Gospel Story Finder

A few years after her marriage to a fine young man in the temple, when they were concentrating on the activities of young married life and raising a family, one day a letter came from “Box B.” (In those days a letter from “Box B” in Salt Lake City was invariably a mission call.)
To their surprise they were called as a family to go to one of the far continents of the world to help open the land for missionary work. They served faithfully and well, and after several years they returned to their home, to set about again the responsibilities of raising their family.
Then this little woman focused in on a Monday morning. It could perhaps be called a blue washday Monday. There had been some irritation and a disagreement. Then some biting words between husband and wife. Interestingly enough, she couldn’t remember how it all started or what it was over. “But,” she said, “nothing would do but that I follow him to the gate, and as he walked up the street on his way to work I just had to call that last biting, spiteful remark after him.”
Then, as the tears began to flow, she told me of an accident that took place that day, and he never returned. “For fifty years,” she sobbed, “I’ve lived in hell knowing that the last words he heard from my lips were that biting, spiteful remark.”
This was the message to her young home teacher. She pressed it upon me with the responsibility never to forget it. I have profited greatly from it. I have come to know since that time that a couple can live together without one cross word ever passing between them.

The Lord not only knows who we are, He knows where we are, and He leads us to do good. One day a mother I know felt impressed to call her daughter. (This kind of thing happens to mothers all the time.) It was the middle of the day, and Mom was at work, which made the call out of the ordinary. To her surprise, her son-in-law answered the phone—he’s not usually home on a workday either. As he handed the phone to his wife, he said, “It’s your mother with her usual inspiration.”

They had just been to the doctor. She came on the phone, close to tears, and said, “The ultrasound shows the cord is double-wrapped around the baby’s neck. The doctor says we have no choice but to do a C-section and soon.” Then came the real cause for the distress: “And he says I can’t lift anything heavier than the new baby for four weeks!” She needed reassurance before going into the surgery that the Lord knew her need and loved her—and that there would be help tending the three little ones at home, who were scarcely more than babies themselves. When mothers—and fathers—pray for the Lord to bless and strengthen their families, He often shows them the way.

Hannah Dalton had this tender memory of her 1862 Christmas in Parowan, Utah:
All of us children hung up our stockings [on Christmas Eve]. We jumped up early in the morning to see what Santa had brought but there was not a thing in them. Mother wept bitterly. She went to her box and got a little apple and cut it in little tiny pieces and that was our Christmas, but I have never forgotten . . . how I loved her dear little hands as she was cutting that apple.
Let us be especially thankful for family and friends and for the necessities and comforts of life.

When an earthquake struck Haiti in January 2010, Jean-Elie René raced home to make sure his family was safe. Upon arrival, he spotted one of his three sons crying in the street, and he could hear the screams of another son from beneath the rubble where the family’s home once stood.
The 32-year-old father followed the cries and dug through the rubble until he found his five-year-old son and the body of his pregnant wife, still sheltering their nine-month-old baby from the collapsed roof of their home.
Brother René serves as ward clerk in the Leogane Ward, Port-au-Prince Haiti Stake. Although he lost his wife, his unborn child, and his home, he doesn’t complain or get angry about his situation. Most days following the earthquake, Brother René could be found at the meetinghouse, with the baby on his lap and his two other boys at his side, helping the bishop coordinate relief to ward members and others who made the meetinghouse their temporary home.
The story of Brother René is touching, but it is not unique. Members of the Church throughout Haiti suffered greatly from the magnitude 7.0 earthquake’s destruction, but the calamity served to reveal the strength of Haiti’s growing membership. Like Brother René, many members—both longtime and first-generation members alike—rose to the challenges and found peace and comfort in faithfulness and obedience.
Throughout their trials, members of the Church in Haiti have stood strong in the gospel as they continue to care for and strengthen each other and those in their communities.
“It is true that all we possessed, even our material possessions and our families, disappeared. But our faith in Jesus Christ was not destroyed,” said Yves Pierre-Louis, bishop of the Leogane Ward. “It was a good opportunity for us to evaluate ourselves as disciples of Christ.”
Local priesthood leaders in particular were a great example of faith and testimony as they rose to the challenge, learning to fulfill their callings in difficult times and help others in need, said Elder Francisco J. Viñas of the Seventy, Caribbean Area President.
“They used their priesthood keys to bless the lives of members and nonmembers,” he said. “They worked in council and received guidance from the Spirit to deal with the difficult challenges day by day.”
The aftermath of the earthquake’s destruction created a challenge, particularly for bishops in Haiti, said Prosner Colin, president of the Port-au-Prince Haiti Stake. Bishops and other Church leaders were left responsible for the care and aid of hundreds of ward members, as well as their own families.
“[The bishops] continue to help,” President Colin said. “They understand that they lost many things, but they have the gospel. They encourage [members] to continue to live worthily.”
Bishop Pierre-Louis became a community leader after the earthquake. Through the weeks and months following the devastation in Haiti, he devoted his life to the service of members and nonmembers in Leogane—tending to the needs of hundreds.
“He is the most amazing, humble servant you will ever meet,” said Chad Peterson, a doctor from Arizona who spent time with Bishop Pierre-Louis as a volunteer following the earthquake.
Many stories have been shared of members throughout Haiti whose resilience and faith in the Lord carried them through their trials.
“Though the faithful Haitian Saints have suffered greatly, they are filled with hope for the future,” said Elder Wilford W. Anderson of the Seventy in his April 2010 general conference address. “Like the early pioneers in 1846, their hearts are broken, but their spirits are strong. They too are teaching us that hope and happiness and joy are not products of circumstance but of faith in the Lord.
A demonstration of such obedience and faith was found when, immediately following the earthquake, Church meetings proceeded without interruption.
Regardless of the destruction of their country, members in Haiti arrived at church clothed in their Sunday best, wearing smiles on their faces. The gospel was the lifeline many relied on to pull them from their sorrow and despair.
“Despite losing their homes, jobs, and family members, the people are so loving, trusting, and good-natured. They have amazing faith,” Brother Peterson said.
Today, the Church continues to flourish in Haiti. Attendance in sacrament meeting has increased, President Colin said, and the people in Haiti continue to work to rebuild their communities.
“The members are doing well to serve others,” he said. “They visit them; they are looking for job opportunities for themselves and for the others.”
Berthony Theodor, a native Haitian and the director of welfare in Haiti, says he and other current and future leaders of the Church in Haiti gained valuable experience as a result of the disaster.
“We have the opportunity to serve others, showing them once again how much we love them,” he said. “We have come to learn once again that we are not alone in the world, that we are members of the people of the Lord.”
Brother Theodor said the earthquake—or any other disaster—couldn’t take away the peace or joy of members in Haiti.
“It’s my testimony that the Lord never forgets His children,” he said. “He knows where I am, my situation. He won’t ever leave me alone.”

I would like to share my story with other deaf members in the UK and Ireland.
I live in Northern Ireland, and since the coronavirus outbreak early in 2020, my life has changed. I realised for the first time that I can make things happen.
At the beginning of October 2020, I was texting a hearing Church member, Elaine Crawley, about some videos made by professors at Brigham Young University that support the Come, Follow Me curriculum. I asked Elaine about how she occupied her time. She told me of three regular virtual firesires that I didn’t know about, provided by Solihull Ward, Sunderland Stake, and Lichfield Stake.
My initial thought was, “Fantastic!” This could be the start of a connection between Church members, me and my family in lockdown. I began to worry if there would be no access to interpreters, or subtitles for deaf members like myself.
To my surprise, Bishop Hesekaia Fakatou from the Solihull Ward made it possible for me to have an interpreter on 11 October 2020 for the virtual fireside, with guest speaker Brother Tyler Griffin, with less than three hours’ notice, which is very unusual. In a work environment I would normally have to book an interpreter at least two to four weeks in advance. That was my first miracle.
My second miracle was to watch an interpreter, Sandra Pratt, on the same screen as the guest speaker on YouTube. That had never happened before for me. I was amazed and asked how it happened. I found out that Bishop Fakatou used StreamYard (a live streaming facility used in web browsers). I immediately told my youngest deaf sister, Heather, who is married to our stake president—I wanted to make it happen in Belfast Stake, Northern Ireland.
My third miracle was listening to Brother Griffin talking about the tree of life, The lost sheep, the lost coin and the prodigal son.
The lost coin parable stood out for me because I realised for the first time that the lost coin was lost because of neglect. I began to think about people in general and wondered how often we neglect others in our lives to the point that they don’t feel part of society. Then I remembered a verse that my deaf mission president, Derrick Siswick, quoted to his missionaries at a zone conference: “And in that day shall the deaf hear the words of the book, and the eyes of the blind shall see out of obscurity, and out of darkness” (Isaiah 29:18).
From that moment on, I felt that deaf members and investigators can ‘hear’ the gospel in their language. How grateful I am that Bishop Fakatou agreed to have two interpreters for the Solihull Ward’s weekly virtual fireside each Sunday evening.
This is one way of uniting both deaf and hearing members during this lockdown. I plead with everyone to share what they know with deaf members. Tell them of virtual firesides or videos that can uplift. Remember, I relied on hearing members for information, which led me to my story, which I wanted to share with you all. I need you, and you need me. Together we can move forward and build Zion.
My fourth and last miracle was to make it possible for an interpreter and a guest speaker to be present in my weekly ward Zoom meetings for Sunday School, Relief Society and sacrament. That was ‘live’ for the first time on Sunday, 24 January 2021, with David & Jess Templeton’s support.
We can make things happen with the Lord’s help. In Luke 1:37, it says, “For with God nothing shall be impossible.” I know this is true, and I am very grateful for my uplifting experiences during my lockdown. I know that Heavenly Father is mindful of what we are going through. This is a beautiful opportunity to use modern technology to share the gospel of Jesus Christ with everyone.
President Nelson has spoken to us of his great desire to help hasten the Lord’s work in the latter-days. Hasten means to cause something to happen more quickly. Using modern technology will hasten the Lord’s work and help us to work together to make things happen for everyone. However, it is vital to understand that hastening is not just about acceleration and speed. It is also about strengthening.

I was running the last quarter mile to the high school when a bit of gravel worked its way into my left shoe, bringing me limping to a halt at the curb. I yanked off my shoe and dumped the pea-size rock on the pavement. I glanced down the street and saw my cross-country teammates approaching a block away. We were finishing up the last leg of our afternoon workout.
“You run like the wind, man.” A slightly slurred voice startled me.
I turned to see a slovenly dressed man grinning at me from under the elm tree at the corner. I noticed immediately his missing front tooth, his vacant, bloodshot blue eyes and his long, straight blond hair hanging out from under a dirty, faded baseball cap. Catching the faint trace of alcohol in the air, I pushed myself to my feet to hurry on.
“Like the wind,” he repeated. His grin widened. “Or maybe,” he added, “you run more like a breeze.”
I brushed him off, figuring the guy was probably too wasted to walk the 200 yards to the track, much less try to run.
“For your information, man, I was the cross-country state champion here in Snowflake,” he said. “No one could beat me. I was a wind nobody messed with. I wasn’t just a little breeze.”
His comment rankled me even though I knew the alcohol was speaking more loudly than the man.
Several days later I saw the man on the same corner. He flashed a grin and pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. “Hey, man. You’re still at it,” he called out, waving at me as I passed. “I’ve had too much to drink or I’d pace you.”
The next Saturday morning Dad and I were in the yard raking the leaves out of the garden and trimming the bushes when a beat-up ‘74 Ford pickup rattled to the curb. A woman with stringy brown hair was driving. On the passenger side a man sat slumped with his baseball cap pulled down over his face. The woman climbed from the truck. “Are you interested in us hauling your clippings away?”
Dad set his rake down and considered the offer.
I returned to my work when someone called out, “Hey, if it ain’t the breeze!” I looked up. I recognized the man inside the truck as the guy by the school.
“The breeze is raking leaves today.” He smiled. “We’ll haul you and your old man’s trash to the dump for $25. My rock-bottom deal to a fellow runner.”
He turned to the woman and was about to speak when he saw Dad. For a moment he stared, his mouth hanging open. He looked from me to Dad and then back to Dad. “Sam Davidson!” he said in obvious amazement. “This kid’s your son?”
Taken back, I glanced toward Dad, who stood surprised and a bit embarrassed. “You remember me, Sam?” he asked Dad.
“Rex?” Dad questioned. “Rex Manning?”
He laughed, stepping to Dad and pumping his hand warmly. “Summer,” he announced, turning to his wife, “we’ll haul their stuff for $15. This is Sam Davidson, the skinny kid that chased me to the state championship. And this is his son. What’s your name, kid?”
“Joseph.”
“He looks like you, Sam.”
Dad agreed to Rex’s deal, and Rex and his wife drove off.
“You know him?” I asked Dad.
Dad stared after them. “I knew him. We ran cross-country together. Rex Manning.” He said his name with respect. “What a guy!” he whispered. “I hate to see him like that.”
“Could he really run?” I questioned, my doubt obvious.
Dad chuckled, remembering. “Twenty-three years ago he was cold sober, trim, and as gutsy as they come. He could run forever and hardly break a sweat. I would have had two gold medals had Rex not beaten me when I was a junior.”
“That’s the guy who beat you your junior year? What happened to him?”
Dad looked away and heaved a sigh. “What happens to a lot of guys?”
The following Wednesday I had a meet in Holbrook. My top challenger in the state was Dennis LaDuke, a kid from Holbrook. I led LaDuke over the entire course. Maybe that was my mistake. With the finish line less than 200 yards ahead of me, LaDuke made his move and beat me by three seconds.
“You’re barely at midseason, Joseph,” Dad said, trying to console me that evening. “All you have to do is shave three and a half seconds off your time.”
“You know how hard that can be, Dad?” I grumbled.
“You need a Rex Manning to push you,” Dad remarked.
“What do you mean I need a Rex Manning?”
A couple of days later I was warming up when I spotted Rex leaning against the elm tree. All during my workout I had thought of LaDuke and those three-and-a-half seconds. I’m not sure I was actually serious when I first panted over to Rex.
“Hey, man, you still pounding the pavement?” he greeted me in his jovial way.
“Dad said you were the best runner he ever knew,” I said.
Rex’s smile faded. “That was a long time ago, kid. I’ve had a whole lot of booze since then.” There was genuine sadness and regret in his simple confession.
“Dad said you helped him run faster than everybody.”
“Sam was fast. He beat everybody—but me.”
“Help me run.” I didn’t smile. “Only one guy, Dennis LaDuke, is faster than me.”
A gray shadow dimmed Rex’s features. “I’m a loser, kid. I don’t run no more. I drink too much. Sometimes I can’t even walk.”
“Just help me cut a few seconds off my time.”
Rex didn’t answer. He just stood there solemnly, ignoring me as though I had never spoken. After a moment I jogged away from him, leaving him to his memories and his hurt.
The following Monday I trotted out to the track to warm up. Rex Manning was sitting in the bleachers. He stood and waved as I ambled over to him. The first thing I noticed was that he was sober. “You going to help me shave those three-and-a-half seconds from my time?”
Rex snorted. “We’re taking off ten seconds so you can beat everybody—including this LaDuke.”
At first Coach Spaulding was a bit hesitant having Rex around. But one day at the track changed that impression. Rex ceased being an old, out-of-shape drunk. He became an expert.
Rex worked at one of the mills outside of town and was usually off by 3:30. In the past it had been his practice to stop at the bar on the edge of town after work. But once he started coming to workouts, he postponed his stop at the bar and headed directly to the track. A week later, Rex took me to a wash that cut along the west side of town. Sinking into the soft sandy wash bottom up to my ankles, I waited for Rex to tell me what to do. He sat in the shade of a cedar and ordered me to do wind sprints in the sand. It didn’t take long before my tongue was hanging out and sweat was pouring down my face.
But seeing my exhaustion only increased Rex’s intensity. Soon he had me racing through the cedars toward a steep knoll a mile away. He gave me instructions: On the west side of the knoll I would find a narrow path that zig-zagged to the top of the knoll. I was to take that path and race up and down the knoll five times. From a distance it didn’t look very steep, but once I reached it and started challenging that knoll, I discovered that my efforts in the sandy wash bottom had been a mere warm-up for the rest of the afternoon.
By the end of that first day, exhaustion took on a whole new meaning. That night at dinner I whined to Dad about what had happened.
Dad looked across the table at me. “Sounds like Rex still has his old drive.” He smiled.
“I’ll bet he never worked like he made me work today.”
Dad set his fork down. “Who do you think made those trails you jogged on this afternoon, Joseph? Nobody worked out like Rex. I know. I tried to keep up with him.”
The next afternoon Rex was at the track. He became my personal coach. He was as regular as the three-thirty bell. He still stopped occasionally at the bars after practice, but he was always cold sober at three-thirty. I worked out with Rex every day right up to the state meet.
Several days before the meet, Dad knocked on my door and I invited him in. He studied me for a moment. “Joseph, I want you to know something before the race Friday.”
“I’ve always wanted you to win this race.” He took a deep breath. “But, Joseph, during these past few weeks I’ve come to see something that means more to me than your winning Friday.” He paused. There was a mist in his eyes. “I appreciate what you’ve done for Rex. I used to see him stumbling down the street. I tried to ignore him. I wanted to remember him another way. But yesterday I ran into Rex at the store. We talked.” Dad smiled. “He’s proud of you, Joseph. I could see some of the old Rex. I saw hope instead of despair. If you win Friday, that will be wonderful. But the real victory, the one that means the very most, is the one you’ve already won with Rex. I want you to know that.”
Rex showed up late for the next day’s practice, but when he arrived he came with his blond hair cut short, his face clean shaven, and wearing a fresh pair of jeans and white T-shirt. “I almost didn’t recognize you,” I joked when he strolled up.
“Well, kid, I figured you deserved to have somebody with a little class coach you.”
At the end of practice as I told Rex good-bye he shook my hand. “Good luck, kid.” There was excitement in his eyes. “The boss gave me the day off to see the race.”
“You’re going to Payson tomorrow to watch me run?” I asked, grinning.
He looked away. “If I can get there. My truck broke down this afternoon.”
“Davidson,” Coach Spaulding interrupted, “remember the van’s pulling out at six o’clock in the morning. We want to get to Payson early.”
An idea struck me. “Coach,” I spoke, stepping away from Rex, “hey do you think we could take Rex with us? There will be plenty of room in the van.”
Coach Spaulding looked at me, hesitating. “I don’t know, Davidson. I don’t know if I can count on Rex to be sober.”
“Coach, Rex has been cold sober for over a week. He was planning to go, but his truck broke down. I’d like to have him there, Coach. I promise he’ll be sober. I need him there.”
Coach Spaulding glanced in Rex’s direction. “All right,” he finally conceded. “He’s been helping you out. I suppose I can take him as a volunteer coach. But,” he added, “if I smell just the faintest trace of …”
“You won’t smell anything,” I cut him off. “Thanks, Coach.”
“Rex, you’re going with us in the van,” I announced excitedly. “You’ll be an assistant coach.”
For a moment my announcement didn’t register, and then suddenly his face crinkled into a grateful grin. “Thanks, kid. I’ll be here before six,” he committed. “And tomorrow LaDuke can have that silver medal all to himself,” he added with confidence. “Tomorrow nobody beats Sam Davidson’s kid. Not while I’m around.”
As I stood there witnessing Rex’s excitement and confidence, I knew that regardless of the outcome of the race the next day, Rex and I had already secured a gold medal victory.

After I had been selling in Canada for a few years, I had the courage to order sewing machines to be delivered here in the United States. I had been watching what manufacturers were doing down here, and I could see that no one had approached the swimsuit business the way I had. I used to think, “I am sure the American girls will like my swimsuits just as much as girls do in Canada.”

I really wanted to live in the United States, for there was only a small branch of the Church in Vancouver—a very transient one. And I wanted my children to grow up where they could really have Mormon associations. Fortunately, Los Angeles was a place where there were so very many Mormons—to say nothing of that wonderful climate!

I thought, “All of the people in the world would like to move to Los Angeles, but most of them do not have the chance to earn a living there. But I do have the opportunity, so I am going to move to Los Angeles!”

So six years ago I started a business in Los Angeles.

For several years some people from Seattle had come up to Vancouver and bought my suits to take back. Each time they would say to me, “If you ever want to start a business in the United States, we want to be with you.”

And I thought, “Little do you know of the trouble and problems you are asking for!” But to them I said, “That would be very nice,” for they are very fine, sweet people and wonderful friends.

Right at first, when we planned to come to California, we found that the one business in the world that a banker would not finance was the swimsuit business!

They would say, “Oh, anything else, but not swimsuits! Why, the swimsuit business is controlled by the biggest brand-name companies in America! Rose Marie may be a big toad in the little puddle of Canada—but what is Canada?”

Or they would say, “It is not possible to succeed in the suit business. People have started swimsuit businesses down here and have gone broke the first year! Be realistic. Look at the money behind those big companies. All they would need to do is cut prices for one year and you would be wiped out! Why, we could not think of helping a new swimsuit company!”

So it really looked impossible, but our machines were delivered and we really did start a business.

The article “CTR Rings in the Principal’s Office” (Mar. 2007), which tells of a girl who told her school principal about the Church when the principal asked about the girl’s CTR ring, inspired my five-year-old son and other Primary children in our branch to always wear their CTR rings.
My son and another child had their first missionary experience when their schoolteachers asked about the rings and the children were able to tell them about the Church.
Aleksey Dobrovolskyy, Ukraine

Shortly after I was baptized at the age of 10 in Lappeenranta, Finland, I received my first Church calling. It was 1960, and our small branch desperately needed someone to accompany the hymns for sacrament meetings. I was asked to fulfill this assignment.
While my mother had always encouraged my brother and me to pursue artistic talents, I did not know how to play the piano, and we did not own a piano. But I wanted to fulfill my calling, so we made a plan.
In family home evening, we talked about what this calling meant to all of us. However, because my mother was a widow with two young children, we knew it would be a great challenge for us to purchase a piano and pay for lessons. We decided that we were all willing to make the needed sacrifices.
The first sacrifice my family made was financial. We decided that from spring to autumn we would ride our bicycles rather than the bus. My brother, Martti, was courageous and became especially good at biking—even on snow and ice. I gave up most of my clothing purchases and learned to sew. We also learned to live providently. We started a garden in the countryside near my grandparents’ house and preserved food for the winter. Our “vacations” became our mother’s trips to the temple in Switzerland or picnics and camps close to home.
The second sacrifice my family made was with time. We divided the chores and rescheduled our other activities and homework so I had enough time to practice the piano. Because of our sacrifices and hard work, Mother often remarked that we had no free time to get into trouble like others our age. In reality, my calling became a family calling long before I ever played a note.
I began taking lessons with a music teacher at the local school. I practiced using a paper keyboard and on a piano at the church. When my piano teacher moved away, we purchased his piano, and I was accepted to study with a renowned piano teacher in the area.
I learned the hymns on my own and practiced a lot with the branch music director. Everyone encouraged me—even if a “sour” note slipped in. My teacher was horrified after she found out that I played in front of people before I had thoroughly learned and memorized the pieces. But playing with one hand was better than having no music at all.
I rode my bike to my lessons, and when winter came, I tried to walk or ski if possible. On Sundays I walked alone to Church meetings so I could arrive an hour early and have time to practice. I resolved to ride the bus only when temperatures reached below -15ºC (5ºF). Rain and snow didn’t really bother me; time went by quickly as I walked because I had so many beautiful hymns to keep me company. As I walked, I was crossing the plains with the pioneers (see “Come, Come, Ye Saints,” Hymns, no. 30), walking high on the mountain top in Zion (see “High on the Mountain Top,” Hymns, no. 5), and standing with youth who would never falter (see “True to the Faith,” Hymns, no. 254). I could never falter with that support—even though my family and I were the only Latter-day Saints in our community in eastern Finland, in the shadows of the Russian border.
Over the years I became better at playing and could make music rather than just play the right notes. I learned to be prayerful in selecting the music so the Spirit would be in the meeting. And most important, my testimony of the gospel came to me through music. I could easily recall the feelings, words, and messages of the hymns if I ever questioned something. I knew that the gospel principles and ordinances were true, having learned them line upon line and note after note.

In the winter of 1831–32, Joseph Smith came to the Snow home. As he sat by the fire, Eliza “scrutinized his face as closely as I could without attracting his attention, and decided that his was an honest face.” Even so, her investigative nature led her to observe what happened over time. She attended a local meeting where Joseph and two Book of Mormon witnesses spoke, and she was deeply impressed. Her mother and sister, Rosetta and Leonora, believed and were baptized that spring.4 Still Eliza waited, studying the Book of Mormon, watching and listening.

In the spring of 1835, Rosetta and Leonora went to Kirtland, Ohio, where other Latter-day Saints lived. They returned with stories about the Church, the priesthood, and great spiritual manifestations. Five years had passed since the time Eliza first heard about Joseph Smith. The accounts of her mother and sister brought Eliza an undeniable witness of the truth. She had waited until she knew it was true. “My heart was now fixed,” she wrote. She decided to be baptized.5

Even then, baptism was a challenge for Eliza, a humble woman who followed social rules and propriety. She prayed for someone to come baptize her, but no one came. When she heard of a meeting of the Saints about two miles from home, she asked her father’s permission to go and be baptized—as an adult, she respected her father, and he readily consented. At the meeting, there was no discussion about baptism, but Eliza gained courage to stand up and request the privilege. Before she could arise, a dark fear came over her. She pushed through the fear and was baptized in a nearby stream on April 5, 1835. “From that day to this I have not doubted the truth of the work,” she wrote.

That night, Eliza reflected on her baptism: “I felt an indescribable, tangible sensation, … commencing at my head and enveloping my person and passing off at my feet, producing inexpressible happiness.” She saw in a vision a candle with a long, bright flame, and a voice told her, “The lamp of intelligence shall be lighted over your path.” She was satisfied.6

Eliza moved to Kirtland to join the Saints for a time and taught school. When she returned to her family’s home at the end of the term, her old friends and neighbors asked about the “strange people” with whom she associated. “I was exceedingly happy in testifying of what I had both seen and heard,” she later wrote. Eliza determined to change her life and live permanently with the Latter-day Saints. Her conversion deepened even further in 1837 when she lived with Joseph Smith and his family. Again, she observed. “I had ample opportunity of judging his daily walk and conversation,” she recalled. She saw much more than the miraculous events of the Kirtland Temple dedication—she saw the life and relationships of a prophet of God. “The more I made his acquaintance, the more cause I found to appreciate him in his divine calling.”7

Thirty-seven years after her baptism, with a heart firmly fixed through persecutions in Missouri and the eventual assassination of Joseph Smith, Eliza remained a committed Latter-day Saint. On June 22, 1872, she shared about her conversion with a group of women in Salt Lake City, Utah, USA: “When I heard it announced that the Lord had spoken from heaven and a record had been brought forth I was deeply interested. I prayed unto the Lord to let me know if the work were true, covenanting with him if he did so that I would ever praise his name.” After her baptism, she said, she attended Church meetings. “We were called upon to speak; I dared not refuse for I had promised God I would ever praise his name in the congregation of the Saints.”8 Her continual conversion required her continued witness.

Eliza bore her testimony over a thousand times as she traveled throughout Utah Territory to teach the Relief Society, young women, and Primary children about the Restoration. Her heart was fixed, and she invited others to experience their own conversions and become firm and steadfast.

I recently started receiving the New Era when I turned 12. Whenever I feel sad or angry I turn to this magazine. One particular article caught my eye. The article was “Evaluate Your Style” (Jan. 2002). These young women set an example in never giving up the dreams they wanted. They came up with designs for modest dresses, a logo, and went through with a presentation to a clothing store. I respect and admire that. I learned a lesson from this article. I hope to follow their examples and take action in the things I want to happen.Meg DeYoungOgden, Utah

The four-wheel-drive pickup bumped carefully along the twisted mountain road leading into Chulac, a plantation built among the mountains of the Central Highlands in Guatemala. Rain suddenly spilled from the dark clouds and lashed the windshield as the truck arrived at the central house of the 23,000-acre plantation.
At the wheel was Cordell Andersen, president of the Guatemala Cobàn District. Seated next to him were two missionaries to the Kekchi Indians, Elder Bringhurst of California and Elder Rios-Lazo of Costa Rica. Riding under the canopy were President Andersen’s oldest daughter, Julie, 17, and her two Provo (Utah) High School friends, Leslie Ann Knight and Ann Gardner. The fourth occupant was Gustavo Ramirez, a 73-year-old convert to the Church. Brother Gustavo was an itinerant dentist.
The full-time and member missionaries had come because the cooperative manager, who lived five hours away in San Cristobal, had met the missionaries and become interested in their message about the book of his ancestors and the religion of his forefathers.
The missionaries in San Cristobal then met with the plantation’s board of directors, each of whom purchased a copy of the Book of Mormon, and invited the missionaries to visit the plantation. President Andersen arranged to take a set of missionaries on an overnight visit to Chulac.
It was at the end of a workday on Friday when they finally pulled into the large courtyard of the central house and sought shelter from the drenching rain. Several workers, holding torn pieces of plastic over their heads, raced across the courtyard to meet the visitors. They took President Andersen and the two missionaries to the plantation office where arrangements were made for meals and lodging.
Meanwhile Brother Gustavo, who’d been let off under an overhang by the plantation store, was telling a number of workers that he would be willing to pull any infected teeth. He also gave an introduction to the Book of Mormon and said there would be a meeting after dark for those interested.
By the time arrangements for lodging were made, the rain had let up. Two workers brought over a box and set it on edge for Brother Gustavo. The itinerant dentist pulled out his bag and arranged his tools along the hood of the truck as his first patient took a seat on the box. He took out a bottle of novocaine and filled a syringe.
After the tooth had been pulled, the visitors unloaded a portable generator and a slide projector. They carried the equipment and an extension cord with a light bulb into the warehouse where the meeting was to be held. Later, along with President Andersen, they visited several families nearby.
President Andersen explained that wages at the cooperative averaged $1.25 a day, with a two-week bonus at Christmas. From surplus profits the workers had purchased a marimba and several other musical instruments the previous year.
Many of the Indians lived in improved dwellings. Although these homes had no floors, they were larger than the unimproved dwelling and were usually sheeted with galvanized roofing rather than thatched.
“Under the cooperative rules no one who drinks can be a member,” President Andersen explained. “This was their own decision.”
That night 175 people assembled for the meeting. One of the cooperative leaders, who was also a lay leader in his own church, apologized for the lack of a crowd. “It is too bad you can’t stay tomorrow night,” he said. “There would be a much larger crowd.”
President Andersen started the generator. By the light of the single light bulb Julie, Leslie, Ann, and the other visitors sang an opening song.
Brother Gustavo followed the song with a prayer in the Indian dialect, and President Andersen, speaking in Spanish, explained the origin of the Book of Mormon. Brother Gustavo translated. Elder Bringhurst then talked in Kekchi to the 175 people. After he concluded, he and Elder Rios-Lazo sang “I Am a Child of God” in Kekchi.
When the meeting was concluded, few got up to go. Instead, they gathered into small groups. Those who spoke only Kekchi talked with Elder Bringhurst and Brother Ramirez. Those who understood Spanish asked Elder Rios-Lazo and President Andersen several questions.
The district president then explained that although they had to leave in the morning, Brother Gustavo was remaining for the rest of the day to extract teeth and to answer gospel questions. This member-missionary had only a one quetzal note (equivalent to $1) in his pocket from pulling the tooth earlier, but he was not worried about getting back home.
“Perhaps I’ll pull enough infected teeth to get a bus ticket and to buy some food,” he said with the confidence of the recently converted.
After breakfast the next morning, the visitors said good-bye and started home. As they drove along ridges and cliffs, past cattle, scattered Indian homes, and a mine, President Andersen explained that the secret in the Central Highlands, as in the rest of the world, is member-missionary work.
“It’s people like Brother Gustavo who really help the work go forth. There just aren’t enough full-time missionaries to go around,” he said, “especially here where the people live in a scattered condition.”
During the following weeks and months the missionaries and President Andersen continued visiting the people at the Chulac Plantation, telling them more about the book of their ancestors. This missionary work bore fruit when one Saturday 20 people entered the waters of baptism. Among them were seven couples, the ten-year-old daughter of one of the couples, and five teenage boys. One hundred and fifteen of their neighbors were on hand to witness the sacred event.
The next day the converts and 12 other adults bore testimony in their native Kekchi dialect to the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and the benefits of living gospel principles.
President Andersen later wrote, “Add to the adults their children who have been blessed and it comes to 37 new members of the Church.”
Less than a year after the people of Chulac first heard the gospel, serious plans were being made to organize a branch in that remote area of the Central Highlands of Guatemala.
For those people, the missionary adventure has just begun.

I am a member of the Church because of a five-year-old member missionary.
When I was young, my mother was searching for a church to answer all her questions. We attended a different church each week, but none of them satisfied Mom. Finally she gave up.
My best friend at the time was Sandy Guthrie. We played together nearly every day. One Saturday evening she asked me if I would like to attend church with her the next day. I asked her which church she belonged to, thinking I had visited them all. She told me it was The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
It was a church I had not attended, and I agreed to go. Unfortunately, when I asked Mom, she said she had other plans that Sunday.
The next week Sandy invited me again, and once again I asked Mom. She had another excuse, and I wasn’t allowed to go.
Being a good missionary, Sandy didn’t give up. She suggested I get up on Sunday morning and get ready by myself before asking my mother if I could go. I thought it was a great idea. If Mom didn’t have to make a special effort to help me get ready, she might be more willing to let me go.
On Sunday morning I put on my best clothes and woke up Mom. This time she flatly refused. She offered no excuse and left no room for bargaining. She simply said no. So I did what most five-year-olds would do. I cried.
I suppose the tears and my desire and determination touched my mother, because she agreed to let me go on the condition that she go with me.
Mom and I attended church with Sandy and her family that morning. Mom felt the Spirit very strongly and knew immediately we had found the true Church. That evening the missionaries taught her the first discussion, and she agreed to be baptized.
More than 20 years have passed since then. When I tell my own two children this story, I draw a chart showing everyone who joined the Church because Sandy invited me to come with her. There are more than 100 people on the chart. Many of them, like me, not only accepted the gospel but also served full-time missions and helped bring others to the knowledge of the truth. The chart proves that one child’s dedication to sharing the gospel can bless the lives of many people.
I don’t know how many others Sandy invited to church or how large her complete chart might be. I do know that I am more grateful to her than I can say. I also know I can’t repay her. But I can follow her example and share the gospel whenever and wherever possible—just in case I meet another family looking for the truth.

Not everything was dark during this time though. I felt a lot of love from my Father in Heaven, my family, and my Church leaders. What helped me heal and move forward after the accident was doing simple things that strengthened my faith. Every day I spent an hour before going to bed reading the scriptures, praying, and writing in my journal in my closet. In the privacy of my closet, I didn’t have to be strong for my siblings. I could cry as much as I needed and pour out my heart to God. I told Him exactly what I was feeling and how much I missed my mom. I know He heard me because of the many tender mercies I felt. That closet space became sacred to me.
Doing those simple things helped me stay connected to God instead of pushing Him away and becoming bitter. I didn’t see the accident as God hurting my family. I felt more power to be patient and submit to His will and keep moving forward through my hard days. And there were some really hard days.

Orphaned at the age of eleven, Daniel Webster Jones traveled from his home in Missouri to the western United States in 1847 with a company of volunteer soldiers who went to fight in the U.S.-Mexican War. “Gambling, swearing, fighting, and other rough conduct” were part of his every day activity he later wrote in his autobiography, Forty Years among the Indians, (Salt Lake City, Utah: Juvenile Instructor Office.) So Daniel Webster Jones in his early years seemed an unlikely person to join the Church, spend forty years proselyting among the American Indians, and with little formal training in Spanish help make the first Spanish translation from the Book of Mormon. As it happened, he was a good person to do all of these things.
He does not talk about his early life, but somewhere he had gained a strong belief in God. During the three years he spent in Mexico with the volunteer army, he “took part in many ways in the wild, reckless life that was common in the army;” but still would not partake of “strong drink and other worse vices that I could see were destroying the lives of my friends.”
Because of his life-style, he says, “I felt condemned, and often asked God in all seriousness to help me to see what was right, and how to serve Him; telling Him I wanted to know positively, and not be deceived.” In his rough way, he felt that people living in his time were entitled to a prophet too; that it was not right “to leave them without anything but the Bible.”
He left Mexico in 1850 with a large trading company traveling to Salt Lake City. On the way, he was badly wounded by a gun accident, but managed to survive until his companions got him to the Latter-day Saint settlements near Provo, south of Salt Lake City.
In that day, the Saints were often ridiculed by travelers, but when he overheard some of his friends reading the Doctrine and Covenants and making fun of it, he thought of his prayer asking for modern revelation. He left his companions, moved in with a Latter-day Saint family, and began investigating the gospel as he recovered from his injury. “Everyone was kind and treated me with great confidence,” he remembered. “I listened to the elders preaching and soon concluded they were honest and knew it, or were deliberate liars and deceivers. I was determined, if possible, not to be fooled, therefore I commenced to watch very closely.” He was particularly impressed by the lack of bitterness that Latter-day Saints felt toward the Indians, in spite of recent battles.
When he learned about the Book of Mormon, “it seemed natural to me to believe it. I cannot remember ever questioning in my mind the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon, or that Joseph Smith was a prophet. The question was: Are the Mormons sincere, and can I be one?” When he decided that he could be, he spoke to Isaac Morley, who had been one of the first converts to the Church in Ohio.
It was 27 January 1851, wintertime, and Brother Morley “was just going out to get a load of wood with his ax under his arm.” Remarking quietly, “I have been expecting this,” Brother Morley used the ax to chop through thick ice formed over the nearby lake—and Dan became a member of the Church.
The next twenty-three years were busy ones. He farmed, traded with the Ute Indians, was ordained a seventy, married Harriet Emily Colton, acted as Brigham Young’s interpreter when he dealt with some Mexicans in Sanpete County, helped rescue the handcart pioneers stranded by winter storms, and continued his friendly contacts with the Indians, both as a member of the Church and as a government official.
Then in 1874, he was summoned to Brigham Young’s office and was called on a mission to Mexico. “I had expected this call to come some time. I had both desired and dreaded the mission,” he says frankly, knowing how hard a mission would be in Mexico. He and Harry Brizzee were both called and told to prepare themselves. Since “Brother Young said he would like to have some extracts from the Book of Mormon translated,” they “began to study and prepare to translate.”
Although both spoke Spanish, Daniel “often thought how good it would be to have a Spanish-speaking native to help us.” A few months later, Brother Brizzee met a stranger, Spanish-speaking Mileton G. Trejo, who had heard about the Church in the Philippine Islands and had come to Utah to investigate it. He soon was baptized and began translating selections from the Book of Mormon into Spanish with Daniel’s help and support.
In 1875, Daniel reported to President Young that they were ready to start on their mission. Authorized by President Young, Daniel soon raised $500 to pay for the printing of the first set of Spanish selections.
In a later conversation with President Young, Daniel was asked how he proposed to prove to the satisfaction of the authorities of the Church—none of whom spoke Spanish—that the translation was correct. Daniel suggested this test: they would select a book, Brother Trejo would translate a passage into Spanish, Daniel would take the Spanish translation and, without looking at the original book, translate the text back into English. President Young accepted the suggestion, and when the Brethren received a copy of Daniel’s translation from the Spanish, President George A. Smith, then a member of the First Presidency, “laughingly remarked, ‘I like Brother Jones’ style better [than the original]. … The language is more easily understood.’”
But that was not the only exceptional experience Daniel had in connection with the translation. He says:
“When the printing started, Brother Brigham told me that he would hold me responsible for its correctness. This worried me so much that I asked the Lord to in some way show me any mistakes [as we proofread the printed sheets].
“Brother Trejo’s manuscript was written in modern language style. When I called his attention to errors he invariably agreed with me. He often remarked that I was a close critic and understood Spanish better than he did. I did not like to tell him how I discerned the mistakes.
“I felt a sensation in the center of my forehead as though there was a fine thread being pulled smoothly out. When there was a mistake, the smoothness would be interrupted as though a small knot was being passed out through the forehead. Whether I saw the mistake or not I was so sure it was there that I would show it to my companion and ask him to correct it. When this was done we continued on until the same thing happened again.”

To encourage the teachers in our ward to use better object lessons, I called those who would be attending a teacher development meeting and asked them to recall the most memorable object lesson they had seen. The responses were wonderful and sparked a deeper-than-usual interest in our upcoming meeting. At the beginning of the meeting, my wife, Rosie, and I used the responses to list nearly 30 object lessons on the chalkboard. We spent the rest of the meeting encouraging the teachers to share the object lessons that had the most impact on them.

I was watching Papa put the last touches on top of the windmill when he called down to me, “Dora, go into the house and get your mama.”
When we came out, Papa was hanging by his knees on the highest crosspiece. “Look, hon,” he called to her. “It’s all finished.” Mama looked up and gasped.
“Alfred B. Cookson, you come down here right this minute before you’re finished. You’ll have every last one of these kids up there hanging upside down, and before we know it someone will fall and break his neck.”
Papa swung easily to his feet, climbed down, and ran over to silence her with a kiss. “You worry too much,” he said.
“No wonder, with such a crazy husband,” she scolded. “You scared me to death.”
I think Papa knew she was right, though, because he used the leftover pipe and lumber to make us an acting pole where we could learn to hang upside down and do other tricks at a safe distance from the ground.

A few weeks ago, I flew to New York City to meet a new granddaughter. As my daughter and her husband met me at the door with their little three-day-old infant, there was an obvious radiance in that apartment. As they placed Hannah, who will be named after my mother, in my arms, she looked like a curled-up little doll with lots of dark hair. Within a few days, Hannah was stretching out her long legs and her long, thin feet, and I started to think of all of the things she will experience as she starts growing up. Perhaps she’ll have some of the same fears that I had—like being afraid to be alone in the dark at age six or seven. At age thirteen or fourteen, she may be sure, as I was, that there will never be boys as tall as she is. That concern was increased for me the following year when I became convinced that a person with feet as large as mine would surely never marry.
Those kinds of concerns are pretty normal, and the things that concern any of you would surely be concerns to me. But my greatest concern is that each one of you is growing in your spiritual understanding.
I have tremendous reverence for each one of you. My hope for you during these important years between the ages of twelve and eighteen is that you are going from being a dependent child to becoming a righteous, problem-solving woman of faith. It is a mighty work you do during these years, and when you do your work well, you will build a foundation for a responsible and righteous life.
When your leaders encourage you in the Young Women program to get involved with Personal Progress, I hope you will understand that this represents much more than goal-setting and receiving recognition, although that is very important. The greatest goal is that you would constantly choose experiences that would exercise or strengthen your faith in our Savior, Jesus Christ.
There is a chapter in the book of Alma—chapter 32—which seems to me to be written especially for young women. Alma teaches us how to exercise our faith and increase our belief in the words of our Heavenly Father. Would you go home and read this chapter and draw a circle around every time it says the word. Then read the first verse in the book of John where it says, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God” (John 1:1; emphasis added). And then in verse 14, “And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, (and we beheld his glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father,) full of grace and truth” (John 1:14; emphasis added).
In the book of John, the Word is referring to our Savior Jesus Christ. The prophet Alma, in teaching us about faith, helps us understand how our faith in Jesus Christ can be strengthened. Alma compares the word, or the gospel, encompassing our faith in the Savior, to a seed. In his words:
“Now, if ye give place, that a seed may be planted in your heart, behold, if it be a true seed, or a good seed, if ye do not cast it out by your unbelief, that ye will resist the Spirit of the Lord, behold, it will begin to swell within your breasts; and when you feel these swelling motions, ye will begin to say within yourselves—It must needs be that this is a good seed, or that the word is good, for it beginneth to enlarge my soul; yea, it beginneth to enlighten my understanding, yea, it beginneth to be delicious to me.
“Now behold, would not this increase your faith? I say unto you, Yea; nevertheless it hath not grown up to a perfect knowledge” (Alma 32:28–29; emphasis added).
Personal Progress is like an experiment on the word. There are experiences with prayer, scripture study, strengthening family relationships, and service to others. Exercising our faith will increase and strengthen it. As we watch the accomplishments of great athletes, it is surprising to me that some would suppose that our spiritual growth comes without effort when our physical ability requires exercise and training.
Now listen to the wonderful promise that is given to those who exercise their faith—who will continue to nourish the word:
“But if ye will nourish the word, yea, nourish the tree as it beginneth to grow, by your faith with great diligence, and with patience, looking forward to the fruit thereof, it shall take root; and behold it shall be a tree springing up unto everlasting life” (Alma 32:41; emphasis added).
Growing up spiritually requires faith, great diligence, and patience.
It takes maturity to look forward to those things that have eternal consequence.
In infancy, little Hannah responds to food when hungry. She responds to gentle voices and dry diapers. It will be some time before she realizes that her mother is reading the scriptures to her while she feeds her. It will be many, many months before she knows why heads are bowed and prayers are spoken at the dinner table. Yet her faith will begin to take root in this trusting environment. A little child can learn to respond to good feelings, but you are learning to take responsibility for your faith.
Listen to the words of three young women as each had experiences that provided a chance to exercise her faith.
[A video segment was shown in which several young women spoke of events and challenges in their own lives and the effect of those things on their faith.]
Each of these young women had a different kind of experience, but each chose to exercise and increase her faith. Sarah disregarded a feeling that what she was doing was wrong because of her eagerness to learn to drive. After a bad experience, faith gave her the motivation or the courage to evaluate her very frightening experience and make changes. Did you notice that at first she felt unworthy and unloved because she had made an unwise choice? She said she felt kind of worthless. Those feelings are normal after making a mistake, but she wisely evaluated what had happened and why it had happened that way. She reminded herself of her Heavenly Father’s love and what He would have wanted. She learned to listen to parents and acknowledge the feeling of warning. She recognized how she might use this understanding in another situation. This way every experience can become a growth experience. Our Heavenly Father wants us to overcome bad experiences and not remain stuck in our feelings of being unworthy.
The second young woman, Carly, experienced difficult family circumstances through a change in her father’s employment and a move to another state. She learned the value of family relationships and being together. Through united faith and prayers, she experienced the blessing of feeling our Heavenly Father’s love and support in bringing their family back together. Her faith was strengthened.
In the third story, Paulette had a different experience when she learned to accept an outcome that was not what she had hoped for. She knew about the great power of faith, a power that could move mountains, but when her friend’s mother died, she exercised her faith by trusting in Heavenly Father’s plan for us. Growing up spiritually requires us to see beyond our own desires and to enlarge our way of seeing things. We not only have to let go of our selfishness but sometimes let go of things we want very badly to come to understand our Heavenly Father’s point of view.
It is so important in this day that we each build an inner core of spirituality. As you exercise your faith and feel that spirituality grow, you will begin to feel more secure. You will feel more confident. Gradually we will come to more fully understand what it means to completely trust in our Heavenly Father and stand as a witness of God (see Mosiah 18:9). As we become righteous, problem-solving women of faith, we will learn to represent Him and do His work.
Three years ago I had another little granddaughter, named after me—Emily Janette. On the day of her blessing, I felt a tremendous desire for her welfare and a hope that the good things in life would come to her. In that instant, I thought of what it means when each one of us takes upon ourselves the name of Jesus Christ through our baptismal covenants. I have thought of His great desire for our welfare. I feel the love He has for the young women of His church. I have also thought of His great love and appreciation to you leaders—those of you who teach doctrine, who model righteous behavior, who provide an environment of trust where others can develop faith and practice righteous living.
I have a testimony of our Savior’s love for us. He understands our challenges. He will help us. We were intended to have experiences that will help us know good from evil. Most of us make mistakes. We can’t be perfect alone. The atoning gift of Jesus Christ allows us to let go of our weaknesses and be strengthened by His perfection. I bear my testimony of His atoning gift to us in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I used to have that situation as well. My sibling and I didn’t get along at all. Getting back and tattling never worked and made me feel worse, and it didn’t help get the friendship back. As time passed, I realized that I should start to be an example. I wasn’t rude as often, and I started to be more Christlike toward my sibling by helping out and encouraging scripture study and uplifting music. My sibling started to take me seriously and started being more like a friend to me.
Alex P., 14, Idaho

For example, Jessica Ocampo from Guatemala offered to watch her friend Lisbett’s son David while Lisbett served at Young Women camp. Jessica asked if there was anything she could do to help David during that time, and Lisbett said that David had never learned to ride a bike. Jessica invited her sons to help, and they taught David to ride a bike. They also knew that David was playing on the ward’s basketball team and preparing for a tournament, so they spent the day helping him prepare. David may not have gotten better at basketball in that one day, but, he said, “they showed me they really care.” He also added, “I still have the video on my phone when I learned to ride a bike.”