Gospel Story Finder

I had been on my mission in my home country of Peru for several months when I met Santiago. He attended a Sunday School class for new members, but he had not been baptized. Nor had he taken the missionary discussions. I learned that he had a speech impediment that made him feel insecure because he had difficulty communicating.
For most of his life, Santiago had been able to speak clearly and had been blessed with a beautiful singing voice. But then he suffered a stroke. After a long time in a rehabilitation center, he had learned to walk again, but he still had trouble speaking.
We were thrilled when Santiago decided to meet with us. During our first visit, he tried to talk, and we tried to understand. He especially enjoyed reading aloud from the Book of Mormon. We loved and admired him.
One day while we were discussing gospel ordinances, Santiago said he was ready for baptism and confirmation. After we had finished the discussion, he stood up, eyes shining, and with great difficulty asked, “Elders, after I’m baptized, will I be able to talk normally again?”
I was taken aback for a moment and at first didn’t know how to answer. But responding to the influence of the Spirit, I said confidently, “Yes, if you have enough faith, the Lord will grant your desire.”
On the day of his baptism, I remembered Santiago’s question when he was asked to bear his testimony. Realizing that some of the Lord’s promises aren’t fulfilled immediately, I wondered if Santiago would feel disappointed if his ability to speak didn’t immediately improve. In the days that followed, he still struggled to talk, but he didn’t seem to be concerned.
I was soon transferred and didn’t see Santiago again until the end of my mission, when I went to say good-bye before returning home. My companion and I didn’t find him home and started to leave, when suddenly we heard a strong voice calling to us. It was Santiago!
We entered his house, and he talked about how happy he had been as a member of the Church. After a few minutes I realized that he was speaking almost perfectly. Surprised, I said, “Santiago, you talk fine now!”
He said he knew the Lord would grant his desire. So he showed faith and did his part, reading aloud from the Book of Mormon and doing exercises his doctor had recommended. “The Lord has seen my efforts and has given my voice back to me,” he said. “And it won’t be long before He blesses me with the ability to sing again.”
I could not hold back my tears. That day Santiago taught me a great lesson. The promises of the Lord aren’t always fulfilled quickly, but they are fulfilled nonetheless.

It’s a little different growing up in the Middle East. In Saudi Arabia there’s not a big Young Women program, because the foreign families who make up the branch often send their high-school-age girls off to boarding schools in Europe or the U.S.
But thanks to a special project, the girls will never forget that they are to “stand for truth and righteousness.” Before each girl leaves, she receives a quilt. Each square has been made by one of her classmates and has something to do with the Young Women values. Mothers and daughters worked together for hours to piece and sew the quilts together.
“Our prayers and encouragement have gone off with these quilts and girls,” says Debby Gibson, a YW adviser. They’ve got the girls covered.

What do you think life in the Missionary Training Center will be like? The youth of the Meridian Idaho Stake found out, thanks to some energetic and creative missionaries.

They were looking for a way to get the young people excited about missionary work, so they planned “The MTC Experience,” which simulated a day at the MTC. The youth were divided into companionships, given name tags and an orientation, then sent to classes. They learned and practiced gospel-sharing techniques and were taught about the Savior and Joseph Smith and about recognizing the Spirit. The local mission president, David Stanley, also addressed them.

The best part of all, according to Sister Laurisa White, a missionary serving in the area, was when everyone stood at the end and sang “Called to Serve.” “Everyone was blown away by it,” she said.

I guess I’ve really changed a lot, for the better, I hope. I got into a big argument with Jared today, though. I know I should show more love toward him, but it’s hard when he acts as aggravating as he did today. He came storming into the house, shouting, “I hate girls!”
“Why?” I asked.
“They’re stuck up, that’s why! The Church leaders are always telling us fellows that we should get married, but how can we when all the girls think they’re too good for us?”
I felt like hitting him. “I like that! I spent all last year losing weight and trying to make myself attractive like President Kimball tells us to, but do you think guys are swooning at my feet? No! The trouble with you and all your snobby friends is that you only want to take the glamorous girls out. They already have plenty of dates. You never pay any attention to the girls who have to try hard to be pretty!”
He considered that. “Don’t all girls try hard to be pretty?”
I thought for a moment. “I guess we all just try to be our best.”
And, as far as I know, that’s the truth.

They recently moved from Eagar, Arizona, to nearby Show Low, where their family business includes a hotel and car wash. Devastating wildfires struck the area last summer. Elder Shumway recalls that for three nights in a row, a television announcer stated the fire would be in Show Low by the next morning. The fire never reached the town, and the announcer finally said that there was a power at work higher than he had ever seen—he could not explain it.
“Had the fire come through, I do not think I would be sitting here today,” says Elder Shumway. “It would have been devastating.”
His family and business were spared, and he is grateful for the new opportunity to serve. “I deem it a privilege to go preach the gospel of Jesus Christ,” he says.

When I was a boy, my mother had to go to work at Garfield Smelter to help support her seven children. She worked the graveyard shift as much as she could, I’m sure, to be with us during the day. I don’t know when the poor woman slept. One Saturday morning, she got off work about 7:00 or 8:00 A.M. She went to bed for a couple of hours and then got up. She had invited all her relatives to dinner. There must have been 35 or 40. She decorated the tables and arranged the chairs and put all the dishes and silverware out. She cooked and baked all day long. The dirty pots and pans and dishes stacked up.
Everyone came to dinner, and after dinner all the dirty dishes were brought into the kitchen. The food was cleared and stacked on the table and cupboards; then the kitchen door was closed, and the family began to visit. It was about 8:00 P.M.
I remember standing all alone in the kitchen. In my young mind, I thought, Mother worked all night; she has worked all day to get this dinner. When everyone leaves, she will have to do the dishes and put the food away. It will take two or three hours, and that’s not fair. Then I thought, I will do them.
I washed the dishes. We didn’t have an electric dishwasher; ours was a manual dishwasher, and that night I was manual. I used a half-dozen dish towels. I was drenched from head to foot. I put the food away, cleaned off the table and drainboards; then I got down on my hands and knees and scrubbed the floor. It took about three hours.
Then I heard the chairs shuffling, and everyone left. The front door closed, and I heard my mother coming to the kitchen. I was pleased and thought she would be. The door swung open, and even at the age of 11, I recognized that she was startled. She looked around the kitchen, looked at me, and then there was a look I didn’t recognize at the time. I do now. It was something like “Thanks. I am tired. I think you understand, and I love you.” And she came over and hugged me. There was a light in her eye and a warmth in my heart. I learned it is a wonderful feeling to turn on the lights in our parents’ eyes.

The prison guard brought a letter to the jail cell. The three young men inside were very surprised, for none of them had received mail or visitors for weeks. One prisoner had been charged with murder; another had been arrested as a tramp. The third—and youngest—was an American who had been brought to the prison because he was distributing missionary tracts and telling the people in Austria about Joseph Smith and The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Thomas Biesinger was alone the morning two police officers pulled him out of bed and informed him that a Protestant minister had signed a complaint against him. He was taken to a small dirty jail cell that was furnished with only three hard-straw mattresses. No food or drink was given to him for more than twenty-four hours, and he wondered if he would ever live to leave the place.
The two prisoners already confined in the cell and many of the guards spoke only in ridicule to the heartsick and homesick young elder. They believed he was a leader from America who had come to Austria to persuade people to become Mormon slaves.
Now the three inmates watched the guard wave the letter in the air. No one moved. Finally the guard motioned for Elder Biesinger to take the envelope.
A letter! What an unexpected break in the long days that had stretched into more than a month of lonely imprisonment.
The letter was about Elder Hammer, his former companion who had gone to Germany two weeks before Elder Biesinger’s arrest. The letter reported that Elder Hammer was critically ill with smallpox and desperately in need of help.
Elder Biesinger begged for permission to visit his friend for just a few days. He promised to return and spend extra time in jail, but permission was denied. Finally the jailer agreed to let Elder Biesinger write a letter to his companion, provided the prisoner would go before the judge and receive approval for the letter to be sent.
All day and all night Elder Biesinger offered fervent silent prayers for his sick companion and for guidance in writing the letter. At last he began to put on paper the thoughts that came to him. He promised in the name of Jesus Christ that through the power of the priesthood Elder Hammer would live and be able to return to his family in America.
The next morning the young prisoner appeared before the judge. When the judge read the unusual letter, he was silent for a long time. He looked at the young man before him and then reread the letter. Finally the judge finished reading, was silent a moment, and then quietly gave permission for the letter to be sent.
Although there had been little hope for Elder Hammer’s recovery, the promise given in the letter was soon fulfilled!
Some weeks later Elder Biesinger was released from prison, and he began once more to try to teach the people in Austria who would listen. One person who listened and was later baptized a member of the Church was a police official who had been greatly impressed by the missionary while he was in prison.
Before long another elder was sent from the Swiss and German Mission so Elder Biesinger would again have a companion, but soon after his arrival the two young men were visited by police officers who gave them only twenty-four hours to pack and leave the country.
After World War I, Elder Biesinger was again called to go back to Austria. This time he stayed long enough to help establish a strong mission in that country.
Today many people in Austria are members of the Church. There are branches in Vienna, Braunau, Innsbruck, Salzburg, and other areas. Church members are viewed with much more favor by the government and other people than they were when Thomas Biesinger wrote his remarkable letter from a dirty little jail cell and blessed a desperately ill elder.

After graduating from law school, I was fortunate to get a position as a clerk at the Utah Supreme Court. I learned how the court works and I came to know the judges personally. I clearly remember listening to the persuasive arguments of lawyers for opposing parties and being influenced first by one side and then by the other. Some years later, after leaving the court, I happened to meet the chief justice, whom I knew well. Our conversation turned to the administrative challenges of running a court. My friend, the chief justice, was weary. In a few months he would be old enough to retire and leave all the court contention and controversy to others. He indicated that he had given serious thought to doing just that.
“What would you think if I retired?” he asked.
Although I could understand why he might want to escape from the heavy responsibilities of the court, I said, “Oh, Judge, please don’t do that. You will never know how comforting it is to have someone on the court who always tries to do what’s right.”
To my surprise, he became angry. He raised his voice and said, “Burt. Any fool can do what’s right. It’s knowing what’s right that’s hard.”
My friend had just shared his greatest concern as a judge. He was saying that while not everyone applied the law to his own conduct, it was not hard to do so, once the law had been determined. What was much more difficult was to determine what the law should be, and to decide between competing, attractive, and well-reasoned alternatives presented by intelligent lawyers. The more difficult thing for him was to determine which of two sides represented was correct.

Jayant loved the Church even before he became a member. He liked to listen to his uncle talk about the gospel and tell how he had been the first person from India to join the Church in Fiji.
After listening to the missionaries, Jayant asked his parents if he might join the Church. They gave their permission, and Jayant tried hard to be a missionary to his family by living the principles of the gospel and being a good example.
Before long Jayant’s father and brother were baptized, but his mother hesitated. Her grandfather had been an important Hindu priest in India, and she was worried about what her family would say if she became a Mormon. Because of the example of her son, however, she too finally joined the Church.
Now all of Jayant’s family are active in their branch in Suva, Fiji, and they know the love and joy that come from serving our Father in heaven.

In a typical Samoan family, a young man does the family cooking in a umu (fire pit oven). His little brothers are usually right there to watch and help him. One of the first things this young cook does is to slash off a few palm fronds with his big bush knife. Then he slits them in half down the thick middle of the stem, fastening the rib into a loop and quickly weaving the leaf fringes into sturdy workbaskets.
Later, the older brother gets into his pao pao (dugout canoe) and goes to the plantation for taro (an edible root). By the time he returns with his baskets full of taro, his little brothers have a pile of wood ready for the fire.
When the fire is hot, the special rocks layered on top begin to glow red. The young cook slashes the leaf fringes off a small coconut tree branch, trims the green rib, and bends it in the middle to make fire tongs to arrange the hot stones in the cleared-out fire pit. Over them he spreads layers of banana leaves, taro, breadfruit, green bananas, a leaf-wrapped fish or chicken, more leaves, more hot rocks, and then leaves and earth. In a few hours the family’s food is cooked for the weekend.

The heroic accounts of what these pioneer women sacrificed and accomplished as they crossed the plains are a priceless legacy to the Church. I am moved by the account of Elizabeth Jackson, whose husband, Aaron, died after the last crossing of the Platte River with the Martin handcart company. She wrote:

“I will not attempt to describe my feelings at finding myself thus left a widow with three children, under such excruciating circumstances. … I believe … that my sufferings for the Gospel’s sake will be sanctified unto me for my good. …

“I [appealed] to the Lord, … He who had promised to be a husband to the widow, and a father to the fatherless. I appealed to him and he came to my aid.”

Elizabeth said she was writing the history on behalf of those who passed through like scenes, with the hope that posterity would be willing to suffer and sacrifice all things for the kingdom of God.

When I was in the sixth grade, my class went to the Marin Headlands (California) State Park for a weeklong field trip. After a long drive on the bus, we unpacked our belongings and settled in to our bunk beds. We started talking excitedly about what activities lay ahead of us over the next week. Slowly, the conversation changed, and somehow the subject of religion was brought up. One person after another briefly stated what faith they belonged to. I didn’t want anyone to know that I didn’t go to church and was different from them. However, they noticed that I wasn’t participating in the discussion.
“What are you?” my friend asked curiously.
“I don’t go to church, so I guess I’m nothing.”
“You can’t be nothing. You have to be something!”
I decided to ask my mom what she was, because I thought that whatever she was, I must be the same. “Mom, everyone in my group at camp goes to church except me. They told me what religions they were and when they asked me what I was, I told them that I was nothing. I’m nothing, right?”
“Yes, I guess that’s right,” my mom said assuredly.
“But they said I have to be something,” I complained.
My mom repeated herself, “If you don’t belong to a particular church or religious group, then you are no religion at all.”
Two years went by, and I didn’t think too much about religion or the religious discussion we had had until my best friend invited me to attend a camp with her during the summer. After getting my parents’ approval, I excitedly told my friend that I could go. There were a lot of fun activities but also classes about principles and stories in the Bible that were brand new to me. I enjoyed learning about them, and I learned how to look up scriptures in my new Bible given to me by my friend. By the end of the week, I was “saved.” I wasn’t sure what that meant, but there were other people that were “saved” too.
I asked my parents if it was all right if I went to church with my best friend’s family every Sunday. They agreed. Unfortunately, something came up the next Sunday, and I wasn’t able to go. One week after another went by, and for one reason or another I did not go to church. The good feelings from camp slowly faded away. My freshman year of high school began, but my best friend and I drifted apart. Now I knew there was no chance of going to church with her family.
“Mom, can we go to church?” I asked several times, but I never really got the answer I was looking for. One day was different. Instead of the usual reply, she answered, “Well, I do know of a church we can go to. I know that they teach good things, because I used to go when I was little. I can take you to that church—The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” That was the first time I learned she ever went to church, even though I knew my grandparents went to church.
I was more than satisfied with this answer. I was finally on my way to becoming something.
My mom, sister, brother, and I were finally going to church! My grandmother helped by locating which church building to attend in the area where we lived. Looking back, I do remember feeling welcomed.
Over the next few Sundays, I was welcomed like a friend that hadn’t been seen for some time. When people noticed that I was new, they smiled and extended their hand to greet me and introduced themselves. I went to Young Women with the girls. I was 15 and belonged to the Mia Maid class. I quickly made friends despite my shyness. Everyone made me feel comfortable. My sister was in the Beehive class. Being four years old, my brother went to Primary. He didn’t like going by himself, so he always made my mom go with him. I think she enjoyed it. She sang children’s songs and relearned stories from when she was younger.
The missionaries came to our house and taught us the lessons. I was delighted when they came over. Even though they were around 20 years old, they knew a lot about the scriptures and the gospel of Jesus Christ. They had a special presence and a warm glow about them. I soon found out that other members of the Church had that glow as well, including my Young Women teacher, who always let me know how happy she was to have me in her class.
I became good friends with a girl named Julia. We decided to be “buddies” at girls camp. Even though I don’t like camping or hiking very much, I really enjoyed the entire experience. There was a different feeling at this camp. Our counselors made a special effort to see that we were having a good time and that everyone was included in all the activities we participated in. During the week, we had devotionals, a nature walk to learn about different plants, a first-aid class, and campfire skits. There was also a service project that everyone in the camp happily participated in. In fact, the service project table was always crowded with volunteers. All through the week there was a sense of organization, cooperation, and friendship.
On Saturday morning, the last day, everyone got together around the campfire, and whoever wanted to stood up and told the others of their testimony of the Church and expressed their gratitude for their family, friends, and what a great and memorable experience they had at camp. Most of them cried while they talked, and I cried along with them. I was surprised to see my sister go up on stage. She said how happy she was to come to this Church and how thankful she was for her family, especially me. That was one of the first times she had ever expressed her love for me as her sister. Once she sat down, I got up and sat next to her. I told her how grateful I was for what she said, and we cried together. We really made a special connection.
We continued going to church and taking the missionary lessons. As the weeks went by, I learned much more about the Church. I wanted to do the right things. I began reading the Bible and the Book of Mormon, praying, eating good food, dressing modestly, and trying to live a Christian life. After trying all these things, I felt good about myself.
My mother, who had not wanted to go to church, continued to participate in the missionary lessons and continued to take us to church every Sunday. We made the decision to be baptized, and my mother, sister, and I became members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on June 3, 2000. This was a decision that has changed all of our lives. My brother was too young to be baptized, and my stepfather did not share in our beliefs, but he always supported all of us in our Church-related activities and meetings.
We now have numerous friends that we would not otherwise have if we had not gone to church. We participate in many community service projects and have become happier people. I went on to receive my Young Women in Excellence award and attend community college. After high school, I became active in the single adults ward, where I met a wonderful returned missionary. We were married and have now had our first child.
Through all these experiences in the Church, our family has grown closer, and we are striving to become an eternal family. Seven years after our baptism, both my stepfather and my little brother made the decision to join the Church and were baptized together on January 20, 2007.

A few days later, Margarette and her older brother, Wallace, set out for school. It had been raining, and the ground was slippery and muddy, especially along the street by the Prophet Joseph’s Red Brick Store. As the two children hurried along their way, they got stuck in the mud. Although they tried to get out by wrapping their arms beneath their legs to lift their feet, it was no use.
“Oh, what shall we do?” cried Margarette. She remembered seeing wagons stuck in the mud, and sometimes they were left until the ground became drier. Margarette feared that she and her brother would have to stay where they were until the ground dried up and they could walk out on their own.
Wallace let out a loud wail. Seeing her brother’s fear, Margarette joined him with cries of her own. But looking up, she saw the loving friend of children, the Prophet Joseph, walking toward them. He lifted them out of the mud, wiped off their dirty shoes, and used his clean handkerchief to wipe the tears from their faces. He smiled and spoke with such cheery words that they were soon happily on their way to school.
“He is every child’s best friend,” Margarette told Wallace. He smiled in agreement.

Christopher’s next birthday was an important one because he would be eight years old and could be baptized. He smiled whenever he thought of the pirate party his mother had planned and his favorite foods she would cook.
Early one morning Mother called him to the phone. It was Grandmother Jo. “Would you like to come to my house on your way home from school today?” she asked. “I have a very important treasure to share with you.”
The only treasure Christopher could think of concerned pirates and an X marking the spot for treasure on a treasure map. He eagerly agreed to go.
The school day went by slowly for Christopher, but finally the last bell rang. He ran all the way to Grandma Jo’s, and he was out of breath when she opened the door and gave him a big hug. “Christopher,” she asked, “would you like some hot, freshly baked whole wheat bread?”
Christopher nodded his head as the smell of it grabbed him by the nose and pulled him into the kitchen. He sat down at the kitchen table and watched the butter melt as his grandmother spread it on a slice of hot bread. Then she added homemade raspberry jam, and his stomach gave a little growl, begging for a bite. Grandmother Jo handed him the bread and poured him a glass of milk. Oh, how he loved that taste!
When he had finished eating, Christopher followed Grandmother Jo to the living room, where a curious-looking box sat on a low table by the sofa.
“Now that you’re going to be eight, I want to share a special treasure chest with you,” she said. Carefully she opened the lid, and Christopher saw a glint of metal. His heart beat faster as he imagined pirate gold and jewels!
Grandmother Jo reached in and pulled out a small velvet box. She opened it to reveal a medal. “This is the Purple Heart medal awarded to your Grandfather Thomas, who fought in World War II,” she explained. “He was wounded on D-Day.”
Christopher proudly held the medal in his hands. Grandfather must have been very brave, he thought. Grandmother Jo took a picture from the chest and showed it to Christopher. It was Grandfather Thomas. He looked handsome and brave dressed in his soldier uniform.
Now Grandmother Jo took another photograph out of the treasure chest. “This is my wedding picture,” she explained. She pointed to the handkerchief she was holding in the picture and pulled one from the chest. “And this is the same handkerchief that I had that day when we went to the temple to be married. My mother and grandmother used it for their weddings too. The lace was crocheted by my grandmother.”
Even though it looked old, Christopher knew it must be a priceless possession to Grandmother Jo.
Next, Christopher’s grandmother showed him a gold ring set with a ruby. “Your grandfather first wore this ring when he was on his mission,” she explained. “And then your father wore it during his mission too. Would you like to wear it on your mission?”
Christopher’s eyes widened. “I sure would,” he replied. “Can I try it on my finger now?” The ring was too big, but Grandmother Jo assured him that he would grow into it.
This is a real treasure, he decided, and not just because it’s made of gold with a ruby stone. He imagined himself wearing a white shirt and a dark suit. And there on my finger will be the ring!
Something momentarily caught the light when Grandmother Jo showed Christopher a miniature Eagle Scout pin that she had received from Christopher’s dad when he became on Eagle Scout. “Oh, I was proud of him as he stood so straight and tall to accept the award. Then he gave me the pin and kissed me.”
How happy Grandmother Jo looks, Christopher thought. When pirates found their treasures, they were very happy, but not in the same way that Grandmother Jo is right now.
Grandmother Jo explained that this chest held wonderful memory treasures. “And because they are so dear to me, I want to share them with you,” she told Christopher. “These are my people, and I belong to them. And so do you!”
Her face beamed and she chuckled as she showed Christopher a picture of a big white horse harnessed to a cart. In the driver’s seat sat a girl dressed in old-fashioned clothes. “This is your Great-Great-Grandmother Alice, who won every race she entered with this horse and cart! The roughest, toughest boys were always challenging Grandmother Alice to a race, but she was the winner every time!” Grandmother Jo said. “She practiced hard, loved her horse, and treated it with kindness. She was so careful about its feeding, watering, and brushing that it would do anything for her.”
Christopher smiled as he imagined riding along with his Great-Great-Grandmother Alice as she won a race.
Grandmother Jo looked at Christopher and wondered if he could see that these treasures were worth more than any silver or gold. She hoped that he saw that they were symbols of bravery, kindness, and devotion.
Next from the chest came a beautiful watch. The case was of shining gold, and it swung back and forth from a gold chain in his grandmother’s hand. “My Great-Grandfather Charles was a pioneer policeman and bodyguard to Brigham Young,” Grandmother Jo told Christopher. “He always wore this watch in his vest pocket.”
Christopher looked at a photograph of his great-great-great-grandfather. He has a handsome beard, he decided. I like his eyes … so kind and loving. Christopher held the watch and pushed a little lever. The face cover popped open so he could see the hands. How many times did my great-great-great-grandfather open this watch? he wondered.
The clock on the mantel chimed, and both Grandmother Jo and Christopher were surprised that the time had passed so quickly.
Christopher’s eyes were shining as he remembered his different ancestors. They are all my people! he thought with pride.
Grandmother Jo had more treasures in her box, but it was time for Christopher to go home. “Would you like to come again and find out more about my memory chest?” she asked.
They made a date for the next week. He told his grandmother that he would like to visit with her every week—and not just for hot bread and jam.
Christopher enjoyed hearing stories of the family members Grandmother Jo had told him. He felt that they were almost like old friends.
Grandmother always said that friends were a treasure! What fun it will be, he thought, to find out more about my family! Maybe I can make my own treasure box. If I start now, it might fill a whole room someday!

Last year I had the opportunity to take part in a massive relief effort in the devastated city of Joplin, Missouri, which had been hit by a tornado. I saw and experienced many things, some of which are difficult to even put into words. One particular experience has caused me to do a great deal of pondering.
We were at a house that was completely devastated, searching through what seemed like endless piles of rubble and debris. We were merely trying to see if anything at all was salvageable in this heap of mostly indistinguishable remains that were once somebody’s personal belongings. Not much turned up, but in the midst of the work and the commotion, something caught my attention and caused me to pause for a moment. Among the rubble that we couldn’t distinguish, I discovered a picture of the Savior.
I stopped for a brief moment, put the picture with the other few salvaged items, and for the rest of the day continued to carry out the tasks we were assembled to perform.
On reflecting about this small and seemingly insignificant event, I’ve been reminded of a valuable lesson. There in the most devastated, most hopeless situation imaginable, among what seemingly couldn’t be salvaged, I found the Savior. His love was evident in the inspiring relief efforts that took place in Joplin, Missouri.
This small moment has reminded me that no matter how hopeless or lost we find ourselves in life, we can always find the Savior. In fact, the Savior Jesus Christ seemed to be the only thing that stood out from the surrounding devastation. I’m reminded of all the times I and others were helped through difficult times by the loving influence of Jesus Christ.

Let me take you to Huddlesfield, England, for a personal testimony of a sweet sister named Mina Kreslins. She was born in Amsterdam, Holland, into the Jewish faith. She had lost her parents and brothers and sisters during the wartime German occupation of that country.
She recounts in the testimony of her conversion, “I was bitter, and although I prayed, I just could not forgive.”
Then in early October 1983, her daughter Karla came into contact with the missionaries. Karla became interested in the gospel and was converted. She invited her mother, Mina Kreslins, to attend her baptism.
“It was at Karla’s baptism I felt the Spirit. It was so strong. I had never felt anything so beautiful in my whole life. I felt so elated and so wonderful, and I wanted to become part of it.”
The missionaries began teaching Sister Kreslins, and the Spirit bore witness to her of what they said. “During the third discussion—about Joseph Smith and the Restoration—the Spirit was so strong, from my head to my feet. I knew then, with all my heart, that the Church was true and that I had to be part of it.”
On January 22, 1984, she was baptized.
“My baptism was beautiful. No words can describe the feeling I had as I came out of the water. I felt so clean—almost holy. When I received the Holy Ghost, I felt wonderful. I wanted to shout for joy. Finally, there was rest and relief from the horrors and the hating of those war-torn years.
“Now, since I have become a member of this beautiful Church, I have forgiven and I have no bitterness in my heart.”
Where would Mina Kreslins be today without the gospel?

This incident happened during World War II. I was serving on a four-man agriculture advisory committee to President Franklin Delano Roosevelt and was chief executive officer of the National Council of Farmer Cooperatives, a federation of 4,600 farmers’ marketing organizations located in every state of the Union and in Puerto Rico.
Because of the demands of the war, materials used in farming were in short supply. With the help of the board of directors, we had organized a National Committee for Farm Production Supplies to help focus the attention of heads of government agencies on the needs of farmers. If they were to produce to the maximum, meet the challenge of the president of the United States that “food will win the war,” they must have adequate production supplies.
I had gone to my office at 1731 “I” Street N.W. early to prepare for the meeting at the White House and also the meeting of the committee in the hope that I would get much work done before office hours began and the telephone started ringing.
I had just arrived at my desk when the telephone rang. A total stranger on the other end of the line introduced himself as a prominent businessman from Chicago. He invited me to have lunch with him at a downtown hotel. I told him I was too busy for lunch, but he was so sincere and earnest that I finally agreed, and so at one o’clock I faced him across the luncheon table at the Washington Hotel in downtown Chicago.
After introductions he said, “I suppose you wonder why I have invited you to lunch inasmuch as I am a total stranger.”
I said, “Yes, I have been wondering.”
Then he said this: “Earlier in the week I came out of a businessmen’s luncheon in Chicago and while talking with some of my friends, I told them that I was going to Washington, D.C., to set up an office and hire a young man to take charge of the office and represent our corporation in the nation’s capital. I began telling my business friends the kind of a young man I would like to have represent our firm. I said I would want a young man whose integrity would never be questioned, who was clean in his habits, who would leave liquor alone and was living a clean, moral life. In fact, I would prefer to have a young man who didn’t smoke.”
Then he said, “One of my business associates said, ‘What you want is a returned Mormon missionary.’
“I had heard about the Mormon Church,” he continued, “but I knew very little about their organization or standards. I knew they had missionaries because my wife told me that she had a very pleasant conversation with two young men in dark suits who had called during the day and left literature.”
He added, “As I rode down here on the train last evening, I thought to myself that possibly the suggestion of my business friend had merit. Possibly that’s just the kind of a young man I do want—a returned Mormon missionary. When I registered at the hotel here last evening, I said to the clerk at the desk, ‘Are there any Mormons in Washington?’
“He said, ‘I don’t know. I suppose there are; they seem to be everywhere.’ But I said to him, ‘Do you know any?’ He said, ‘Frankly I can’t say that I do, but Mr. Bush, the manager, is here, and maybe he can help you.’”
Then my new acquaintance said, “I put the question to Mr. Bush and he gave me your name. Now that’s why I’ve invited you to lunch. Can you give me the names of three or four young men who meet the standards I have outlined? I would like to interview them for a job that I think has a great future with a starting salary of some eight or nine thousand dollars.” (In the 1940s the purchasing power of the dollar was about three times what it is today.)
My new-found friend continued, “Our corporation is one of the largest in Chicago and has among its assets the largest hotel in the city.” And he repeated, “Can you give me the names of three or four young men?”
I was happy to tell him, as president of the Washington Stake, that I could not only give him the names of three or four, but ten, or fifteen, or twenty, any one of whom I felt sure would meet the standards that he had outlined.
Yes, it pays for young men, and young women too, to maintain the standards of the Church and be true to the faith.

Fourteen-year-old Ripsy Bandurian thought she was going to the LDS church with her English teacher in Yerevin, Armenia, to learn English from an American couple. But when she got there, she learned much more than their language.
“When I met the missionaries they said to me, ‘We love you. What is your name?’ That sounded good to me.”
Ripsy and her teacher, Sister Nara, ended up taking the discussions and attending church together. Sister Nara was soon baptized, but Ripsy had to wait for her parents’ permission. In the meantime, she read all the LDS literature she could get her hands on, and translated into Russian the discussions the missionaries were giving. Most of the people she translated for were baptized.
Finally, after more than a year, her parents gave her permission to be baptized. Ripsy says it was one of the happiest days of her life. Since then, she has continued translating in English, Armenian, and Russian. She gets the highest marks in school, is a leader in the local Young Women’s program, and helps her mother, who is a pediatrician, with sick children in the hospital. Ripsy would eventually like to be a doctor too.

Marcus Robb, 15, Perth. For Marcus, seminary and the scriptures were the key to educational freedom. When he was diagnosed with a reading impairment known as dyslexia a few years ago, he was four years behind in his reading level. Fortunately, that’s when he began seminary, where his teacher emphasized the scriptures. “I decided I would read them,” he says simply. He began waking at 4:50 each morning to read for 40 minutes. It was tough at first. But now, after one year, he is reading on a level with his peers.

Photo illustrations by Getty Images
The landscape was dry, barren, and ugly. Beauty, admittedly, is in the eye of the beholder. That holds true for scenery as well as works of art. Yet the expanse of desert in front of me did so little to inspire my imagination that I felt sure plenty of other people might share my sentiment. The only thing growing out there was sage brush and weeds, and even those were spread thin.
I’d spent six hours in a car to reach this?
With my backpacking pack loaded with three days of food, water, and supplies, I trudged across the hot sand and hoped things would get better. Soon the dry sand deepened, which made every step feel like two or three. Things went on like that for several miles: hot, dry, dusty, and nothing at all like I’d hoped this adventure would be.
And then Coyote Gulch, one of the great slot canyons of the western United States, swallowed me whole.
It’s hard to describe the drastic change in scenery that engulfs you as you drop into this desert canyon. Hot, dry sand gives way to cool, packed earth. Sage brush is replaced with an oasis of towering trees, ferns, and other vibrant plants.
Barren flatland becomes a deep, shadowed canyon with towering walls on either side. A cool and refreshing stream courses through the bottom, whereas you can’t see water anywhere from above.
I was blown away at every step. I took pictures by the hundred. Yet for those first few dusty miles, literally none of this staggering beauty was visible, even if you looked for it.
Life is often like that.
The respective worlds of junior high and high school can loom larger than life while traveling through them. If your group of friends turns on you suddenly, for example, it can honestly feel like you’ll be friendless and lonely forever.
Getting a C+ on your report card when you’ve worked hard all year can seem like something that will derail your academic train forever. Not making the team, not getting a part in the school play, or not being invited to prom can feel in all honesty like life-altering events that forever taint your future.
The adversary tries to make us think that way, at least. But it’s simply not true. Life continues on. Life can improve beyond whatever challenges you’re grappling with at the moment.
Most likely you have no idea what wonders lie ahead, nor how Heavenly Father might be using your experiences now to prepare you for them (see D&C 58:3–4).
President Dieter F. Uchtdorf shared a story in general conference about a challenge from his own life that became a massive blessing for him. During the challenge, however, it was hard for President Uchtdorf to see much value in the struggle. He was 11 years old at the time and had to pedal a heavy bicycle and cart to deliver laundry for his family’s laundry business.
“Most of the time, I was not overly excited about the bike, the cart, or my job,” he said. “Sometimes the cart seemed so heavy and the work so tiring that I thought my lungs would burst, and I often had to stop to catch my breath.”
There was a reason the work was so hard for him. He was battling a lung disease he didn’t even know he had. But here’s the miracle: all that strenuous exercise proved to be exactly what he needed to heal his lungs. Not until many years later, when he took a physical exam to enter the military, did President Uchtdorf learn there had ever been anything wrong.
“It became clear to me that my regular exercise in fresh air as a laundry boy had been a key factor in my healing from this illness,” he said. “Without the extra effort of pedaling that heavy bicycle day in and day out, pulling the laundry cart up and down the streets of our town, I might never have become a jet fighter pilot and later a 747 airline captain.”1
Life takes time to unfold. We can’t hit the gym one time only and expect to get in shape. We don’t plant an apple seed a few months before we want to pluck fruit for an apple pie. Some of the most stunning vistas in your own life may not even be visible on the horizon yet. But they’re coming! Keep your eyes set for them even if they’re some distance away.
Elder Richard G. Scott (1928–2015) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “Think of the long view of life, not just what’s going to happen today or tomorrow. Don’t give up what you most want in life for something you think you want now.”2
Part of thinking of the long view of life includes recognizing that there’s life beyond high school! That sounds obvious enough. But sometimes, in practice, it’s not easy to convince your own brain to recognize that truth. If your life falls to pieces here and now, the adversary always heaps on discouragement. And one of the most tried and true forms of discouragement seems to be this: the idea that things are never going to be any different. But, of course, they will. You will change and grow too. With God’s help, you can learn to see that brighter future even when things are dark in your life.
President Uchtdorf has taught: “If you trust the Lord and obey Him, His hand shall be over you, He will help you achieve the great potential He sees in you, and He will help you to see the end from the beginning.”3
I’ve been able to look back over my own life and see many parallels to my hike into Coyote Gulch. For instance, I was a lousy student in high school. But with a mission and a few more years’ experience behind me, I sailed through college.
Various challenges that felt permanent then proved to be fleeting at best. And don’t even get me started on all the high school drama at every turn (which seemed like such a big deal at the time) that I haven’t thought about since graduation.
So don’t worry if life feels rough-and-tumble right now. Hang in there. As Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught, “Stay the course and see the beauty of life unfold for you.”4
And what a beautiful life it will be.