rose?” Mama said. “Tomorrow you can explore secret passages and trap doors at Slave Haven. But right now, it’s time for bed.”
As Mama tucked the blankets around Tamika, Gram told her one more thing about Rose.
“Grammy Rose always said that miracles from God brought her safely north. That taught me to look for miracles every day,” Gram said. “Like warm sunshine.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Mama said, looking at Gram. “Or a beautiful smile.” She turned to Tamika. “Or the miracle of Tamika finally falling asleep!”
Tamika laughed. She had never thought about sunshine and smiles as miracles, but the world would be pretty dark and sad without them!
Tamika felt happy and warm thinking about how brave her great-great-grandma was. Just before Gram shut the door, an idea popped into Tamika’s head.
“Gram? Can I have a journal? I want to look for miracles and write them down too,” Tamika said.
“We’ll get you one tomorrow,” Gram said.
“I know what my miracle is today,” Tamika said.
“What?” asked Gram.
“It’s you,” Tamika said. “And Mama, and us coming to visit, and learning about Grammy Rose …” Tamika’s words became softer and softer until she finally fell asleep, curled up beneath the warm, sweet-smelling quilt.

Being in high school can make living the gospel pretty difficult; at least, it seemed that way to me. There were very few members at my school, and I just didn’t seem to get along with them very well. The group of friends that I usually hung out with was far from “the right kind of friends,” but I really seemed to get along with them.
Soon, I started to fall away from the gospel and my Heavenly Father. I stopped attending church and Mutual activities and started using bad language. I eventually realized that I needed to change—I needed to become the kind of young woman Heavenly Father wants me to be. But I doubted that I could actually be forgiven for turning my back on the gospel and on Heavenly Father.
Then I remembered the story about the adulteress from John 8; she had committed one of the worst sins possible, but Christ invited her to repent. I realized that if repentance and forgiveness were possible for her, then I could also repent and be forgiven. That night I knelt down and prayed—for the first time in a long time—asking for Heavenly Father to forgive me. I was immediately wrapped in warmth.
I know now that repentance is possible. Satan will constantly try to make us believe that we can’t be forgiven, but I know from personal experience that this is wrong. Repentance can be incredibly difficult, but Heavenly Father loves us and wants us to return to Him. He wants us to be the best we can be, and He will do anything He can to help us if we let Him into our lives.

Let me tell you of a young man I knew when I was a mission president. He was a missionary full of faith. He was Uruguayan. He had been in the mission about three or four months when I arrived, and I noticed that wherever he served, people were being baptized. In the beginning I thought it was because of his senior companion, because he seemed too young, too new, to be the cause—that was my mistake. He knew how to make things happen.

He was called as a senior companion and a district leader. I sent him into a city that had gained a reputation of being a tough, “no results” city. Missionaries had not baptized anyone there for nearly a year—not one person! The members were discouraged. Only ten to twelve members were attending the branch. I didn’t tell him anything—I just notified him of the transfer. Three weeks later, he and his companion began baptizing. He served there about ten weeks. All of his district started baptizing.

It is great to have a missionary who can baptize, but if he can teach others how to do it, his leadership can bless the lives of many.

This missionary never wrote me much in his weekly reports. He would only write, “Dear President, I sure love you. Things are going great. Sincerely,” or “President, the Lord is blessing us greatly. I love the work. Your brother.”

He was called later to serve as a zone leader and sent to supervise the whole upper area of the mission where there were some very challenging cities. His new challenge was to teach the missionaries to do what he was doing. He served there two or three months and was responsible for scores of baptisms, and he literally changed the spirit of the whole zone, member leaders as well as missionaries. Together they wrought a spiritual miracle.

Then came a spiritual struggle for me, a restless feeling about him. I felt impressed that he should be sent to Paraguay. At that time the work was very slow in Paraguay. We averaged only 20 to 25 baptisms a month in the whole country. I wrestled with that and thought to myself, “He has really proved himself here, but to put him in that situation might drag him down in discouragement as it has so many others. He may have a hard time sustaining his faith there.” I had to struggle with my faith to convince myself that he really ought to go, but I obeyed the promptings.

I sent him a telegram transferring him to Asunción, Paraguay, as a zone leader and told him that he should leave the very next day. When he came into Montevideo, he didn’t even come to see me. He was modest and always a little embarrassed to see “the president.”

He departed from the mission home, but he left a letter, which was the first one that I had ever received from him. It said, in effect, “Dear President Cook, I received a telegram today telling me to go to Paraguay, and I thought you ought to know a few things: (1) You can’t baptize in Paraguay. I have had at least ten to fifteen elders tell me of their experiences there. (2) The members are not helping at all. (3) There are some real morality problems among the nonmembers there. (4) Many people live together unmarried. (5), (6), (7), (8) …” And he went through and listed ten to twelve of some of the most negative things that I have ever heard in my life.

I thought to myself, Oh, no, unbelieving people have gotten to him.

But as he finished the list, he said, “I just wanted you to know, President, that I don’t believe any of those things.” Talk about faith! Then he committed himself, after expressing his faith, saying, “I want you to know, President Cook, that on Christmas Day (and the date of the letter was December 1), we are going to baptize 25 people.”

When I read that, I prayed for him and thought, The Lord bless you, elder. You have a tremendous amount of faith, and the Lord will sustain you. You don’t know the country; you haven’t ever been there. You don’t know where you are going to live. You don’t know your companion, the leaders, the members. You don’t know anything, and yet you, in faith, believe that you are going to baptize 25 people in 25 days.

Well, this young man was full of faith and was a real example of a great Latin leader. On December 25, he and his companion baptized 18 people. They hadn’t reached the 25, but 18 was just about all that the whole country baptized in a normal month. It was a great privilege two weeks later to participate in a baptismal service where he and his companion baptized 11 more. His district baptized about 30 that day. Can you see how one righteous man can turn around a whole set of circumstances? He believed, he committed, and he and the Lord did it.

When Elder L. Whitney Clayton, a new member of the First Quorum of the Seventy, was a student at the University of Utah and contemplating a full-time mission, an important factor in his decision to serve was the example set by returned missionaries on campus. “It wasn’t so much what they said, although several said things that were helpful,” he recalls. “It was the way they carried themselves, the way they acted. There was something about them that was different from all of the other young men I knew. And it was obvious that the key to it was a mission.”
He was called to the Andes Mission in Peru in 1970, and his experience there helped lay a strong foundation for other Church service. One event that strengthened his testimony occurred during a tour of the mission by Elder Boyd K. Packer of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. “When Elder Packer bore his testimony in a missionary meeting in Lima,” says Elder Clayton, “I knew that he knew the gospel is true.”

Photograph courtesy of Josh C.
Josh C., a 13-year-old from Alberta, Canada, loves hanging out with his tight-knit group of Church friends as often as possible. All in the same deacons quorum, they love to play basketball, hit the ski slopes, and do all sorts of other activities together. They also look out for and support one another.
About a year and a half ago, when Josh’s life took an unexpected turn, his deacons quorum was there for him every step of the way. Toward the end of sixth grade, Josh began having small seizures. Despite trips to the doctor and antiseizure medication, the seizures grew worse over the summer. Several months into seventh grade, Josh had to drop out of school for health reasons.
Throughout this time, his friends helped him every chance they could—even if that meant just taking him treats and playing games with him when he wasn’t feeling well enough to leave the house. “I feel lucky,” Josh says about his quorum members. “They are always there for me.”
Ultimately, neurologists recommended surgery to remove the lesion in Josh’s brain that was causing the seizures. Josh’s friends decided as a group that they would fast for him on the day of his surgery. The eight-hour surgery took place during a school day. His friends went to school and spent lunch together as they normally did, but they didn’t eat. “It was neat they thought of doing it on their own,” says Josh.
The surgery was a big success. While Josh’s recovery hasn’t always been easy, his friends have stayed by his side all along.
Now in eighth grade, Josh hasn’t had a single seizure since the surgery 14 months ago. He feels so grateful for his friends and for the gospel. “People are there for you. Heavenly Father is there for you,” he says. “Look at your blessings—not at your trials—and see how Heavenly Father is helping. You don’t have to be afraid.”

As a child in Virginia, Kevin took an immediate interest in piano. “Before I studied piano I’d go up to the piano and fool around on it, just make some noise,” he said. When Kevin was five, his nine-year-old sister started lessons, and he decided to follow her example. “My mother thought I’d grow tired of it, sitting on the hard bench for a couple of hours. But I didn’t. And that’s when they discovered I had some talent and should continue. My parents have always encouraged me but never forced me. Sometimes when you’re very young your parents have to give you a little push, because you haven’t developed a lot of self-discipline. You really want to practice, but other things seem more important at the moment. Parents can look ahead for you and help you see the road you want to take.”
When Kevin was 10, his family moved back home to California. “By the time I was 12, I had no question I wanted to continue,” he said. “But at 13, I almost stopped when my teacher left on a concert tour and we had to find someone new.” Kevin finally became a student of Krzysztof Brzuza in San Diego and has attended the San Francisco Conservatory. He has also studied under Leon Fleischer at the Peabody Conservatory in Baltimore, Maryland, the oldest conservatory in the U.S.

While he was recovering from his illness, Elder Kikuchi stayed at his uncle’s home. In the spring of 1956, two American missionaries knocked at the door. Because he knew nothing about the real causes of World War II, Elder Kikuchi’s first response was, “No thank you. You Americans killed my father.” The missionaries, out tracting on their preparation day, told the young man that they had an important message for him and that they wanted to tell him a story about a boy his age—Joseph Smith. He said that he would listen for ten minutes.
“They taught me the most beautiful story of Joseph Smith who saw Heavenly Father and the Son,” Elder Kikuchi said. “I felt a sweet spirit. It changed my life immediately, and I requested to study more. After fourteen days I was baptized.”
After his conversion to the gospel, Elder Kikuchi found that his attitude about his father’s death changed. He followed the Savior’s teachings to “love one another” (John 13:34) and to “love your enemies” (Matt. 5:44).

When Richard Moyer lost his job, he and his family ate food from their home storage, paid bills using their savings, and continued to pay tithing faithfully. Despite his unemployment, Brother Moyer was amazed to see that he made exactly U.S. $1.00 more income that year than the previous one. “I have always attributed that miracle in our lives to paying tithing,” Brother Moyer explains. “The Lord always blesses you when you do the things He wants you to do.”
President N. Eldon Tanner (1898–1982) of the First Presidency taught that tithing is a commandment with a promise: “As you discharge this obligation to your Maker, you will find great, great happiness, the like of which is known only by those who are faithful to this commandment.”2 Obedience to this commandment brings peace and security. As Church members pay tithes and offerings they will experience miracles in their lives, as the Moyer family did.

Presidents Brigham Young and Heber C. Kimball tried to discourage Thomas B. Marsh’s murmuring, but to no avail. A repentant Brother Marsh later said of that time:
“I must have lost the Spirit of the Lord out of my heart. …
“I became jealous of the Prophet … and overlooked everything that was right, and spent all my time in looking for the evil; … I thought I saw a beam in Brother Joseph’s eye, but it was nothing but a mote, and my own eye was filled with the beam; … I got mad and I wanted everybody else to be mad. I talked with Brother Brigham Young and Brother Heber C. Kimball, and I wanted them to be mad like myself; and I saw they were not mad, and I got madder still because they were not. Brother Brigham Young, with a cautious look, said, ‘Are you the leader of the Church, Brother Thomas?’ I answered ‘No.’ ‘Well then,’ said he, ‘why do you not let that alone?’”

Lying flat on my back, staring at the mechanical paraphernalia of an X-ray machine, was not what I had expected as part of my experience in the Language Training Mission. But there I was, my right ankle all puffed and swollen; another casualty of physical activity time.
Fifteen minutes before, I had been in the middle of a very exciting soccer game. My district was ahead with only one minute left. Suddenly, our defense weakened and the ball shot toward the goal. I ran forward as Elder Duran, my best friend on the other team, fell to the ground to block my kick. Snap! A sound like the cracking of a branch wrapped in a towel made everyone cringe. I crumpled to the ground, holding my right leg, and screamed for a doctor.
I tried to get up, but the pain in my leg convinced me to just lie there and grit my teeth. The ambulance came, and soon I was lying on the X-ray table, hoping my injury would be a mere sprain or dislocation. However, my hope for a miracle was destroyed when through the partially closed door, I overheard a nurse say, “That’s the worst break I’ve ever seen.”
No one would touch me for 45 minutes. Then a specialist arrived and confirmed the nurse’s comment about my ankle. By 11:00 P.M. I was semiconscious in a hospital bed, still groggy from an operation to insert a screw into my ankle. My only thought at the time was that I would be left behind when the 21 elders in my group left for the Guatemala-El Salvador Mission two weeks later.
After four days in the hospital, I hobbled back to the LTM (Language Training Mission) on crutches. I don’t know if words can describe what it was like to be in the LTM for five weeks after I had learned all the lessons. I could say them backwards and forwards, in my sleep, in the shower, upside down, and in-between.
A group of missionaries were scheduled to leave for Guatemala four days after my cast was removed, but I still had two weeks of therapy ahead of me. By the power of fervent persuasion that only a missionary has, however, my doctor was convinced I could go as long as I didn’t do any excessive walking for the first few weeks.
Finally! The excitement in my body must have been the healing factor in my bones. By the time I got to the airport, I was hyperactive. To prove my ankle was as good as new, I hopped on one foot, danced around, and showed everybody the 20 centimeters long scar on my right ankle. I can’t remember all I did, but my antics were enough to bring gasps and concerned looks from my mother and comments like, “He hasn’t changed a bit,” from my friends.

In that old home, we knew that our father loved our mother. That was another of the great lessons of my boyhood. I have no recollection of ever hearing him speak unkindly to her or of her. He encouraged her in her individual Church activities and in neighborhood and civic responsibilities. She had much of native talent, and he encouraged her to use it. Her comfort was his constant concern. We looked upon them as equals, companions who worked together and loved and appreciated one another as they loved us.

She likewise encouraged him, did everything in the world to make him happy. At the age of fifty, she developed cancer. He was solicitous of her every need. I recall our family prayers, with his tearful pleadings and our tearful pleadings.

Of course there was no medical insurance then. He would have spent every dollar he owned to help her. He did, in fact, spend very much. He took her to Los Angeles in search of better medical care. But it was to no avail.

That was sixty-two years ago, but I remember with clarity my brokenhearted father as he stepped off the train and greeted his grief-stricken children. We walked solemnly down the station platform to the baggage car, where the casket was unloaded and taken by the mortician. We came to know even more about the tenderness of our father’s heart. This has had an effect on me all of my life.

I also came to know something of death—the absolute devastation of children losing their mother—but also of peace without pain and the certainty that death cannot be the end of the soul.