Gospel Story Finder

The sun shone warmly on an outrigger canoe as a father and son dipped their paddles into the smooth water. Mapa, the boy, stared into the clear depths, not conscious of the beauty there or of the beautiful morning around them. Somewhere deep inside he hurt, like a leg hurts when the water is too cold for swimming and a boy goes swimming anyway. But the ache was even worse whenever he looked down at his little Puaka Tea asleep near his bare feet—all curled up and scrubbed clean and pink. She’s not very big yet, he thought sadly. How he wished he could keep her until she was grown and the mother of many little pigs. But she must be sold at the marketplace, because it would soon be time for school and there was not enough money to buy the uniforms and sandals all Tongan students wear.
Father had planned on cash from his crops, but the hurricane winds had destroyed most of them this year. Then Mother had tried to help by weaving baskets and mats and making tapa cloth to be sold at the market. Little brother Sione had sent his two best chickens in a cage to be sold. Their legs tied together, they seemed quite content just to be blinking out at the world.
The whole family was anxious to help Mapa get ready for school. And when he thought about their concern for him, a good feeling began to push away some of the hurt about having to sell Puaka.
“Rest awhile, Mapa,” Father advised, as the canoe slipped gracefully across the water. “There will be much to see and do when we reach Tongatapu Island.”
“Have I ever been there?”
“When you were very small.”
Mapa leaned back against the boat. “I want to go to a store and buy something for Mother and Sione,” he said.
Mapa reached inside his vala (dressy skirt-like garment) to make sure his twenty-seniti (cent) coin was still there. Nestled there also was something else. It was hard and round. Mapa frowned. He had forgotten to leave his newfound treasure home. He and Sione had been playing with it just before Father called him to the boat. It was a different color from the tui tui nuts the boys usually played with. He had found it that morning inside a shellfish. It was silvery white and lustrous.
The gentle rocking of the boat lulled the boy to sleep. He saw himself running with Puaka Tea at his heels. His bare legs, bronzed by the sun, were strong and fast. The wind blew warm on his smiling brown face. The pig followed him wherever he went, through the tall grass, along the sand on the beach, even into the shallow water. He heard her squealing.
Mapa opened his eyes. Puaka Tea was awake and squealing loudly. The boat trembled and lurched sideways.
“Father! What is happening?” Mapa shouted.
The chickens clucked and banged their beaks against the side of the cage.
“Hold on, son!”
Another plunge. The frightened pig scampered back and forth in the bottom of the canoe. Mapa reached for her just as the boat tipped again. Puaka Tea tumbled into the ocean, her feet flailing as she went under.
“Oh, no!” Mapa cried, as he jumped in after her. Then up the pig came, floundering near an overturned basket. He grabbed the animal and pulled her with him to the boat. Still squealing, Puaka Tea went up over the side to safety.
“What happened?” Mapa asked as soon as he had pulled himself inside the canoe.
“Well, I think a young whale wanted to visit us. Thank goodness, I was able to nudge it away. This serves for more than just rowing!” Father declared, holding up a long paddle. Mapa and Father laughed together, and the animals settled themselves.
Mapa saw a faint line on the far horizon as he shaded his eyes with the palm of his hand. Soon a shoreline began to take shape. Anticipation brought a smile to his face. He could see the same expression reflected in his father’s dark eyes. “We will soon be there, son. Look, there is the king’s palace.”
Stately Norfolk pines towered above tall white walls. The red roof matched the colorful hibiscus and poinsettia flowers blooming in the courtyard.
“Red and white, the colors of the kingdom,” Mapa said softly. “I have never seen anything so magnificent. Look, there is a big ship in the harbor. Where do you think it came from?”
Father’s eyes studied it. “From Australia, I think.”
Soon the outrigger was securely tied to the dock and, with the pig pattering along beside them, they carried their wares to market. Mapa had never seen so many people. He tied Puaka Tea to a pole and she began to root around contentedly in the soft ground.
“May I go to a store now?” Mapa asked.
Father knew the boy wanted to be away when someone came to buy the pig. “Yes, but be careful.”
Mapa’s heart was heavy. “Good-bye, my little Puaka Tea,” he whispered, and turned and hurried across the street.
The store seemed very big, for Mapa was used to only the small thatched huts of the village. This building was made of wood and filled to capacity with all kinds of supplies. The pungent odor of spice cake and new leather filled the room. Three small children at the counter were laughing and playing with their new toys. The trinkets from New Zealand, Japan, and India fascinated Mapa most. He was so engrossed, his curly head bent over the shelf, that he did not notice a lady customer come into the store.
Finally he reached into the folds of his vala for the coin, and out fell the stone. Clattering to the floor, it rolled across the boards almost to the lady’s feet.
“Malo-e-lelei (Hello),” she greeted him. Her voice sounded strange.
Mapa’s eyes opened wide. The voice was not nearly as strange as the lady herself. Her skin was very white, and her eyes were as blue as the horizon where the ocean meets the sky. Her hair was golden like a sun blossom.
“Malo-e-lelei,” he answered and picked up his treasure.
The woman smiled and came closer to him. “May I see it?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’m,” he replied and handed it to her.
“It is lovely.” She studied it closely. “I would very much like to buy it. Will you sell it to me?”
Mapa thought for a moment. I wonder why this lady wants it? Perhaps I can find another one.
“Yes, you may buy it.”
He was astonished at the many slips of paper pa’anga (dollars) the lady placed in his hand.
“Malo’aupito (thank you very much),” he said.
Mapa ran back to the marketplace. His father would be surprised, for his son held more money in his hand than anyone would pay for baskets or chickens or a little pig. He could keep Puaka Tea!
“Father! Father!” Oh, if only I’m in time!
A tall, neatly dressed man stood by his father, holding onto the rope tied around Puaka Tea’s leg.
“What is it, Mapa? What has happened?”
“Do not sell my pig! I have money. It is enough. See, here!”
Father’s mouth opened in disbelief. “But where did you get it?”
“I sold a stone I found to a lady from the ship. I can keep Puaka Tea and still buy things for school.”
“That was not an ordinary stone, son. It must have been a pearl! I am happy for your good fortune,” Father said.
The tall man, understanding, left in search of another pig.
Mapa bent down and untied Puaka Tea, who gave a happy little squeal.

On at least one occasion, I gave a spiritual thought with one message in mind, and the Spirit conveyed a totally different message to a student who was listening. Here is one such example from an anonymous student:

Thank you so much for your spiritual thoughts. A few weeks ago you shared a scripture that really changed my life, no exaggeration. I had been on a bit of a downward spiral, and to tell you the truth, during the first month of class it kind of irritated me that we would have “spiritual thought time” in a finance class, when the thought would have nothing to do with what we were talking about. The scripture you shared was in [Doctrine and Covenants] where the Lord tells Joseph that he is chosen, but because of transgression he will fall if he isn’t careful. He tells Joseph to repent and that he is still chosen and called again to the work, but if he does not repent, he will lose his gift and his chosen status (see D&C 3:4–11). That scripture hit me hard and started a chain reaction of introspection with my wife into our lives, so that now I feel like I’m back on a spiritual high akin to that on my mission.

This week I found out that my dad has been [struggling with personal issues that would in the end cause him to leave my mother]. . . . [Y]esterday I was able to talk to him and share everything that has happened to me over the last month (starting with your scripture) to help me find my testimony again and get myself back on track. I felt the Spirit so strong, and I know he did, too.

I’m telling you this story because it is very likely that your scripture not only saved me, but it could save my family and my parents’ temple marriage. If my dad could [move beyond his struggles] to making the right decision, it would be nothing short of a miracle—all because of how you have let the Lord work through you. Don’t ever stop the spiritual thoughts, no matter what anyone else says! Thank you!

A couple weeks later, I received this follow-up from this unknown student in the suggestion box:

I just wanted you to know that over the past two weeks my dad got his act together. My parents are going to stay together! His testimony is starting to return, and he is committed now to working hard on it and his marriage. Thank you! I truly believe this is all because of your spiritual thoughts.

They all came to Utah and settled in Tooele County. They were just getting settled and making things go when they were called by President Brigham Young to St. George, and they went, like all good Latter-day Saints did in those days. But they had not been in St. George very long when they were called to settle in Meadow Valley. That is a place you folks probably have not heard about. It is now known as Panaca, in what they thought was southwestern Utah, but which actually later came to be Nevada. These people, obeying the call, again without question, were the first family to move to Meadow Valley, and they made a dugout house. Sister Young said that you may not know what a dugout house is. I replied that most of the folks would know: One digs a cubical hole in a hillside and covers it with a roof of wooden poles topped with clay.
Troubles of the few settlers with the Indians caused the authorities in St. George to give them permission to abandon the project, but Sister Jane Johnson Lee refused to leave. She said she was there to stay, and stay they did. Later two Indians came into her dugout home, and one of them, seeing a rifle in one corner of the room, demanded it. Sister Lee refused to give it to him. He started for the gun, but she struck him so hard with a piece of stove wood, it knocked him down. He staggered to his feet and drew his bow, aiming the arrow at her. She let him have another piece of wood, which smashed the bow and arrow. Both Indians departed.

Subject: Lisa
Age: 16 years
Event: First day at school with braces
“How did it go at school today?” her mother asked as Lisa came in the house.
“Awful!” she complained. “One boy called me Metal Mouth. Another boy asked if he could use my mouth as an antenna for his radio. Kara said that at least it wouldn’t cut down on my dating, since Larry has told everybody that I’m cold and conceited.” She threw her books on the couch and ran to her room.

The STOMPing that took place wasn’t grapes or dance floors or each other’s toes. In fact, it had nothing to do with feet.
The STOMP that the youth of the Hermosa Vista Ward in the Mesa Arizona Red Mountain Stake participated in becomes clear when you find out what STOMP stands for—Students Trying Out Moroni’s Promise. (See the New Era, “Captains of Ten,” Nov. 1983, p. 49.)
In 17 weeks (that translates to four pages a day), the Young Men and Young Women and their youth leaders, divided into groups of ten, decided to act on Moroni’s promise in Moroni 10:4–5. [Moro. 10:4–5] They read the Book of Mormon as a group.
Each group of ten was assigned a captain. At first the captains weren’t really sure they wanted the responsibility. Blair Phelps had a little insider’s knowledge about what they were up against. His sister had been a captain the year before, so he knew what was involved. But he agreed, joining seven others as the captains.
Each week these captains contacted each member of their team and added up the points each had earned that week. Points were given for reading each day, for being up to date with their reading assignments, for memorizing certain scriptures, and for attending the firesides and activities organized to encourage participation. Each person was given a booklet with a reading chart, the schedule of events, the scriptures to memorize, and Moroni’s promise printed right there in the front. The teams were not competing. Reporting in to their captain helped each person stay interested and focused on the goal.
Michelle Shephard described what happened perfectly, “I was pretty excited”; then she paused, “at first.” It seems like enthusiasm was high for the first couple of weeks. Then school let out for the summer and the schedules started to slip. It seemed like everyone had some trouble keeping up. In fact, the Beehives took drastic measures to catch up. They had a sleep-over where reading the Book of Mormon was the planned activity. Maria Dastrup said, “It was the strangest sleep-over I ever went to. Who would have thought we would have fun just reading the Book of Mormon?” And read they did, with occasional breaks, until they finally fell asleep. Then in the morning they woke up and read some more.
Nearly everyone had a favorite character or favorite story from the scriptures. Mike Walker said, “I really admired Nephi. He’s a good role model. I kept wondering about his brothers. How could they have an angel appear to them and such wonderful things happen that should build their faith, then turn around and be wicked again? It’s hard to understand.”
Many developed a strong feeling for Moroni. Reading his last words made them both sad and hopeful. “It was sad when Moroni said good-bye,” said Lisa Corrington. “His promise works if you really want to find out if the Book of Mormon is true.”
Michelle also commented on Moroni’s last words. “He gives you a final promise after all his people have died and after all that has happened. He tells us we can still do it—we can still live as Christ taught.”
Blair adds, “It gives you a good feeling. It makes you want to try.”
The young people in Mesa were determined to finish reading the Book of Mormon on schedule. They came up with a list of suggestions that helped them finish their reading:
Pay attention.
Pray first; it helps.
Apply what you read to things going on around you.
Keep a reading chart.
Read along while listening to scripture tapes.
Read the chapter headings.
Read during the day when you’re awake. And try to read at the same time every day.
Read it with your friends or family so you can discuss it.
Read the book of Moroni first; then go back and start at the beginning.

The auditorium is dark. Downstage a spotlight picks out a white telephone. Rrrrrrrrrring! Rrrrrrrrring!

Then a deep, penetrating voice asks, “Waiting for a call?” And as the voice continues, figures begin to gather onstage. “They are. They’re waiting for a call from Heavenly Father. They don’t realize he is always calling and ready to listen. All they have to do is lift the receiver.”

The orchestra begins to play ever so softly and is joined by a male voice singing.

It is the beginning of the play “Awaiting Answers,” written, produced, and directed by high school seminary students. But, of course, that isn’t really the beginning. It started one spring at the annual Davis County Seminary District “S-Day” traditionally held at the Regional Center in Bountiful, Utah.

Shirley Anderson of Kaysville, Utah, was there as a chaperone. “The professional music program was good,” she recalls, “but I had the strongest feeling an S-Day program should be something the kids can take home with them.” So Sister Anderson devoted her speech and drama talent to guiding the seminary students for the coming year in an effort to create a really good, seminary-produced play. Two co-directors were appointed, Carolyn Hawkins and Todd Williams, and a committee of representatives was formed from every seminary in the district.

“I took the ideas from the brainstorming sessions and spent about a month incorporating them into a script,” Kristen Ellis recalls, explaining that the story is about 16-year-old Sharon, played by Melanie Valentine, who falls in love with a high school athlete, Kevin (Ed Simons). He is a member of the Church but inactive. Their friendship causes Sharon to doubt God and constantly fight with her parents about late dates and her changing attitude.

A complexity of personalities thicken the plot. Sharon’s brother, Mark (Alan Newbold) is preparing for a mission and tries to make his sister his first convert. Her friend, Diane (Sandi Schroader), is successful in activating a new nonmember friend (Terry Pond), but has a difficult time influencing Sharon away from her new life-style.

“Everyone can relate to at least one of the characters,” Kristen says, “and each of them is a little bit of me—strong, weak, confident, doubting, but like all teenagers, searching for a place in the world.”

Eric Hansen, who orchestrated all the music and conducted the 23-piece orchestra, remembers a few discouraging moments. “When I was first given the assignment, I thought of how impressed my friends would be,” he said. “But at first, no matter how hard I tried, nothing worked.” He said that when you try to please God first, your talents will be recognized, adding, “I had to humble myself and do it for Him, not for me.”

DeAnne Winkel composed most of the songs. She recalls Sister Anderson meeting her at school and telling her she needed another song by that evening with the only instructions being the range and that it should be “a questioning song.” She knelt by the piano bench and pleaded with the Lord for his help. One-half hour later she was knocking on Sister Anderson’s door with the song recorded on the tape in her hand. They both wept as they listened.

Like the teenagers who did the work, those in the story came out triumphant. With love of God and a growing love for each other, the actors acted, the singers sang, the orchestra played, and the dancers danced; and when they were through and the lights were lowered on the last strains of “Oh, my child, this is Saturday. Blessings are in store, blessings are in store,” there was scarcely a dry eye in the audience or on stage.

Forty-five Scouts and eight leaders from the La Verne California Stake hiked a 15-mile segment of the Mormon Battalion Trail.
At the first night’s campfire, the history of the battalion was retold. The following morning, the Scouts began their hike up a canyon. Unlike the scenery the battalion members found, these modern Scouts had to make their way across freeways and train tracks. Dan Brown, 12, whose great-great-grandfather was a member of the Mormon Battalion, said, “I learned how miserable the march must have been. I only hiked 15 miles. They traveled over 2,000.”
The La Verne Stake Scouts hiked another segment of the trail near San Diego last year. They hope to hike additional sections of the trail in coming years.

“Don’t forget this is fast Sunday.” Hearing my mother’s reminder was like hearing a judge pronounce “ten years to life.” Wandering out to the kitchen on a Sunday morning and discovering that the table was bare and there was no bacon smell made me want to crawl right back under the covers. How could a word like fast be associated with something that seems to drag on forever?
I remember fast Sundays spent pacing the kitchen floor as I tried to justify eating just a little something. “I need to take something for a headache, but I can’t take aspirin on an empty stomach.” When I persisted with my grumbling, good old Mom always said, “We don’t force anyone to fast around here. You are free to eat whenever you choose.” Sure. Eat while everyone else is fasting. And feel like a total jerk.
After a while, I learned not to complain and not to hover around the pantry. Instead, I’d go outside and mess around, or go to a far corner of the house and dive into the Sunday paper or a book—anything to take my mind off my stomach.
And so I fasted. At least I went without food and drink for two meals. I had been told I was old enough to fast, so I suffered through it, one Sunday a month. Rewarding? About like a forced run in gym class. It’s painful and unpleasant, and when you get through, all you have is the satisfaction that you toughed it out. Until—
Until one Sunday. I don’t know what got into me. (It certainly wasn’t pancakes! Might have been a past Sunday School lesson, though.) At any rate, I decided that I would really see if I could get something out of fasting besides killer breath. Why go through the discomfort and come away with nothing more than relief that it’s over?
So when I woke up that Sunday morning, I made a deliberate effort to be pleasant and patient. I didn’t prowl the kitchen, growling like an echo of my stomach. Yes, I spent some time reading the Sunday paper, but I also spent time (and effort) in the scriptures. When I went off to my room, it was not to sulk, but to pray—for patience, for understanding, and for an increase of testimony.
My mouth still tasted like something small and furry had hibernated in it. But mouthwash helped. My stomach still threw tantrums for a while. But then the hunger pangs faded into the background, partly because I was tuning them out, and partly because my body seemed to shift into another gear.
As the day progressed, I actually became happy. (No, it wasn’t delirium.) In fast and testimony meeting I found myself watching the speakers and listening to their testimonies, rather than watching the clock and listening to my stomach. Being there felt good. When dinner time finally arrived, I discovered that I was able to sit calmly. A new sense of self-control allowed me to eat reasonably, instead of giving way to the usual gluttony of the “feast of the fast over.”
On the fast Sundays that followed, I often had to relearn the same lessons. It’s so easy to let the stomach control moods, thoughts, temper. And it’s easy to go through the motions and discomfort of fasting without finding joy in it. But as I persevered, I continued to learn to actually enjoy fasting.
A few years later, in the mission field, proper fasting became even more important as I sought the blessings of the Spirit. Of course, I still had a missionary’s appreciation for food. In fact, one day our new zone leader leaned toward me over the lunch table, glanced down at my well-stocked plate, and said, “I’ll bet you really hate to fast, don’t you, Elder?”
My mouth was full of food, so all I could do was dumbly shake my head. But no. I no longer hated to fast.
Before I had really put myself into it, really looked for the rewards of fasting, I wouldn’t have understood what the Lord was talking about when he said:
“Verily, this is fasting and prayer, or in other words, rejoicing and prayer” (D&C 59:14; italics added).
But now I understand: There are rewards that go far beyond the meager satisfaction of just having endured.

Being on the receiving end of such uncharacteristic kindness can change lives. In Naju, sixteen-year-old Seo Jin Oo is alive today, thanks to the faith and love of his family and dozens of gospel friends.
Jin Oo was at school, studying during a recess break, when a classmate flew into a rage and hit him on the head with a club. Dazed but still conscious, Jin Oo moved to the back of the classroom, where he fell unconscious to the floor.
For the Seo family, the next thirteen days were filled with blessings, prayers, and round-the-clock vigils. The summer weather was blistering hot, the hospital was not air-conditioned, and there were few nurses. Jin Oo’s parents, Seo Young Won and Kim Kyung Ja, were responsible for keeping their son’s temperature down by continually applying cool towels to his feverish body.
“There was always a member or a missionary there,” recalls Brother Seo. Members traveled to the hospital to give Jin Oo’s parents much-needed breaks. Jin Oo’s name was put on the prayer roll in the Seoul temple, and members throughout the Kwangju stake held special fasts.
“The doctors and nurses tried to prepare us for his death,” Sister Kim observes. “But we kept on hoping. We had faith.”
After two surgeries, Jin Oo awoke from the coma and, contrary to doctors’ predictions, has suffered no brain damage or lasting effects from the incident.
“It was an extremely emotional time for us,” says Sister Kim. “But we certainly learned what really mattered and where we could turn for help. Jin Oo’s experience has strengthened us as a family and as a branch. We’re closer, more unified, and more aware of others and their needs. We really do have a greater determination to love and serve others.”

We arrived in Cochabamba amidst more chaos from the revolution. We found a market filled with tents, where a kind fellow Peruvian let us wash up and then store our suitcases while we went to the bus terminal. Using our same plea, we made it standby onto another bus and arrived days later in Santa Cruz, Bolivia, near the Brazilian border. For three mornings, I went to the train station to ask if there would be any departures. The answer was always no. But on the fourth day, news spread that a train would be leaving soon for Brazil.

By this point, we were running out of money. I shared my concerns with my wife, who ?rmly replied, “Even if we have to arrive by foot or on the back of a donkey, we’re going to make it.” Her reply made me happy. I wasn’t unsettled about money for the rest of the trip because our confidence was placed in our faith.

As we talked, an old lady walked toward us. She stopped in front of my wife and said, “Young lady, wouldn’t you like two tickets for today?” My wife practically ripped the tickets out of her hand. I paid the old woman, and she vanished among the crowd. It took us a few seconds to realize that the Lord and His angels were still by our side.

The opportunity to visit a temple of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is a seemingly impossible, yet cherished dream for those who live an ocean away. A group of people from the small Vanuatu island of Tanna were grateful to have recently made the trip to Suva Fiji to worship in the temple there.
The people of Tanna have endured much hardship in recent years as cyclones have destroyed many homes and crops. This temple trip was a bright spot and an inspiration as they continue the labour of building back their lives.
For one member of the group, Rex Morgan Ialulu, worshipping in the house of the Lord was an unforgettable experience. He said, “We were overjoyed to feel the love of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ in the temple. I know God lives, He loves His children and has a plan for them to return to Him. The temple is the House of the Lord.”

But the call during the day or the knock at the door at night always comes as a surprise. Someone will say, “Please, could you come quickly?” Once, years ago, it was a father calling from a hospital. His three-year-old daughter had been thrown 50 feet (15 m) by a speeding car as she ran across the street to join her mother. When I arrived at the hospital, the father pled that the power of the priesthood would preserve her life. The doctors and the nurses only reluctantly let us reach through a plastic barrier to place a drop of oil on the one opening in the heavy bandages which covered her head. A doctor said to me, with irritation in his voice, “Hurry with whatever you are going to do. She is dying.”

He was wrong. She lived, and contrary to what the doctor had said, she not only lived, but she learned to walk again.

When the call came, I was ready. The preparation was far more than having consecrated oil close at hand. It must begin long before the crisis which requires priesthood power. Those who are prepared will be ready to answer.

One of my first assignments after I received the call to serve in the Primary General Presidency was to teach members in Brazil. This was hard for me because I don’t know the Portuguese language. I knew I needed to pray. I asked Heavenly Father to please help me so I could communicate and teach the way He wanted me to.
Again, I received a feeling of comfort and reassurance that I would be able to communicate and teach the things that the people needed to learn. I didn’t learn the language in the eight weeks before I traveled or in the two weeks I was there, but ways were opened and things happened that I knew were answers to my prayers.
I know that Heavenly Father hears and answers our prayers, even though the answers may not come in the form of a miracle—my parents didn’t come home the minute I finished praying, Margie wasn’t immediately healed, and I didn’t learn Portuguese. Most often, answers to prayers come as a feeling of peace. They come as a feeling of reassurance. They come as a feeling that Heavenly Father knows you and me personally and wants to bless us.

A few years ago, my family didn’t go to church. Then one day, my friend Cory asked me if I wanted to go to church with him.
I went for a couple of weeks and then asked my mom to go, too. Pretty soon, Mom was called to work in the Primary.
After church, we told my dad about what we learned. My little brother, Kasey, reminded my dad of the Word of Wisdom.
I kept asking my dad to go to church with us. Then one day, he surprised me by saying, “I’m going to go to church.”
Now we are sealed in the temple.

The English seaside town of Blackpool may seem ordinary by day. But when its famous lights come on at night, its streets are transformed into a place of beauty.
Elder Jo Folkett may seem like an ordinary Englishman at first. But the light of the Spirit has transformed his life and is helping him lead others to the beauty of the gospel.
Elder Jolyon Soames Folkett is from the Glenfield Ward, Leicester Stake, England. The only paraplegic missionary in a wheelchair in the British Isles, Elder Folkett has overcome many obstacles to be where he is.
Early in his mission, Elder Folkett felt pride in his accomplishment of serving. “I used to think, ‘I’m pretty remarkable, coming on a mission like this,’” he said. “‘I had a good excuse not to come, but here I am.’”
Then, during an early-morning Book of Mormon study session, he read Mosiah 2:21–24. “It was about serving,” he says, smiling. “It says that even if we serve the Lord with all our souls, we’ll still be in his debt. It says that the Lord requires us to do all he commands, and not be proud—whatever our circumstance.
“That really humbled me. I thought, ‘I’m not so remarkable, am I? I’m only doing what’s required.’”
“Doing what’s required” has been Jo’s guideline for the last five years. Before that, his legs were the same as most people’s—active. Then came a blood clot in his spine. Only one in a million people ever suffer from this problem. Usually they are middle-aged, and they suffer brain damage—or death.
Jo survived, perfectly normal except for his legs.
Despite frequent hospitalization, he has become more and more cheerful. And as he has relied on priesthood blessings, he has developed a testimony that now makes him a powerful missionary.
Looking back, Jo has a clear picture of that critical moment in his life. “I was prepared, through promptings of the Spirit, for the information that my legs would always be paralysed,” he says. “So when the doctor solemnly said, ‘I have something to tell you,’ I thought it must be, ‘Sorry, there’s no hope. You’re going to die.’ When he said, ‘You’ll never walk again,’ it was a relief. I could accept that.”
That was the easy part. But adapting and learning to do everything differently has not been so easy. So Jo developed ways of dealing with setbacks. His favourite saying when things get tough is, “You can either laugh or cry. But if you laugh, people like you better.”
Jo did progress, becoming more and more independent and mobile.
His testimony also became independent. Although he had been brought up in the Church, Jo had gone through a less-active stage earlier in life. He drifted in with the wrong crowd and did some things he regretted. Gradually, through the influence of missionaries, and to keep his mum happy, he returned to the Church.
“It was while I was in the hospital that I decided to find out for sure whether the Church is true,” he says. “I had plenty of opportunity to fast and pray in there as my visits lengthened into months.” (His spine began curving, needing replacement with bones from his ribs.)
At the end of his first fast, the Aylesbury Ward bishop came to visit Jo and offered to take him for a ride. “We entered a beautiful woodland area,” Jo recalls. “As we drove slowly through it, I was reminded of Joseph Smith’s first vision. I had the strongest impression of God’s hand in all that beauty. The feeling also came clearly—this is the Savior’s church, and I should go on a mission.”
Jo’s testimony never wavered after that.
Later, as he participated in his home ward in a class discussion on missions, his yearning for service came sharply into focus. The teacher, not wanting him to feel left out or embarrassed by the emphasis on serving missions, made the comment, “Of course, Jo is excused. He won’t be able to go in a wheelchair.”
“That really motivated me,” exclaims Elder Folkett. “My immediate reaction was, ‘Oh, yes, I will!’” Soon after that, Jo received his patriarchal blessing, which confirmed his decision; it stated that he would serve and proselyte.
Before Jo left for the England Manchester Mission, it became evident just how much his new positive attitude toward life was affecting him. He took part in—and won—several national paraplegic sporting events. He also applied for a training job at his local council offices. They agreed to take him—even after he told them he wouldn’t be available to start for another two years. They accepted his explanation, promising to keep the vacancy especially for him during his mission.
For Jo, blessings such as these outweigh the hardships in his life. He has even found advantages to serving in a wheelchair. “I must be the only missionary to get through two years with one pair of shoes,” he jokes. “These are as good as new!”
There are a few disadvantages, however, such as the number of new tires needed for his special wheelchair. Jo saved up for a lightweight, thin-tired sports model wheelchair before he left on his mission. The smaller chair makes tracting easier and has allowed him to develop the art of wheelies, crowd navigation, and step bouncing to breathtaking degrees.
He has another saying: “You can do anything you want, if it’s possible. Dean Beale from Weston-super-Mare, England, says he appreciates such attitudes from his companion. “After working with Elder Folkett,” he says, “I’ve come to realize that many of the people who blame God for the afflictions of others are not the victims themselves. The victims are often the ones who have faith and humility.”
As Elder Folkett says, “Life is not supposed to be easy. It’s a tough testing ground. But if we behave ourselves and follow God’s plan, then we’ll get the blessings in the end.”
Often the blessings come long before the end, while you’re in the service of the Lord. Jo has seen that happen many times on his mission—such as the day he met Kevin Smith.
Kevin had become interested in the Church through the fine example of a young Latter-day Saint woman in his office, and he had requested a copy of the Book of Mormon from the Blackpool Ward. Jo and his companion volunteered to deliver the scripture to him.
“At that point I wasn’t sufficiently interested in the Church to have missionaries in my home,” says Kevin, who has been confined to a wheelchair for the past sixteen years. “I had a stereotyped image of Mormon elders—tall, fresh young American lads straight out of college, wearing stylish suits, with toothpaste-advertisement smiles. I probably wouldn’t have opened the door if they had looked like that. But here were two down-to-earth people, one just as surprised as I was at the sight of a wheelchair.”
“Kevin is such a great guy,” exclaims Elder Folkett, who was surprised to find his investigator in a wheelchair. “Even before we got to his house the first time, I felt that something good would happen.”
Elder Folkett and Kevin got along well from the moment they met, and Jo baptized Kevin not long after that first discussion.
The power of Jo’s example has eternal possibilities. Members who have been less-active have returned to church because of his example. He has shared the gospel with everyone who is willing to listen. And his mission president delights in his “good, cheerful spirit.”
Just as Blackpool’s lights brighten the shadows, so too does Elder Jo Folkett’s bright faith enrich the lives of those he meets.
There’s a sparkle to his testimony that knows no handicap, travels beyond boundaries, and turns barriers into blessings.

Bringing the Bible to life with yoga! This uncommon pairing of the Bible and yoga has probably not come to mind during Bible study sessions in the past. However, for one lady, this is what happened.
Like many, Naomi, a children’s yoga teacher, was affected by the pandemic. Mostly working in schools, Naomi was a full-time yoga teacher running classes to improve the physical and mental well-being of students of all ages. However, after the pandemic struck and schools in the United Kingdom closed, Naomi lost a great deal of work.
While seeking comfort and guidance from the scriptures, an idea came to her as she read one of the many stories within its pages. It was the story of the Nativity. A story of love, suspense, adventure, sacrifice, unique characters, and twists in plots.
It was clear to her that such a story could underpin a fantastic yoga adventure, while also giving children the opportunity to act out a much-loved story that they perhaps could not do in the same way now that schools were closed.
Turning her spare room into a yoga studio, Naomi began to bring the Nativity to life with movements to match the different characters and events. She posted the finished adventure online for all to enjoy for free.
Since then, many more Bible stories have been brought to life through yoga. Children can now help Jonah as he is swallowed by the whale, join Noah on the ark with the animals, and learn how to be like the good Samaritan.
It is well known, now more than ever, that children’s wellbeing is paramount. By bringing Bible stories to life using yoga, the videos help children focus on mindful movements, breathing techniques, relaxation, positive affirmations, and visualisations. They do all this whilst experiencing fun, interactive adventures.
The videos, created from a passion for mindful yoga and love of gospel stories, have been a big hit and brought to many children joy, happiness, and a sense of adventure from the comfort of their living room. They are also a great missionary tool!
Naomi hopes to continue spreading these little rays of sunshine as she makes her way through the many Bible adventures, helping children to let their light shine in dark times.

When I was a full-time student in England from 1948–1950 at the University of Nottingham, I did not have the good fortune to be a Latter-day Saint. I did not have the vision of my purpose in life, and of the pattern of progress and effort required to fulfill my purpose. Academically, athletically, and socially, I did reasonably well. Spiritually, I was somewhat lacking, for I had a form of religion without real substance. I had been active in my church all my life but could not have answered basic doctrinal questions if challenged to do so.

My real progress commenced when I was almost 24 years old. I had just graduated with honors in economics and law and had started my career in industry as a management trainee with a large textiles, chemicals, and plastics company.

Within weeks, Mormon missionaries were led—and I repeat were led—to our door. As a matter of fact, the Lord sent three missionaries to our door. (He knew it might be tough.) Furthermore, my wife informed me they all had the same first name—Elmer Jones, Elmer Cordingly, and Elmer Seastrand!

Everyone who has seen the excellent filmstrip in which President Kimball shows us how to be member missionaries knows there are certain circumstances which facilitate friendshipping. We were a classic case of changed circumstances bringing added receptivity to the gospel message. Not only had I just commenced my first civilian employment, but we had moved into a new home and, to top it all, our second baby had just arrived.

Yes, many of our circumstances in life had changed, but through the missionaries, our whole outlook on life subsequently changed. We were taught the plan of salvation—God’s plan for our eternal progression, God’s plan to help us reach full development, which is true maturity.

Our values changed, and therefore our standards of measurement changed, as we realized the truthfulness of the message the missionaries taught. Our lives started to become fuller and more purposeful, to ripen and mature. That message I declare to you in all solemnity and power. Jesus Christ, the Only Begotten Son of the Eternal Father, is our personal Savior and Redeemer. He has restored his church and gospel as was prophesied and has once again spoken through holy prophets, beginning with the Prophet Joseph Smith.

Brother Truman G. Madsen tells about a visit he made to Israel with President Hugh B. Brown (1883–1975), an Apostle of the Lord who served as Second Counselor and then First Counselor in the First Presidency. In a valley known as Hebron, where tradition has it that the tomb of Father Abraham is located, Brother Madsen asked President Brown, “What are the blessings of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob?” After a short moment of thought, President Brown answered, “Posterity.”
Brother Madsen writes: “I almost burst out, ‘Why, then, was Abraham commanded to go to Mount Moriah and offer his only hope of posterity?’
“It was clear that [President Brown], nearly ninety, had thought and prayed and wept over that question before. He finally said, ‘Abraham needed to learn something about Abraham’” (The Highest in Us [1978], 49).

Three years ago Sister Peterson and I had the chance to return back to Japan, where I had served my mission as a young man. We went back with another couple, and he, too, had served in Japan. One day we were in the main Tokyo train station. I am guessing that those of you from Japan have been in Tokyo Eki many times. It is a very large and busy place, and each day literally millions of people pass through on their commute to and from work or school. On this particular day we were looking for a native Japanese sister missionary, Sister Ishikawa, who had served with our friend those many years earlier. We knew which platform she would be on, but I had never seen her or even seen a picture of her. We scanned the crowd, and then, in the middle of tens of thousands of people, and about 150 feet away, I saw her. She had not yet spotted us, but even at that distance, surrounded by thousands of other Japanese people, it was very evident that she was Sister Ishikawa. The light emanating from her eyes was so obvious and the glow of her countenance so radiant that she was impossible to miss.

As we attend the various stake conferences, it is thrilling to meet the young leaders whom the Lord has raised up—men such as President Eraldo dos Santos. He embraced the gospel as a young boy of seventeen. When he elected to accept a mission call, he was disowned by his family and put out on the street with his meager belongings. He served faithfully, however, and later was led to a beautiful young convert girl. They were sealed in the temple and are rearing their family under the covenant. Still under thirty years of age, he is successful in his business and is a great leader in the stake. How the Lord blesses the faithful members of the Church!