Gospel Story Finder

My name is Leeih Siu-Ling and I am a Latter-day Saint girl who lives in Hong Kong. Even though I have been a member of the Church only five months, I realize how important the gospel is and I want to share this happiness with my friends at school.
I decided to introduce one of my friends to the Church. I invited her to go to Primary with me. She said, “I go to Buddhist school so I can’t go to your church with you.”
I told her she would be welcome to go with me even though she was not a member of the Church, and she decided she would. She felt a warmth and happiness in our Heavenly Father’s house, and she said going to Primary made her want to keep all the commandments of our Father in heaven.
I tried to tell her about the gospel too, and so her faith grew stronger and stronger. Then she asked if she could hear the missionary discussions.
Now she and I go to Church meetings together!

For the next 14 years, Czech members kept their faith in silence, unable to worship publicly or to enjoy any regular contact with the Church beyond Czech borders. From his home in Utah, President Toronto continued to provide what assistance he could. When possible, he corresponded and sent financial aid, clothing, medicine, and Church publications. During those years, he applied nine times for a Czech visa—and received nine refusals.

It was not until 1964 that the official presence of the Church once again entered the nation. President John Russon of the Swiss Mission and Lynn Pettit, an early missionary in Czechoslovakia, arrived in Prague. Word of their arrival spread, and a small group met at a member’s home for a celebratory testimony meeting.

Meanwhile, President David O. McKay advised Wallace Toronto to apply again for a visa, saying, “[The members] have been carrying on underground long enough. They need the authority of their mission president.” Within a week the Torontos received visas. They visited members in Brno and Prague.

In July 1965 President Toronto returned to Prague, intent on reestablishing the Church. Although he was well received by many governmental officials, the secret police arrested him and evicted him from the country. Mission growth would be suppressed for another 25 years before reemerging in a new epoch of freedom.

Mensah was born in 1924 to Fanti parents from Winneba, Ghana, and was born with severe bodily defects. An inspiration to all who knew him, he was encouraged by his family to convert to Christianity and led a remarkable life dedicated to God. In high school, he was the school chaplain and later obtained a PhD in theology through correspondence from the University of California in the USA. He went on to become an international evangelist with the Seventh-day Adventist Church.

Illustration by Bradley H. Clark
“Hey, guys! Come back!” a frantic voice called out.
I turned to notice two boys about five and seven years old running through the store parking lot with tears streaming down their faces. The salesman looked concerned as he called to them.
As I turned back toward my car, the Spirit whispered, “You can be of help here.” The whisper was quiet yet so clear that a moment later I was running through the parking lot toward the boys.
I found the older one standing by a brown minivan. I approached and knelt beside him.
“Hi. My name is Christina. Are you OK?”
At my words, he cried harder and hid his face in his arm. The salesman and the other boy joined us.
“I think they only speak French,” the salesman told me. “We just found them running through the store, lost.”
I repeated my introduction to the children in French. French was my first language, but I hadn’t spoken it since I was adopted into an English-speaking family as a small child. Normally, my French is poor. At that moment though, it was neither clumsy nor stilted. The words were clear in my mind and my voice as I comforted the boys.
Between sobs, the older boy explained in a quick torrent of words that he and his brother could not find their parents anywhere in the store and had run outside looking for them. As I listened, I became vaguely aware of how amazing it was that I was not only conversing freely in French but also readily understanding and consoling two frightened children.
“They’ve lost their parents and want to wait for them here at their car,” I told the salesman. The little boy told me the names of his parents, which I gave to the salesman so he could page them. A few minutes later the boy spotted his father coming out of the store and ran to meet him.
As I followed the boy to his father, I found that I could no longer manage even a good-bye in French. I tried in vain to say anything the boys could understand, but I could say nothing more than a few random words. Finally, I resorted to English, saying to the boy, “Bye. It was nice to meet you.”
As I left the boys with their parents, I was full of gratitude. Heavenly Father had worked through me to comfort two of His little ones. I was humbled that the Lord could magnify my limited abilities to fulfill His purposes. I was grateful to witness what can happen as we offer ourselves to Him when called upon, even in the most unlikely of settings.

On the way home from submitting my bus pass application, I thought to myself: “I should stop and say hello to Jan and Steve.” I hadn’t seen these friends for about two years because they had moved to a new house. Once I found the house, I knocked on the door and Jan opened it. She was in the middle of vacuuming and cleaning when I arrived unannounced and she was standing beside an ottoman in the kitchen. As we talked she said, “We have been in a big mess for a year, but we are finally getting things the way we want them now. I’m getting rid of this ottoman, would you like it?”
"Yes please," I replied.
What Jan didn’t know, was that I had been looking for an ottoman like this for about six months. I had even gone into three charity shops that day, looking for such an item, but I couldn’t find one. But the Holy Ghost knew exactly where a used ottoman was, and he prompted me to go to Jan’s new house, because that was the day that she was throwing one away.
Isn’t Heavenly Father kind to us? On the day that I wrote out a cheque for extra tithing, I found money and was given furniture equal to the exact amount that I had written out my tithing cheque for. I had read about these types of stories in the Ensign before, but it had never happened to me, until that day.

My dear brothers and sisters, as October general conference approached last year, I prepared my conference talk to highlight the 100th anniversary of the vision of the spirit world given to President Joseph F. Smith on October 3, 1918.
A few days after I had submitted my talk for translation, my beloved eternal companion, Barbara, completed her mortal probation and passed into the spirit world.
As the days have turned into weeks, then months, and now a year since Barbara’s passing, I find myself more fully appreciating this scripture: “Thou shalt live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die.” Barbara and I were blessed to “live together in love” for 67 years. But I have learned in a very real way what it means to “weep for the loss” of those we love. Oh, how I love and miss her!

“I’m thirsty, Father!”
Theodore Farley looked down from the wagon seat at his five-year-old son, Lesley. “We all are,” he said kindly. “We’re trying to find you some water.”
“I’m sure there will be some at the next spring,” 14-year-old Lydia added reassuringly.
“But that’s what you said at the last three,” 11-year-old Carl pointed out. “And they were all dried up. We’ve been searching for hours.”
Mother and Father exchanged a worried glance. “I haven’t traveled this road in August before,” Father said. “I’ve never seen it so dry.”
Adleen looked up at the blazing sun. It was 1895, and her family was moving from Snowflake, Arizona, to Provo, Utah. Before they left home, Father had filled all their barrels with water for both people and horses. He planned to refill them at springs along the way, but now the barrels were empty, and everyone was suffering. Adleen shook her head. How would they ever find water in this barren, sandy desert?
“Theodore!” Mother clutched baby Louie to her and cried out as the horses stumbled and stopped.
Father jumped down and gently urged them forward. They refused to move. “We’ll rest here,” he said with a sigh. He unhitched the horses, which huddled in the shade of a scrubby tree. Father and 15-year-old Dick set off to find the spring that lay some distance off the road.
Mother gathered her children beneath the wagon. “Let’s stay in the shade,” she said. “And trust in the Lord.”
“They’re back!” someone yelled. Adleen reluctantly shook off her dream of eating ripe, juicy watermelons and looked up. She saw Father and Dick, sweat-stained and covered with dust.
Father sat down by them, removing his hat and wiping his brow. “The spring is dried up,” he said, “and no earthly help is anywhere near.”
“Then we must rely on divine aid,” Mother said firmly, rising to her knees. Father joined her, motioning for the children to do the same. Adleen shut her eyes tight and tried hard to have faith.
“We have done all we can,” Father prayed. “If it be Thy will that we should live, please send us water.”
After the prayer, as the family sat and waited calmly, their fear changed to peace.
“What will happen now?” asked Lesley.
Mother smiled. “I don’t know. Wait and see.”
“Look!” Adleen was on her feet, pointing at the horizon and dancing with excitement.
“What is it?” Father shaded his eyes and squinted into the sun.
“There in the sky,” Mother said. “A little cloud.”
They watched as the cloud grew larger and got closer. Soon it overshadowed them, and rain poured down.
“Quick!” Father called. “The wagon cover.” Father, Dick, Carl, and Lydia snatched up the corners of the cloth and caught the rain, which they tipped into the barrels, filling them to overflowing. Adleen laughed and twirled in the rain, her mouth open to the sky.
By the time the rain stopped, both animals and people had quenched their thirst. Father and Dick strapped the full water barrels to the wagon and hitched up the horses. They all continued on their journey.
They hadn’t gone far before desert dust was clinging to their wet clothing.
“Father, look!” Lydia said in awe. “It didn’t rain a drop out here.”
“No, it didn’t,” Father answered reverently. “It rained only where our wagon stood. We have been part of a miracle.”
None of them ever forgot the day Heavenly Father sent water in the desert.

Benjamin lay back on his bed and put his feet up on the wall. He always did that when he had to think. Today’s problem was the essay Miss Hardgrave had assigned in language arts. He was supposed to write about why his parents had named him Benjamin and share it with the class.
He knew, of course. There was the picture hanging right above his feet: King Benjamin on top of the tower with everyone in tents looking up at him. Benjamin nudged the frame with his toe, and the picture tilted to one side. Usually he liked knowing he was named for a righteous king in the Book of Mormon. But nobody in his school class was going to know who King Benjamin was. Or what the Book of Mormon was, for that matter. One more thing to have to explain.
Lately it seemed like he was always explaining things: why he didn’t play in soccer games on Sunday, why he wouldn’t watch some of the most popular movies, why he hadn’t joined the same Cub Scout den everyone at school belonged to. He kicked the wall, and his door rattled.
Dad opened the door a crack and peeked in. “Aren’t you asleep yet?” he asked.
“Still doing homework.”
Dad came in and sat on the edge of the bed. “Anything I can help you with?”
“What do you know about Benjamin Franklin?”
“Hmm. United States patriot, flew a kite in a thunderstorm, and he was bald.” Dad rubbed his own bald head and smiled. “How’s that? Are you writing a report on him?”
“Well, not exactly,” Benjamin admitted. He looked down and twisted one of the quilt’s yarn ties around his finger. “I have to write about my name.” Benjamin wasn’t looking at Dad, but he felt his steady gaze.
Dad cleared his throat. “I admire Benjamin Franklin, but that’s not who we named you for.” He leaned over and straightened the picture of King Benjamin until the tower was standing straight again. “We named you after King Benjamin because we hoped you’d be like him—bold and fearless and righteous.”
“But, Dad,” Benjamin protested, “I can’t just stand up in front of my class and say I’m named after a Book of Mormon prophet.”
Dad looked surprised. “Why not?”
“This is for school. You’re not supposed to talk about religion in school. It’s illegal.”
Dad smiled. “Maybe it would be illegal for your teacher to preach to you in class, but we’re talking about answering the question she asked. There’s nothing illegal about that.”
“I bet nobody else even goes to church,” Benjamin said.
“You’d be surprised, I think. Besides, remember what King Benjamin said?” Dad pointed to the words printed below the painting. “Mosiah 5:15. ‘Be steadfast and immovable.’ That means you shouldn’t let other people decide who you are. Even at school.”
Dad stood up and kissed Benjamin on the forehead. “You’d better go to sleep soon. It’s late.”
Benjamin went to his desk and pulled out a sheet of paper. Above his bed, King Benjamin looked calm and confident. His arm was raised in a grand gesture, and the people were peering out of their tents, all their eyes fastened on him. Benjamin thought about what a hard time his teacher had getting everyone to pay attention sometimes. “I bet even King Benjamin would’ve been nervous in front of my class,” he muttered.
The paper on the desk seemed to stare up at him, still blank. Benjamin could hear his clock ticking. Finally, too tired to think anymore, he started to write. “My name is Benjamin. You’ve all heard of Benjamin Franklin. …” He didn’t have to actually say he was named for Benjamin Franklin. He’d let them draw their own conclusions.
The next morning, Benjamin yawned as he waited with Yusuf and Max for the bell to ring.
“That language arts assignment,” Max complained. “It’s so embarrassing.”
“Why?” Yusuf asked.
“My mom got my name from a TV show!” Max leaned against the wall of the school and groaned. “She thought this character named Maximilian was really handsome. She watched the show every day, and when I was born that was the first name that popped into her head.”
“Are you going to tell everyone your name is from a TV show?” Benjamin asked. Explaining you were named for a TV star would be much harder than explaining you were named for someone in the scriptures.
“No.” Max pulled his essay out of the front pocket of his backpack and smoothed out the wrinkles. “I wrote that my mom had heard the name somewhere and liked it. Where did you guys get your names?”
Benjamin leaned over and fidgeted with the zipper on his backpack. He felt uncomfortable. He couldn’t tell his two best friends that he was named for Benjamin Franklin.
Yusuf said, “My name comes from the Koran.”
“What’s the Koran?” Max wanted to know.
“It’s my book of scripture. Like your Bible. There’s a person named Yusuf in it. My parents were going to name me for my grandfather, but he told them to name me Yusuf instead.”
“You’re lucky,” Max said as the bell rang.
Right after taking roll, Miss Hardgrave called on Patricia to read her essay. Her parents had found her name in a name book and liked it because it meant “noble.” Then Maria said that her name was Spanish for Mary, the mother of Jesus, and that her mother had the same name. Yong’s name meant “courageous,” and Jasmine’s parents had liked the way her name sounded.
Now it was Benjamin’s turn. He carried his essay to the front of the room. He was always nervous when he had to speak in front of the class, but today his hands seemed extra sweaty. He leaned against the chalkboard tray and read the first line of his essay to the class: “My name is Benjamin. You’ve all heard of Benjamin Franklin. …” He looked at the rest of what he had written and then looked up at the class. Max was looking at him. Yusuf smiled and nodded. Benjamin wondered if King Benjamin’s hands had gotten sweaty up there on that tower.
He took a deep breath and folded up his paper. “But I’m not really named for Benjamin Franklin. I’m named for a king in the Book of Mormon, one of my books of scripture.” He imagined his friends peering out of tents at him, and he talked a little louder. “Let me tell you about him.”

After my wife died of cancer, I became a single father to our five children—two girls and three boys. Raising children on my own presented challenges, but it was especially challenging for me to raise my two daughters. There were so many things they needed that only a woman could truly provide. As President M. Russell Ballard, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, said, “Mothers and daughters play a critical role in helping each other explore their infinite possibilities, despite the undermining influences of a world in which womanhood and motherhood are being corrupted and manipulated.”1 How could I compensate for that?
Yet several gospel principles gave me strength as I sought to guide my wonderful daughters and also my terrific sons. These principles might help other single fathers of daughters, single mothers of sons, and all single parents.
I learned that for all my children (and for me), remaining faithful to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ was, as it had always been, where I should start. “Trials have long been a seedbed for the growth of faith,” said President Henry B. Eyring, Second Counselor in the First Presidency.2
As we exercised faith, we found it was important to do several things:
Remember the small, simple things. Through family prayer and scripture study, we received “great things” (Alma 37:6) in our lives, like hope and joy.
Strengthen each other. Spend time together, talk, and cheer each other on. Simple words of support can make a big difference.
Set an example for each other. Encouraging my children to be good examples meant I needed to set an example for them too. I needed to continue to “talk of Christ [and] rejoice in Christ, … that [my] children may know” (2 Nephi 25:26) that they should also look to Him.
Trust in Heavenly Father. His plan for each of us is a plan of happiness. Even in tough times, “men are, that they might have joy” (2 Nephi 2:25), and families are meant to be together forever. These truths brought us strength each day.
Accept and magnify callings. I knew it was important to continue to serve in callings, to minister, and to associate with other Latter-day Saints. When I found out one of my daughters wanted to sing in the ward choir, I joined the choir too. We had a lot of fun singing together.
Listen to general conference. Once, just before general conference, I was feeling discouraged and prayed to know if anyone understood my situation. That very conference, Elder David S. Baxter of the Seventy said: “There are, of course, some single families where it is the father who is the single parent. Brethren, we also pray for you and pay tribute to you.”3 That helped me understand that the same love and support given to single mothers is available to single fathers too.
Just the same, I was a father trying to raise daughters on my own. I sought to create one-on-one time with both of them to strengthen our relationships. Yet how could I help them prepare to be women? I soon found there were more resources than I imagined:
Family members. I thank the Lord for a sister-in-law and a daughter-in-law who lived nearby and came to my rescue. They attended maturation meetings with my daughters. They helped my daughters get ready for dances. Most of all, they listened. They shared my daughters’ hopes, fears, longings, and desires. They helped them transition from child to adolescent to adult with a different understanding of that process than I could provide, never having experienced it in the same way.
Neighbors. Good neighbors watched my daughter with their daughter after school until I got home from the office. Other neighbors took my children to school when I had early meetings. One neighbor with a lawn-care business had his crew mow my lawn regularly for free so I could spend more time with my family.
Ministering brothers and Church leaders. My ministering brothers coordinated with the ward council, and it seemed that everyone in the ward, especially Primary and Young Women leaders, went out of their way to help my girls. I learned that one of the great things about the Relief Society is that they offer, well, relief. Once, a group of them cleaned my whole house, top to bottom. And at Young Women activities, someone always made sure my daughters felt included.
Not everyone will experience this same level of support. But I’ve learned that until we let others know the gaps we see our children experience without a mother, those individuals may not understand how they can help.

The first one we will call Jim. Jim comes from a distant state. He is a fine-looking, clean-cut young man not quite thirty years old. He was one of those who opposed the establishment and society in general. He came from a broken home. He had experienced no love in his life. He left home at age seventeen and joined the army. After release from the military, he wandered about the country without goal or purpose in life, finally finding himself in Salt Lake City. He was involved in a theft, arrested, convicted, and sent to prison. He escaped one day, was recaptured, and was placed in maximum security. In his words, “I came out of maximum security and returned to medium, and still did not know what to do with my life.”
One of the prisoners, knowing of some of the turmoil Jim was going through, sent him to see the LDS chaplain. This was the beginning of a completely new experience in Jim’s life. Even though he found himself in prison, he had taken the first step to a freedom he had not known existed.
After a few weeks of exposure to the program of the Church specially designed for prison life, he said he was able to give up smoking. He became involved in the various religious programs sponsored by the Church social service agency. He said, “I haven’t smoked a cigarette since that day. I haven’t had a cup of coffee since December of last year.” He goes on to tell of the good feeling of accomplishment in overcoming bad personal habits.
He also tells about the family home evening program conducted by his home teachers. He explained that he would have given up in discouragement many times had it not been for this wonderful couple who had been assigned as his home teachers. He said they actually loved him as a son, something he had never experienced in his life, even as a little boy. In his own words: “I have been in this program since June 16, 1970. For these sixteen months, I probably made more changes in my life—inside these walls away from the rat race of society—that I know are going to determine my whole future more than the first twenty-three years of my life before prison. I had no idea at all what the LDS people were or what the Church was until I went to prison.
“I am not proud of being in prison, but I am proud of my experience while being there. I am proud of being a graduate of the program that the LDS people have offered to the inmates at the prison.”
This is the young man who conducted the graduation exercises and did it in a most impressive manner. His goal now is to finish paying his debt to society in order to be released from prison so that he might prepare for baptism and membership in the Church.

Britta and Peter go to the Hyde Park Ward in Chicago. The building where they meet is very crowded because many people have been joining the Church. The ward is trying to raise money to help pay for a new building. At a yard sale for the building fund, Britta sold a pot holder that she made. “Every penny counts!” Britta says. Peter is always proud to pay his tithing on the money that he earns doing special projects, such as folding clothes for his family.

Kwan Wah Kam of Hong Kong first decided to plant a garden to supplement her home storage. She had never attempted to grow her own food but assumed she could learn all she needed to know by reading books.
Although the information she found was helpful, Kwan soon discovered that the greatest lessons she learned came through the process of actually planting the garden. With each additional year of experience, she has learned more about the best soil to use for different seeds, how to distinguish between good seeds and bad seeds, different ways to water and fertilize plants, and the best seasons to grow various vegetables.
The lessons Kwan learned were not limited to gardening alone, however. One evening, a terrible storm threatened to destroy her garden. In the morning, she was surprised to discover that the plants were not damaged, but instead, grew stronger from the additional water.
“From that experience, I learned that with faith in God, we can become stronger as we face our trials and difficulties with courage,” Kwan says. “The blessings I have received from gardening are both temporal and spiritual.”

The last night of Joseph’s life on earth he bore a powerful testimony to the guards and others who assembled at the door of the jail of the divinity of the Book of Mormon, also declaring that the gospel had been restored and the kingdom of God established on the earth. It was for this reason that he was incarcerated in prison, not for violating any law of God or man.
It was late at night when the prisoners tried to get some rest. At first Joseph and Hyrum occupied the only bed in the jail room, but a gunshot during the night and a disturbance led Joseph’s friends to insist that he take a place between the two of them on the floor. They would protect him with their own bodies. Joseph asked John S. Fullmer to use his arm for a pillow while they conversed; then he turned to Dan Jones, on the other side, and whispered, “Are you afraid to die?” And this staunch friend answered, “Has that time come, think you? Engaged in such a cause I do not think that death would have many terrors.”
Joseph replied, “You will yet see Wales, and fulfill the mission appointed you before you die” (History of the Church, 6:601).

Carlos rubbed his hand along his head, feeling his bare scalp. He sighed.
His hair had been falling out for a while now. It was a side effect of the cancer treatments he was having. Carlos had decided to shave the rest of it off because he didn’t like how patchy his hair looked. He used to have shiny dark hair. Now all he had was a shiny scalp.
“Carlos? Are you ready for church? It’s time to go,” Mom called.
“Coming,” Carlos called back. He straightened his favorite tie and grabbed his scriptures. Then he ran out to the car.
This would be his first Sunday passing the sacrament without any hair. He was going to be the only bald deacon. Was everyone going to stare at him?
Carlos didn’t say anything for the whole drive to church. He listened to his siblings and parents talk. His stomach was doing flips, and his hands were sweaty. The closer they got to church, the jumpier his stomach got.
The car pulled into the church parking lot. Everyone unbuckled their seatbelts. Everyone except Carlos. Part of him wanted to just sit in the car and never come out.
Mom noticed he wasn’t moving. “What’s wrong, Carlos?”
“I’m nervous about passing the sacrament. I don’t want everyone to stare at me,” Carlos said.
Mom turned around to look at Carlos. “Would you like to say a prayer before we go in?”
“Yeah,” Carlos said. Everyone folded their arms and closed their eyes while Carlos said a prayer. He thanked Heavenly Father that he was able to pass the sacrament. Then he asked for help to not worry about other people staring at him. When he opened his eyes, he felt peaceful and ready.
“That was a beautiful prayer. I know Heavenly Father will help you,” Mom said.
Carlos smiled. He remembered the end of the sacrament prayer, “that they may always have his Spirit to be with them” (Doctrine and Covenants 20:77). Helping others have the Holy Ghost with them was one of Carlos’s favorite parts of passing the sacrament. Now he felt warm and confident. He was ready.
Carlos walked into the chapel. He looked for his friends in the deacons quorum in the pews in front of the sacrament table. He couldn’t see them. Instead, he saw seven bald heads. Where were all of his friends from deacons quorum?
He walked up to the pews and realized that those seven bald heads belonged to his friends!
The deacons quorum president, Samuel, was smiling at Carlos. “We had the idea to shave our heads. We didn’t want you to feel alone.”
Carlos hardly knew what to say. He thanked his friends and prayed silently to Heavenly Father. He thanked Him for blessing him with such good friends.
Carlos stood tall as he passed the sacrament. He wasn’t alone at all! He had good friends, and he had the Holy Ghost with him.

Years ago I was singing Handel’s Messiah with a group of people from different faiths. Even though our beliefs were different, we were all singing about the same Messiah, our own personal Savior. I had sung this oratorio many times, but during one particular practice, the Spirit told me that I was not only singing notes, I was singing my testimony: “Surely, he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows” (Isa. 53:4). I knew with all my soul that He had done that for me. For a moment the 300 other voices became a whisper and I felt like I was all alone with the Lord. I felt His love and reassurance that He had carried the griefs and the sorrows of my teenage heart, and through my obedience, He would continue to walk with me for the rest of my life. To feel that blessing and comfort and complete love from the Lord is worth any price.

• It looks like a typical professor’s office—windowless, with piles of books and papers. But its occupant, John A. Green, a Brigham Young University professor of French, is anything but typical. In 1981, at a relatively young age, he suffered a stroke that wiped out his memory of both French and English and left him basically paralyzed. Unable to teach, it was assumed he would never return to university life.
But John Green is an extraordinary man. Painstakingly, he began the process of relearning how to read, to walk, and to talk. Within months, he was back in his office, going over his notes, first reviewing, then resuming his research.
In the past few years, Brother Green has completed several carefully-researched volumes on French writer Marcel Schwob. Two of the volumes, part of a planned set of seven, are in print already.
Perhaps most amazing of all, Professor Green has typed every letter of every word of these books with one finger of his left hand. Every weekday, from eight A.M. to five P.M., he works quietly in his office, completing the task he has given himself—a task for which he receives no compensation beyond the disability pay he would still receive if he chose to relax at home.

In 1928, 83-year-old Thomas Biesinger was called to return to Czechoslovakia for a short mission. In Prague he visited police and government officials, requesting permission to preach. Finding no opposition, he reported that the way was open.

When Elder Biesinger was released, no one was sent to replace him. Sister Frantiska Vesela Brodilova wrote to President Heber J. Grant, asking him to send missionaries (see “Czechoslovakia Was Her Mission,” Liahona, September 1995, 26–27). Her request was answered with the arrival of Arthur Gaeth, a tall, energetic young man. His journalistic bent and booming voice enabled him, within 10 days, to arrange for two 10-minute radio talks to be read in Czech, to speak on German radio, to lecture at a German adult-education institution, and to write an article for a German-language newspaper.

I often remember the feeling of sadness and frustration that came when I learned that not far from Church headquarters in Salt Lake City an elderly lady, active in serving others all of her life, was eating cornflakes every meal because she could not shop or cook for herself and had no one to help her. In that same neighborhood and ward family there were able, intelligent young people who were attending classes and Church meetings and planning and pursuing parties and service projects with no knowledge of the needs of others in their ward family. When the facts were brought to their attention, they immediately did something about the situation. Her life and theirs became immediately more happy and harmonious even though she, and some of them, were not living in the ideal family home circumstances they would have wished.

The original dedication of the Suva Fiji Temple on June 18, 2000, was also remarkable. As the temple neared completion, members of parliament were taken hostage by a group of rebels. Downtown Suva, Fiji, was looted and burned. The military declared martial law.
As the Area President, I went with the four stake presidents in Fiji and met the military leaders at the Queen Elizabeth barracks. After we explained the proposed dedication, they were supportive but concerned about the safety of President Gordon B. Hinckley. They recommended a small dedication with no events outside the temple, like the cornerstone ceremony. They emphasized that anyone outside the temple could be a potential target for violence.
President Hinckley approved one small dedicatory session with just the new temple presidency and a few local leaders; no others were invited because of the danger. However, he emphatically stated, “If we do dedicate the temple, we will have the cornerstone ceremony because Jesus Christ is the chief cornerstone, and this is His Church.”
When we actually went outside for the cornerstone ceremony, there were no nonmembers, children, media, or others present. But a faithful prophet demonstrated his courageous and unwavering commitment to the Savior.
Later President Hinckley, speaking of the Savior, said: “There is none to equal Him. There never has been. There never will be. Thanks be to God for the gift of His Beloved Son, who gave His life that we might live and who is the chief, immovable cornerstone of our faith and His Church.”

I remember when I was assigned to give my first talk in church. I was given the liberty to choose my subject. I’ve always liked birds, so I thought of the Seagull Monument. In preparation, I went to Temple Square and looked at the monument. First I was attracted to all the coins in the water surrounding the monument. I wondered how they would be retrieved and who would retrieve them. Then I looked upward at the seagulls atop that monument. I tried in my boyish mind to imagine what it would be like to be a pioneer watching the first year’s growth of precious grain being devoured by crickets and then seeing those seagulls, with their lofty wings, descending upon the fields and eating the crickets. I loved the account. I sat down with a pencil in hand and wrote out a two-and-one-half-minute talk. I’ve never forgotten the seagulls. I’ve never forgotten the crickets. I’ve never forgotten my knees knocking together as I gave that talk. I’ve never forgotten the experience of letting some of my innermost feelings be expressed verbally at the pulpit.