Gospel Story Finder

So often I had been on the “giving” end of prayers, asking Heavenly Father to give his blessings to my loved ones. After I said “amen” I would meditate briefly, then carry on with my day. I never considered how my prayers might affect others’ lives until I happened to be on the “receiving” end of many prayers.
I was pregnant with my third child, and was attempting to follow my doctor’s orders to take it easy. My husband was out of town, leaving me totally in charge of our two small children, when I suddenly became ill with a serious infection that endangered the life of my unborn child. Frightened, I called a member who lived near by and asked him to give me a blessing. He and the elders quorum president soon arrived, and as they administered to me, I felt the sweet presence of the Spirit. However, a visit to my doctor that afternoon caused me to worry again. I thought about the possibility of losing the baby, and spent much of the rest of the day crying.
But that night, my fears were replaced by the same comforting feeling I had experienced during the blessing, and I became aware of the concern felt by family members and friends who cared for me and wanted me and my baby to be healthy. I knew they were praying for me and that their prayers were being answered. I left their love surround me and give me courage. This sweet feeling stayed with me until I finally regained my health.
Often, through the remainder of the pregnancy, people told me that they had prayed for me when I had been ill. I always replied, “Yes, I know you did.” And as I later held my healthy, newborn daughter, I reflected on the miracles that can come from prayer.

Ken Bradford, 15, of Santa Fe, New Mexico, really made a difference by standing up for what he knew was right.
Ken had won two gold medals in wrestling and his coach told him he had an excellent chance of taking first place in his division at the state meet.
When Ken found out that part of the meet would be held on the Sabbath, he told his coach he would not be able to participate in the Sunday matches. Ken came in first in the Saturday matches, but he received the second-place medal in the meet because he did not finish the competition.
The following Monday, Ken’s coach said that he would change the rules so future tournaments would not be held on Sunday.

“My older brother, Ron, has always been an inspiration to me. I recall one evening when he came home from a church youth meeting and announced to the family that his teacher had told him that he had to gain his own testimony and receive his own witness and to not rely on that of others. He said—almost prophetically—‘I’m going to gain that personal witness and testimony, no matter how long it takes or what the cost.’

“Ron began reading and studying the scriptures and fasting and praying. One morning a short time later, he was suddenly stricken by a paralysis. He could not move his body and his right side was in terrible pain. He was barely able to whisper to Dad that he wanted a blessing. No sooner had Dad finished blessing his son than Ron was miraculously cured! My brother uncoiled his tense body, straightened up, and was free of pain.

“When he was later examined by a doctor, the diagnosis was that he had had what appeared to be a ruptured appendix but that no trace of damaged tissue was found in his body. Later, my brother told me that during this experience he received his special witness from the Holy Ghost that the Book of Mormon and the gospel were true. He wanted me to know, however, that he had received this knowledge from the Spirit before Dad had blessed him and before his healing. He truly had shown faith before the miracle.”

While I was in the Navy in Hawaii, my wife, who stayed at home in San Diego, California, was visited by missionaries who asked her the same questions that had bothered me. The missionaries left a Book of Mormon with her, and I read it when I came home.
I started hoping that the Book of Mormon was true, so I asked Heavenly Father for it to be true. As I kept reading, I knew that Joseph Smith was a true prophet and that the Book of Mormon was the word of God. I knew that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the true church.

Case 4. Three plump young ladies had barely begun their attack on a table laden with yummy junk food when suddenly the feast vanished right before their eyes. Nearby three guardian angels looked suspiciously smug.
After the opening prayer, the projectionist hit the switch, and the evening was awash in cheers, laughter, and even a few friendly groans. Poor Cindy Ella, outcast because of her curly hair, did get to the governor’s ball (thanks to her fairy godperson) and fell in love with the governor’s curly headed son. A new banana eating record was set. The three junk food junkies did lose weight. The missionaries did keep tracting. Fun triumphed again. All seven wards had come up with their own idea of what the silver screen is all about, and all were pretty proud of what they had done.

Františka Brodilová joined the Church in Vienna in 1913—a year before the start of World War I—and didn’t have contact with other Church members until 1929.
Portrait of Františka Vesela Brodilová courtesy of Visual Resources Library
Františka Brodilová could hardly have foreseen the role she would play in Church history when a missionary knocked on her door in Vienna in 1913. The year after her conversion, World War I engulfed the Austro-Hungarian Empire, missionaries returned home, and many male members were called into military service, leaving Františka and a few other sisters to meet on their own.
It was the most contact Františka would have with Church members for many years. After the war, Františka’s husband, František, was promised a post in the new government of Czechoslovakia. After they moved to Prague, Františka was the only member of the Church in the country. František passed away a few months later, and Františka was left with two young daughters—Frances and Jane—to provide for.
On her own, Františka taught her daughters the gospel. “I was raised in the Church,” Frances recalled. “The church was our home!”1 Františka also wrote to Church leaders in Austria asking that missionaries be assigned to Czechoslovakia. Church leaders were reluctant because the last missionary in Prague, some 40 years earlier, had been jailed for preaching and then banished from the city. Despite the new government, Church leaders feared that little had changed.
Undeterred, Františka continued writing letters and praying for a mission to be established. In 1928, after Františka had been on her own for a decade, 83-year-old Thomas Biesinger—the same missionary who had preached in Prague years before—returned. It seemed that the family’s isolation had come to an end. A short time later, however, Elder Biesinger’s declining health forced him to leave the country.
Františka was discouraged but decided to keep writing letters to members and Church leaders abroad. Her perseverance was rewarded: on July 24, 1929, Elder John A. Widtsoe (1872–1952) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles arrived in Prague with a group of missionaries. That evening, Františka and the group climbed a hill near Karlštejn Castle, where Elder Widtsoe dedicated Czechoslovakia for the preaching of the gospel and formally organized a mission. “Few people can realize the joy we experienced,” Františka later wrote. “We [had] been praying for years for this day.”2
Františka was present when Elder John A. Widtsoe (both in the middle row) dedicated Czechoslovakia for the preaching of the gospel in 1929.
For nearly six months, the branch met in Františka’s home. Františka eventually assisted her daughters in translating the Book of Mormon into Czech and laid a foundation for the Church in what is now the Czech Republic.

Looking back on his life, a man recently shared this tender story with me: “When I was growing up, my father was less active in the Church. He struggled with alcohol—and in his darkest moods could become harsh and accusing. He normally didn’t object to Mom serving in the ward. She worked in Primary for 38 years, and during much of that time she also served in Young Women. She carried a heavy load. Her marriage was difficult, and I now know that she was discouraged at times, but I didn’t know it then.
“I didn’t realize until later that the sisters in our ward were her strength. She didn’t work in the Relief Society leadership, but she always attended the meetings, and she loved her friends there. I never thought of them as the ladies of Relief Society; they were simply Mom’s sisters. They cared about her and loved her. She had all brothers and all sons. She found the sisters she wanted and needed in our ward. I know she shared her feelings with them—feelings she couldn’t express anywhere else. None of that seemed ‘Relief Society’ to me then, but I understand now that it was.”

HI! My name is Brittany Scott. I want to tell you about Richie Tanner, a special member of our Primary class. What makes Richie special? Well, he’s developmentally delayed, or what some people call mentally handicapped. He looks like most ten-year-old boys, but he acts younger—like maybe a five-year-old. He doesn’t speak very clearly yet, and it takes him longer to learn things.
Richie and I are in the Valiant B class in the Monument Park Ninth Ward, Salt Lake Monument Park Stake. There are five children in our class: Steven Jones, Marcus Foulger, Michael Knudson, Richie, and me. Our teacher is Janet Fawcett. She’s great! She always tells Richie what a good job he’s doing when he listens quietly to the lessons. Sister Fawcett calls on Richie to say prayers and to answer questions. She treats him like everyone else, and she tries to help Richie learn the gospel, just as she helps us.
Richie hasn’t always been able to sit through a lesson. So our Primary has tried different ways to help him. He used to have a special teacher, Sister Neva Clayton, just for him. She would sit with Richie in our class and take him out in the hall if he got noisy or disrupted the class in some other way. But now Richie can sit in class all by himself, just like everyone else!
I’ve seen Richie make good progress: he talks better, he pays attention longer, and he sings in Primary programs. I hope that someday Richie will be able to give a talk by himself.
Richie’s brothers, Michael and Russell, and his sister, Anne, help him come to Primary. He really likes Primary, and he likes to be with all the Primary children because they let him know that he belongs there. Richie adds a lot to our Primary, and he always listens to the other children when they give their talks. He sets a good example for all of us.
Sometimes I wish that I could be more like Richie, because he’s so gentle, friendly, honest, appreciative, and sincere. Richie shows his love in special ways. He’s my friend! I hope that Richie thinks of me as a true friend too. Richie is one of the neatest boys I know!

It was an uncommonly warm spring evening in Port Alberni, the small mill town in British Columbia, Canada, where I lived. I was looking forward to attending Mutual and spending time with my Latter-day Saint friends. I was friendly by nature but was nevertheless struggling socially both at school and at church.
As was our habit, a group of us gathered in the foyer of our meetinghouse and began chatting. I spent little time on center stage in these conversations, and from my outside vantage point I spotted two sister missionaries coming in the front doors with a boy beside them. I recognized him from my neighborhood.
While her companion stood off to the side speaking to the boy, Sister Eaton approached us and said, “Look, you guys. We’re really excited about this. We’ve been working with this boy and his family for months, and this is the first time he’s agreed to come. Would you make him feel welcome?”
We nodded halfheartedly, said our hellos, and made a small opening for him to stand with us. He looked awkward and uncomfortable and mostly stared at the floor. In comparison to most of us, he was poorly dressed and unkempt. We talked for a few more minutes until the adult traffic became too intrusive. Then we slipped away to the rest room for more privacy.
All of us, that is—except the new boy. We were so caught up in our discussion we didn’t notice him turn and walk out the door alone. Nor did we miss him in the rest room.
A few minutes later the bell rang for the start of opening exercises. We filed out of the rest room, joking among ourselves. Just outside the door, however, Sister Eaton was waiting for us, tears pouring down her face.
“What’s the matter with you?” she cried out, more in disbelief than anger. “All you had to do was be friendly to him, to include him. Was that too much to ask?”
“Where’d he go?” I stupidly asked.
“What do you care?” she snapped back. “You won’t have to worry about him again. He won’t be back.” With that, she turned, joined her companion, and left the building to look for the boy. It was a five-kilometer walk back to our neighborhood.
Stung by her chastisement, we filed quietly and sheepishly into the chapel. Even when the others began to revive their spirits, my conscience burned. I was deeply disturbed by what we had done. Later that evening after I returned home, I talked to Laurence, my older brother, about it. He had returned from college and would soon go on his mission. I respected his advice on spiritual matters.
“What do you think you should do about it?” he asked me after I had blurted out the whole story.
“I don’t know,” I answered glumly. “What can I do now? Sister Eaton says it’s too late.”
By now Laurence sensed how upset I was.
“Maybe not,” he said with a tinge of hope in his voice. “The sisters should be home by now. I’ll call over there.”
Within five minutes Laurence had the boy’s address, and we began walking there together. Although it wasn’t far, it was getting dark as we walked into the poorly lit part of town where the boy lived. I was glad my brother was with me. I didn’t know what kind of reception awaited us, and I was nervous.
We approached an old house that needed a coat of paint. Laurence checked the number under a streetlight and pointed toward it.
“That’s it,” he announced. Taking a deep breath, I headed toward the front door with Laurence at my side. I knocked quickly before my courage failed. My heart was pounding. A few moments later, a woman I assumed to be his mother answered the door. She looked older than I had expected and seemed tired.
“Hi, is your son here?” I asked.
“What do you want with him?” she asked suspiciously.
“He came to our church tonight, and we kind of ignored him,” I stammered. “I want to apologize and invite him back.”
She folded her arms and looked directly at us. I saw in her eyes a look of disgust at the way we had treated her son.
Ignoring me, she looked over at Laurence and said, “Thank you for coming by, but I don’t think he’ll want to come back.”
As she began to close the door, Laurence made a last attempt to reassure her of our repentance. “The boys made a mistake, and I know they’re sorry. I know them. It won’t happen again.”
But the door had closed before he could finish. For the second time that night, I felt stung by my actions.
“Do you think he’ll ever come back?” I asked apprehensively.
“I doubt it,” Laurence replied bluntly.
We said very little the rest of the way home. I had done wrong, and I knew it. I had felt deep remorse, and I had even tried to make restitution. But I had failed. I wondered why, after I had followed all the steps I had been taught, the Lord hadn’t recognized my repentance and lifted my burden of guilt. I felt awful.
The answer finally came from my heart: I hadn’t done enough. But I was too afraid to go back and try again. So I never did.
For me, this was a complete failure, one I’m still deeply ashamed of. Yet in a curious way I learned an important lesson from it—one that still humbles me and reminds me of what it takes to be a true disciple of Jesus Christ.

One night when the elders came to the Cantos home, Pedrito was unusually ill. The elders felt prompted to discuss the principle of priesthood administrations. The family eagerly sought a blessing for Pedrito, who was so thin you could see the bones under his skin. Up until then, he had been unable to tolerate any food except milk. He could neither walk nor talk, and he rarely slept more than an hour or two at a time.

The elders administered to the child and left the house with a strong feeling that he would recover.

From that time on, Pedrito began to improve. The Cantos family were baptized, and the welfare services missionaries helped Sister Cantos get Pedrito started on solid foods. He began to gain weight, and for the first time in his life, he slept through the night. He also learned to walk and talk. The frequent, costly trips to Guayaquil were no longer necessary.

When one of my daughters was the age of many of you, she had an experience which has helped our family have faith that the Lord will provide the help we need to escape when we desire to maintain the standards of virtue He has set. Here is her story as she recorded it for me: Fortunately, my friends came to get me (on a beautiful summer night) to go to the canyon for a barbecue. Unfortunately, after the barbecue, my friends suggested we go to someone's condo in Park City to watch a particular movie. It was a movie that I had decided beforehand I would never watch. Uh-oh, I thought. What will I do now? Fortunately, I had to be home by midnight and I told my friends I would have to go home. Unfortunately, this plea didn't phase the driver of the car, who took Parley's Canyon exit, and away we went (to Park City.) I knew I would need some help out of this situation so I offered a silent prayer. Fortunately, when we arrived at the condo, the boy, whose parents owned it, realized he didn't have the key with him-we were locked out! I was relieved, thinking my prayer had been answered and we would now have to go home. Unfortunately, his date shimmied up through a second-story window and let us in the house.

Uh-oh, I thought. Fortunately, when we got inside, there was no VCR. Someone in the boy's family had borrowed it. I was relieved, thinking my prayer had been answered and we'd have to go home. Unfortunately, we piled back into the car and drove to the nearest video store where the boys rented a video machine.

Uh-oh, I thought. Fortunately, when we got back to the condo and they started to set up the machine, they realized they had not been given a cable for hooking up the video player. I was relieved, thinking my prayer had been answered and we would have to go home. Unfortunately, they were still not ready to give up. One of the boys went back to the video store to pick up the missing cable. He returned and they were acting triumphant after finally overcoming all the obstacles of the evening. I placed myself in the far corner of the room wondering what to do. It seemed inevitable that the movie was going to be shown. I continued to pray. Then as the rented cable was connected to the rented VCR. An electric shock and hot sparks sent one of the boys flying across the room. The rest of us fell silent. That boy, looking dazed, said, "Someone doesn't want us to watch this movie!" Fortunately, without another word, we all piled in the car, returned the video player and movie, and headed for home. I was greatly relieved, knowing my prayers had been answered.

Fortunately, I learned that when you decide to do something the Lord would have you do, He finds a way to help you keep your word-commitment. I had made the decision to do right and I asked Him for His help. He honored that decision and provided the help I needed. And, Fortunately, she had called her mother to explain why she would be late, and Fortunately, her mother had been praying for her also. Fortunately, for you and me, the Lord's standard of virtue provides protection, spiritual and physical strength to those who honor it. Virtue is a great source of happiness.

I used to attend a school where it was really hard to be a Latter-day Saint. The LDS students were a minority, and there weren’t many who shared similar standards. It seemed especially frustrating for me because my parents divorced during my freshman year.
During that time life was pretty confusing for me. I guess that’s when I really discovered the scriptures. But my family wasn’t supportive of my scripture reading. Even my mother used to tell me it was a waste of time. But through the scriptures I found someone else who dealt with family contention.
Lehi counseled Laman and Lemuel “because of the stiffneckedness of Laman and Lemuel; for behold they did murmur in many things against their father” (1 Ne. 2:11–12).
My family was divided. We fought all the time, my parents couldn’t say anything kind about each other, and they discouraged me from attending church. Our home was full of conflict.
“And it came to pass that Laman was angry with me, and also with my father; and also was Lemuel, for he hearkened unto the words of Laman. Wherefore Laman and Lemuel did speak many hard words unto us, their younger brothers, and they did smite us even with a rod” (1 Ne. 3:28).
I tried to set a good example for my family. I went to church, attended Mutual, and prayed regularly. I even invited my mom to get active in the Church again.
“And now I, Nephi, … spake unto them, saying, … Behold ye are mine elder brethren, and how is it that ye are so hard in your hearts, and so blind in your minds, that ye have need that I, your younger brother, should speak unto you, yea, and set an example for you?
“How is it that ye have not hearkened unto the word of the Lord?” (1 Ne. 7:8–9).
Sometimes, in private, I cried. Sometimes I prayed for them. Always I felt lonely.
“But, behold, Laman and Lemuel would not hearken unto my words; and being grieved because of the hardness of their hearts I cried unto the Lord for them” (1 Ne. 2:18).
When I was sad, I knew that Nephi knew sadness. When I was discouraged, I knew that Nephi knew discouragement. When I was lonely, I knew that Nephi knew loneliness.
No, my story doesn’t have a nice, neat ending. I wish it ended “happily ever after,” but it hasn’t yet. My home is still unhappy. But Heavenly Father has given me the scriptures, and I know that he understands exactly what it is like for me at home. Though the conflict hasn’t stopped, at least I have found comfort and peace and ways to cope.
“I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” (1 Ne. 3:7).
Just as Nephi knew that the Lord would help him accomplish anything that was commanded, I too know that Heavenly Father will continue to strengthen and support me from my heavenly home as I struggle to deal with a torn earthly home. The scriptures are my lifeline to that heavenly home.

While participating in a youth conference in California, Bradley (Brad) R. Wilcox met a young man who didn’t want to be there. He joined the teenager under a shady tree, and soon they were discussing the youth’s favorite topic—skateboarding.
Brother Wilcox asked the teen to show him some skateboarding moves. Impressed, he invited the youth to do a skateboarding demonstration at Especially for Youth that summer. The young man resisted but eventually agreed. At EFY, he had a life-changing experience and found his testimony of the gospel.
“He got to EFY on a skateboard, but he left as a missionary,” Brother Wilcox said.

The fourteen-month-old son of a doctor became very ill. During the course of his treatment many consultants were brought in, but their contributions resulted only in a symptomatic approach to the disease. The result was that the child’s condition steadily worsened. His temperature was 104 degrees and the family had entirely given up hope for his recovery; his death was expected momentarily. At this point, a number of miraculous things happened. On their own and without a previous appointment, the bishop and his counselors came to visit the family. At the request of the family, they administered to the child. Almost immediately following the blessing, an intern, who was a friend of the family, stepped into the room and said, “Why not give him a transfusion?” The intern was a universal blood donor, and blood was taken from him immediately and given to the child. The child’s temperature dropped from 104 degrees to normal and remained at normal throughout his hospital stay. This is a case where medical aid had essentially failed; and on the basis of what medicine could offer, the child’s life had been despaired. The priesthood came into the picture, and the administration was followed by additional medical steps that previously had not been projected. The child’s life was saved. Today he has matured and has a lovely wife and family.

The Rainock home stands on an old Civil War battlefield in Mechanicsville, Virginia. But the spirit in their home and their relationships with each other are far from the chaos and anger of such a time. Peace reigns here, where the five teenagers in the family are best friends. When it comes to living and sharing the gospel, they make a great team.
No matter where they go, the Rainocks usually go together. When Gibbs, 18, painted a mural for the local elementary school as part of his Eagle Scout project, the whole family was there to support him. His brother and sisters, Lenore, Orin, Lorel, and Cora all gave a helping hand.
One day at school a bomb threat was issued, forcing students to evacuate the building. When 19-year-old Cora went outside, the first thing she did was look for her sister Lenore, 16. “That day was really cool,” Cora says, “because I got to talk to Lenore. We just walked around until we had to go inside. It’s a wonderful feeling, being like that with your sister.”
Another day Lorel, 12, accompanied Lenore and Cora on an all-day shopping trip. “We went to a basketball game, then hung out at the mall and shopped for Cora’s prom dress,” Lorel beams. “It was so much fun.”
Sharing the gospel
But for the Rainocks, being together means more than just “hanging out.” It means sharing and living the gospel together.
“Without the gospel, we wouldn’t have family home evenings,” Lenore says. “Without the gospel we wouldn’t learn about how important families are. We wouldn’t read the scriptures every morning.”
There’s no doubt that the Rainocks know how to make a difference in other people’s lives. “My friends are always asking about Mormons,” 14-year-old Orin says. So he tells them all he knows about the Church, hoping that someone will want to know more.
This is how their cousin, Mark Mailhot, learned about the gospel. That, and keeping Lenore, Cora, Gibbs, and Orin up until late at night discussing religion. When he asked to be baptized, it was one of the most memorable days in Gibbs’s life. With all the vigor of a soon-to-be missionary, Gibbs says, “I was able to baptize him.”

Grisell was very excited to join the Church and loved learning about the gospel, but as we continued teaching Grisell, many challenges came up, as they usually do when someone commits to baptism. Her family opposed her attending church, and she was becoming distressed. I decided to share the same scripture with her that I had shared with Hugo many months prior. Grisell’s downcast face changed to the expression of joy and excitement she had shown when we first met as I read her the promise that she would be able to do anything that was the Lord’s will.

Suddenly I realized that this scripture was not only true for Hugo and Grisell. Just weeks before I had doubted my own ability to do what God had commanded me. As I reflected back on my recent discouragement and my mission up to that point, I knew that the Lord’s promise was true for me as well.

The service and interdependence among members in the Galápagos Islands that have created such unity led to rich blessings in 2007. That year David and Jeanneth Palacios escorted five branch families, nearly 25 people in all, to the Guayaquil Ecuador Temple.
“To see those families sealed, I felt as though we had been transported to the heavens,” says Jeanneth. “We felt the presence of the Lord so profoundly. All five of those families are very active today.”

After four years of missionary service in the Hawaiian Islands (begun at age ?fteen, by the way), young Joseph F. Smith returned to the mainland and began making his way back to the Salt Lake Valley. But these were dif?cult times. Feelings toward the Latter-day Saints were running very high. The terrible experience at Mountain Meadows was fresh in the minds of many people. Polygamy had become a national political issue, and at that very hour Albert Sidney Johnston’s army was on its way to the Utah territory under orders from the president of the United States. Less disciplined than the U.S. Army were many frontiersmen scattered abroad who vowed openly they would murder every Mormon anywhere they could be found.

It was back into that world that nineteen-year-old Joseph F. Smith drove his team and wagon. One evening the little company with which he traveled had barely made camp before a company of drunken men rode in on horseback, cursing and swearing and threatening to kill. Some of the older men, when they heard the riders coming, had gone down into the brush by the creek, waiting out of sight for the band to pass. But young Joseph F. had been out a distance from the camp gathering wood for the ?re and so was not aware of the potential problem. With the openness of youth he walked back toward the camp, only to realize too late the dif?cult circumstance he now faced almost totally alone.

His ?rst thought was to drop the wood and run toward the creek, seeking shelter in the trees in his ?ight. Then the thought came to him, “Why should I run from [my faith]?” With that compelling sense of loyalty ?rmly in his mind, he continued to carry his armful of wood to the edge of the ?re. As he was about to deposit his load, one of the ruf?ans, pistol cocked and pointed squarely at the young man’s head, cursed as only a drunken ­rascal can and demanded in a loud, angry voice, “I’m a killer of Mormons, boy. Are you a Mormon?”

Without a moment of hesitation and looking the heathen directly in the eye, Joseph F., scarcely old enough to be entering the MTC, boldly answered, “Yes, siree; died in the wool; true blue, through and through.”

The answer was given so boldly and without any sign of fear that it completely disarmed this belligerent man. In his bewilderment he put down his pistol, grasped the young missionary by the hand, and said, “Well, you are the — — bravest man I ever met! Shake, young fellow, I’m glad to see a lad that stands up for his convictions.”

Years later, while serving as the president of the Church, Joseph F. Smith said that he truly expected to take at point-blank range the full charge from the barrel of that man’s pistol. But he also said that after his initial inclination to run, it never again entered his mind to do anything but stand up for his beliefs and face the death that appeared to be the inevitable result of such conviction.

I feel victimized by the nanny agency with whom we worked. Though they advertise that they place “helpers with high moral standards” and that they screen for “any negative health or behavioral traits,” the nanny who came to me in September drank, had used cocaine, chain-smoked in bed, and I later learned, had a psychiatric history of many years’ duration which included injury to children. I terminated her employment on the third day when she gave my three-year-old son a plastic garbage bag and when he wandered from the fenced-in yard while in her care.
Nancy Sharts EngelBryn Mawr, Pennsylvania

Grant was only six weeks old when his father, H. Grant Heaton, was called to preside over the Southern Far East Mission. Unlike most children in the United States, Grant spoke his first words in Chinese. His little sister, Lisa Lee, who was born a year and a half after the family moved to Hong Kong, also learned Chinese first.
The mission home was filled with happiness until March 1958, when Grant was three years old. One day his neck became stiff, and there was pain in his chest. Soon he could not walk on his legs. President and Sister Heaton asked the missionaries to fast and pray for their son, but still his condition grew worse.
Grant’s father gave him a special blessing before taking him to the hospital. After tests, the illness was diagnosed as paralytic polio. The doctors said Grant would soon need an iron lung to help him breathe. Polio is not common among the Chinese, however, and the only iron lung in the country was being used by a British sailor.
By the end of a week in the hospital, Grant was completely paralyzed. Only his eyes moved, and the little body that had seemed healthy just a week before was quickly wasting away.
One morning Sister Heaton was with Grant. It was so hard for him to breathe that she thought surely he would soon return to our Heavenly Father. Two men came to the hospital that morning. They represented the Chinese Saints who had held a special fast and a prayer meeting the day before.
Both men had been members of the Church less than a year and neither held the priesthood, but they wanted to help. They asked permission to pray for Grant. Sister Heaton readily agreed and bowed her head to join them. She felt the faith of these humble Chinese men as they knelt beside Grant’s bed and prayed that this little boy’s health might be restored.
As they rose to their feet and left the room, Grant’s mother followed them down the hall. She thanked them and then went to the refrigerator where special food for Grant was stored.
Just as she opened the door, a familiar little voice called from down the hall and she turned around quickly to see Grant coming toward her.
“Look, Mommy,” he exclaimed with a happy smile. “I can walk!”
The doctors were amazed, but when the polio symptoms did not return, they let Grant go home. President and Sister Heaton and the missionaries gratefully acknowledged the power of the Lord and the faith of the Chinese Saints in behalf of their son.
Grant is now eighteen and lives with his family in Salt Lake City, Utah. He doesn’t remember his illness in China. His strong legs that helped him make the football team and wrestle for his high school don’t remember either!
Not long after the Church was organized in 1830, the General Authorities thought of sending missionaries to China. It was not until October 1852, however, that three elders left Salt Lake and arrived in Hong Kong on April 27, 1853. They had many problems and were not successful in converting anyone. Before long they returned to Utah.
In January 1921 David O. McKay, who was then an apostle, and Elder Hugh J. Cannon visited China. It was at this time that Elder McKay dedicated all of China for the preaching of the gospel. Now there are three missions for the Chinese people: Hong Kong, Singapore, and Taiwan. Although the first missionaries were very discouraged, later ones have had thrilling experiences in China. “I Can Walk!” is one of them that took place in Hong Kong.