Gospel Story Finder

As a child, I learned from my parents how to pray. My father was assigned as the Principal for the LDS Middle School in Latai, Nuku’alofa. My father wanted the family to move from Liahona in order to be closer to his job. To understand the difficulty of this task, you have to understand that land cannot be bought in Tonga. Land is passed down from father to son. Being a righteous man, my father knew that moving our family closer to his job was right and best thing for all of us. So, our family fasted and prayed fervently to ask Heavenly Father for his help in finding a place. Our morning & evening prayers included our family’s plea to find a place. To aid in this endeavor, my father requested the help of other family members to keep a look out for a place for our family. A week later, my uncle told my father that a person named Katoa, was willing to gift him a piece of land in exchange for $300 pa’anga to help his family. At that time $300 pa’anga, was a lot of money, an equivalent of $150 US dollars. When my father met with this man, he found out that all of his sons were provided with lands, but the man had extra land. Depending on how much land or how many pieces of land you have, each male member, from oldest to youngest, will receive a piece of land. A meeting was arranged by the Acting Minister of the land to sign off the piece of land to my father. Katoa’s brother was also requested to attend this meeting, giving him the opportunity to dispute the gifting of the land to an “outsider” of the family. The dilemma was that although Katoa’s sons had lands, his brother had a son that did not have land. This meant that rightly so, the extra land should have been given to Katoa’s nephew. Our family prayers became more earnest, understanding the ordeal we were facing. If this was the Father’s will, we had faith that this almost impossible arrangement would work out. Friday morning, my father offered our family prayer and again, petitioned Heavenly Father’s help, if it was His will. My father and Katoa were at the office by 1:45 pm. 2:00 pm came and Katoa’s brother was nowhere to be found. The Acting Minister said that they would wait 5 more minutes to give Katoa’s brother a chance. After 2:05 pm, the paper was signed and my father was legally given the land. During our family prayer that night, my father offered thanksgiving for blessing our family with the piece of land obtained. Our communion with our Father in Heaven that night was a sweet and powerful feeling that filled each of us with a strong testimony that what we had been praying and fasting for was indeed in correspondence with our Heavenly Father’s will and that He had provided a way for us to fulfill that will. Our home was later built and we moved in. Many, many years later, our home became the meeting house for the Nuku’alofa 2nd Ward when we lost our chapel due to the lease not being renewed. Our ward was assigned to the Havelu Chapel for our church meetings. Our home became the meeting place for ward choir practice, mutual for single adults, early morning seminary, full-time missionary’s district meetings and countless ward meetings.

Let me illustrate with an experience the Europe Central Area Presidency had while traveling by train to a meeting. We were taking advantage of the time together by discussing our assignment. A man seated across the aisle became curious about our conversation. He finally asked, “Are you Protestant or Catholic?” We replied, “Neither. We are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” He acknowledged that he had heard of the Church but then went on to say, “You’ll never get very far in this country. The government only recognizes the Catholic and Protestant churches. They are the only ones who receive government financial support. A church cannot exist without government financial support.”

We tried to explain that our Church manages very well without government help—that we use the Lord’s system of tithing. He insisted our Church would not get very far in his country and suggested that perhaps we should place our efforts in some other part of the world. Of course we testified that the Lord’s system does work and told him about all the chapels and temples we are constructing throughout the world without having to resort to borrowed funds to build them. He seemed very surprised but still unconvinced.

Seeing that we could not persuade him that a church could exist without government support, we tried to change the subject. I asked, “What will happen in your country with the changes that are occurring? The declining population and the influx of an increasing number of immigrants will eventually make you a minority in your own land.”

With great national pride, he replied, “This will never happen.”

I countered, “How can you support such a position with immigration exceeding your country’s birthrate?” He kept insisting this would never happen in his country—“Why, they would close the borders of our land before they would allow it to occur.”

I pressed on, “How can you prevent it with your current trends?”

His next statement shocked me: “I’m 82 years old. I will be long gone before we have to face that problem.”

A major problem we face in preaching the gospel in this area of the world is the general apathy toward religion, toward things spiritual. Too many are very comfortable with their present lifestyle and feel no need to do more than “eat, drink, and be merry” (Luke 12:19). They are not interested in anything but themselves—here and now.

Why do I say that? Here’s one reason: I knew a boy who faced an unexpected and challenging decision. He faced it at the end of the summer in the year he turned fifteen. He had just returned home after working all summer on his uncle’s farm in another part of the state.
It was the first sacrament meeting he had attended since returning home. For some reason, he was detained a few minutes after the meeting. When he found his friends, they were standing in a group just outside the church building. As he approached, he noticed that they were concluding some kind of agreement. When he joined them, he was met with a seemingly innocent question: “Are you going in with us on it or not?”
“On what?” was his reply.
“On a half gallon of beer.”
That answer really shook him. He was not ready for it. His group had always been good kids. This question was completely out of character, he thought. But things were not as he remembered them. He had spent his summer away from his pals, and this had kept him more or less as he was. Something, however, had happened to change his friends. They seemed more grown up and worldly. This surprise made him falter before answering their question. It’s strange how many things can go through your mind in a flash: These were his friends. They were not enemies. He knew each one well. He had sat in Primary and Sunday School classes with them. They had sung songs together. Some of them had been ordained deacons the same Sunday. They had passed the sacrament together scores of times. Their school activities had brought them close. With some of them he had built toy airplanes and scooters and played rubber guns. They had hiked and worked and played together. Why should this simple question threaten this choice association?
Pressure from friends and acquaintances our own age is tremendously powerful! There is a desire to want to be “one” with friends. Besides, who wants to be a sissy, afraid to join in the fun. What’s more, if he didn’t join them, he would be one against the crowd.
But even with all of these ideas running through his head, another idea impressed itself even harder on his mind. There was one reason that stood out against all that seemed so appealing: It was not right. From somewhere within him came the courage to say, “No, I don’t think I will.”
The group turned away and strode across the street toward the beer hall, intent on carrying out their plan. My friend was left standing—alone. I’m sure he did not think of the Lord’s statement, “It is not good for man to be alone,” but he certainly understood its meaning in a new and personal way. He came to understand the truth of that statement in the days that followed and to see why all of us need true and loyal friends who believe and live as they should.
Even though he was fifteen—going on sixteen—tears came to his eyes as he walked home. His mother, sensing that something was wrong, asked, “What has happened?”
He blurted out the short experience.
“You’ve done right, my son” she reassured him.
“I wish I were as sure as you are,” he answered.
“You made the right decision,” she repeated, “and you’ll see. You will be blessed.”
The days that followed this incident were not especially happy ones. It took readjustments to establish his equilibrium. There followed a process of establishing new friendships. There was the inevitable heartache at school when conversations would grind to a stop as he joined his former group. There were moments of loneliness as he walked between the high school and the adjacent industrial arts building. What was formerly spontaneous fun and youthful sport changed to a subdued good humor. There were some obvious moments in basketball practice, too, when he would be in the clear and call for the pass, only to be ignored while another person was sought out to receive the ball.
But that all passed as everyone knows it will. Time is the great eraser. It dulls the former sad moments. It smooths hurts and salves wounds.
It was not long until former friendships were reestablished, although on a different basis than before. In a little more than a year, this young man was elected seminary studentbody president. The next year he was elected high school studentbody president by his friends. Two years later he entered the mission field, the only one of his class to do so. One classmate went on a mission the following year, but his other friends never did.
This young man has since fulfilled many calls to service and responsibility in the Church. Other tests of his integrity and moral standards have come into his life—as they come into the lives of us all. But few such tests have been so well-remembered or have made so lasting an impression on his life.
In a rather undramatic situation, he chose the right. And his mother was right, as mothers generally are. Her promise was literally fulfilled: “You’ll see. You will be blessed.”

In the spring of 2001, I was assigned to labor in the Switzerland Geneva Mission. While I was saying my goodbyes to family and friends, my father approached me to give me one last hug before I boarded my flight. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a white handkerchief. He handed it to me, telling me that this had belonged to my great-grandpa Tyler. My great-grandfather hadn’t been able to serve a mission, and it was my dad’s hope that by sending this handkerchief with me, I could serve my mission in memory of Grandpa Tyler.
I slid the hanky into the breast pocket of my suit coat, where it was quickly forgotten in the excitement of the adventure ahead of me.
Serving in the Switzerland Geneva Mission.
Eighteen months later, I found myself in a small chapel in Annemasse, France, on the border of Switzerland. We were in our Sunday Church meetings, and I was sitting in the chapel next to an older gentleman who began to sob uncontrollably during a sacrament meeting talk. I wanted to give him a tissue and started digging through my pockets. I found the long-lost handkerchief and handed it to the man. He graciously took it, and after the meeting was over, he approached me and promised to return it to me clean.
The following Tuesday was transfer day, and I was transferred to Clermont-Ferrand, France. I left on the four-hour train ride having forgotten to get the handkerchief back. Four months later, I received a transfer to Meyrin, Switzerland, on the opposite side of Geneva from Annemasse. But because of the horseshoe shape of the zone, I was back in the same zone I had left four months earlier.
Shortly after I arrived in Switzerland, my zone leaders gave me a call and told me of a situation that had arisen. They needed my help conducting a baptismal interview because every other missionary currently in the zone had taught this particular man, and according to mission rules, an elder who had not taught the missionary lessons to this man needed to do the interview. I was delighted because up until this point in my mission I had never conducted a baptismal interview.
A few days later, after exchanging companions, one of the zone leaders and I set out for the interview. A member drove us the hour and a half through a blizzard to Chamonix, where this man lived. Chamonix was part of the Annemasse Branch, where I had previously served.
When we arrived, the snow was so deep it towered over us. We worked our way through the maze of snow to the front door and knocked.
Upon answering the door, the lady of the house gasped and shut the door in our faces. I felt so bad. My thoughts quickly raced through my time in the Annemasse Branch. Had I offended this woman?
Then she opened the door again and handed me an envelope containing a hanky. “Is this yours?” she asked. My mind raced, and in one swoop it all came back to me: the Sunday branch meeting, the sobbing elderly gentleman, and the handkerchief. I said, “Yes, it is!”
The woman broke down in tears, threw her arms around me, and said, “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” She began by telling us how she had longed for her husband to join the Church over the years. She was so happy that after all this time she had held on to her faith, and now her husband wanted to be baptized.
Visiting the convert’s family on the day of his baptismal interview.
She related to me the following: “It all began that day in church when you gave my husband your handkerchief. My husband, being a man of his word, had promised to return your handkerchief. So the following week when he returned to give you the clean hanky and you weren’t there, he decided he would go to church with me the following week. He continued to come with me every week, and every week you weren’t there. He started listening to the talks and lessons and liked what he was hearing. He continued to attend, and as time went on, he accepted the missionary lessons and now wants to be baptized.”
I was here to do his baptismal interview! My heart was touched deeply, and I thanked my Heavenly Father for allowing me to be a part of something so special. I went into the kitchen with her husband, and we stood facing each other across the kitchen island. We spoke of the commitment and responsibilities required of a new member.
He cried as he spoke of the grief he felt he had caused his wife all these years and wanted to know if God would truly forgive “an old man” for his ignorance. His respect and humility were that of one truly converted to the gospel of Jesus Christ.
He was ready to be baptized and confirmed, and a short time later he became a new member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints at the Annemasse chapel.
My great-grandfather Dorus Harvey Tyler never served a full-time mission during his lifetime, but through his white handkerchief, he was able to help bring a soul unto Christ.

Several years ago our oldest son shared with me a lesson he had learned about prayer. He was a very busy student at BYU. One evening he sat down to eat a quick dinner and, out of pure habit, said, “Please bless this food to nourish and strengthen my body.” He opened his eyes and looked at his food: a Twinkie and a can of soda. He realized there was no way that food was going to nourish and strengthen his body.
He later explained to me that the experience taught him the meaning of the phrase “vain repetitions.” When we repeat the same stock phrases over and over in prayer, but not with real intent—when our heart and mind are not in the prayer—then we are only engaging in vain repetition.

Anna sat quietly in the backseat of the van next to her older sister, Sara. It was taking a long time to get to the family reunion. Anna watched the canyon trees fly by, and every now and then she spotted a silvery mountain stream snaking its way down the hill. The sky was as blue as Anna’s eyes, and the clouds looked like white puffs of popcorn.
“Are we almost there?” she said, knowing it hadn’t been long since the last time she had asked.
Mom shook her head and pointed out the window. “We have to go over this mountain, and then you’ll see the lake. About another hour, I’d guess.”
Anna sighed. It was hard to sit still and wait when they’d been planning for months to come to the reunion. All her favorite cousins would be there, and so would dozens of others whom she didn’t know at all. Mom said there were relatives coming from New York, California, and even Hawaii! Suddenly Anna’s three-hour drive didn’t seem so long.
“There’s the lake!” Sara shouted. Anna strained her neck to look. Beautiful Bear Lake stretched out before them like a bright blue carpet. From the mountaintop, sailboats and motorboats looked like tiny toys on the surface.
“When your great-great-grandparents got married in the Logan Temple,” Dad said, “they came down this same road in a wagon. Great-Great-Grandpa looked out at Bear Lake and said, ‘Let’s take a swim before we go home.’ And even though it was early June and the water was freezing cold, they waded in at the north beach and had a nice brisk swim!”
Anna loved that story, even though Dad told it every time they came over this hill. Mom said one of the aunts was bringing 95-year-old Great-Great-Grandma to the reunion and that this might be the last time they were all together.
Finally the houses and farms started looking familiar, and Anna didn’t have to ask if they were almost there. Just past Great-Great-Grandma’s white frame farmhouse, Dad turned onto a dirt road and drove to the community center. It had once been an old church with hardwood floors and wooden benches, but now it was just a place for large groups to gather.
Anna spied Aunt Laura’s car and wriggled out of her seatbelt to go find her cousins. People were spilling out of the doors on all sides of the old church, and there were games set up on the lawn outside. Mom and Dad were already hugging people and talking excitedly. Even Sara had spotted one of her pen-pal cousins and was running to meet her.
It wasn’t long before Mom and Dad were calling Anna and Sara to “come meet someone.” Anna tried her best to smile and be polite. One after another, she shook hands with and hugged cousins, uncles, and aunts until their faces and names were a blur. Over and over again, she heard, “Why, Anna, you look just like Great-Great-Grandma! You two could be twins!”
What? Anna couldn’t believe it. Even Mom and Dad were nodding their heads in agreement. She glanced over at a shady spot under a cottonwood tree where an old, feeble, white-haired lady sat in a lawn chair—it was Great-Great-Grandma! Twins? No way!
Someone came out on the steps of the old building and began loudly ringing a handbell. “Calling all the family of Heber and Lizzie Nelson! Time for lunch! Come on in!”
Long tables and folding chairs were set up inside, along with rows and rows of food. Anna slid onto a chair beside Sara. “Sara,” she whispered, “why does everyone say I look like Great-Great-Grandma?”
Sara shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably because you look like Mom, and Mom looks like her mom, and she looks like her mom. …”
It was true. Anna did have big blue eyes and reddish-brown hair, just like Mom. But they certainly weren’t twins!
Great-Great-Grandma was walking slowly to her seat at the head of one of the tables. Mom was helping her, and Anna stared again at the old, wrinkled face and snow-white hair. “I do not look like her,” she whispered as she folded her arms for the prayer and blessing on the food.
The man who prayed thanked Heavenly Father for the wonderful legacy of Heber and Lizzie Nelson, and the blessing of having dear, sweet, Great-Great-Grandma with them at the reunion. He gave thanks for her testimony, her gentle nature, her willingness to be an example to everyone she met, and for her beautiful spirit. By the end of the prayer, most of the adults were crying. It was clear that Great-Great-Grandma was well loved in this big family.
As Anna munched her chicken and potato salad, she again heard someone say, “Did you see little Anna? She’s the mirror-image of Great-Great-Grandma!”
Mom saw Anna frown. She stood up and held out her hand. “Come here, Anna. I want to show you something special.”
Anna slowly put down her fork and followed Mom over to a large display table by the wall. On it were an old saddle and branding iron that had belonged to Great-Great-Grandpa, the lunch bell that had come across the ocean with the first Nelsons, heirloom quilts, and lots and lots of family pictures. Mom pointed to one picture in a pretty silver frame. The photo had originally been black and white, but it had been colored by a professional photographer. Anna looked at it with wide eyes. “Why is my picture here, Mom?”
Mom smiled and hugged Anna. “That’s not you, honey. That’s Great-Great-Grandma. She’s seven years old in that picture, just like you.”
Anna’s mouth dropped open. There were Anna’s blue eyes, Anna’s reddish-brown curls, even Anna’s dimples. The little girl was even missing a front tooth, just like Anna!
“Wow!” Anna exclaimed. “She really does look like me!”
Mom laughed, leaned down, and whispered, “I hope you grow up to be like her inside, too.”
Anna turned around and saw Great-Great-Grandma. She hurried past aunts, uncles, and cousins until she was standing in front of the little white-haired lady. Great-Great-Grandma smiled, and Anna saw the dimples so much like her own. “I’m glad I came to the reunion, Anna,” the lady said in a soft, gentle voice, “just so I could see you.”
“Me, too, Great-Great-Grandma,” Anna said, hugging her tightly. “Me, too.”

In the apartment I rented, I found a small Mormon book entitled, Articles of Faith, by James E. Talmage. I never knew if Sister Stone secretly placed it there, or if it had been left by the former tenant. At any rate, I began reading it after the children were in bed at night; not because I was interested, but because there was nothing else to do.
During those first few weeks, not a Saturday went by that Sister Stone didn’t stop and ask if we would like to go to church with her on Sunday. When I would politely refuse, she never pushed the issue; but still she regularly asked. At the same time, I became more and more engrossed in the book. I had never heard of such things as I found in that book, though I had studied the Bible faithfully most of my life. Much of what I read I either wondered about or outright disagreed with, so I started jotting down notes of such items as I came across it.
One Saturday when Sister Stone came by, I still refused to go to church with her, but I did tell her that I had some questions about it, and that if she would send her pastor to talk to me I’d discuss them with him. In just a few days I was visited by a man named Marvin Turner and his wife, who said they were stake missionaries and had come to answer my questions. Almost defiantly I brought out my written questions, seven pages in all, and told them that if they could answer them I would listen to whatever they wanted to teach me. Brother Turner’s response was that he did not have all the answers, but he knew that through the Church he could find me logical, reasonable answers. Through the patience and tenderness of the Turners, I finally reached the time when I was willing to pray about the truthfulness of those things that they taught me. I consented to go to church with them. Some time later, I was baptized. However, when I moved to southern California, I lost track of my new friends. I remarried and had other children.
That was many years ago. Now I sit in sacrament meeting and watch while one of my sons passes the sacrament and another one blesses it; I watch the faith and testimonies of each of the children grow; and my thoughts turn toward people who have joined the church as a result of different ones spreading the gospel; and I think too of our kindred dead who have had their baptisms and endowments and sealings done through our genealogy work.
Ultimately my thoughts turn toward a gracious Sister Stone and a sharing, loving Turner family somewhere among the vast number of Saints who, I have no doubt, are still serving the Lord through loving and caring. I ask myself how I can ever repay those people who cared so much for someone so rebellious long ago. And the answer comes to me loud and clear: “Go, and do thou likewise.” (Luke 10:37.)

Now I close with two experiences. As a teenage boy I watched my six-week-old sister, Carol, struggle with what seemed to me to be lethal whooping cough at a time when there were no antibiotics. I came home one night from having been a grease monkey at a Greyhound bus depot and saw the light was on. It was about four o’clock in the morning. I knew it meant trouble. As I came in, Carol was laid out on the round dining room table, and Dad was waiting for a neighbor to come to join in blessing her. I thought she was gone. It seemed to me she had quit breathing. Then I watched the power of the priesthood, and I watched her start breathing again. That experience let me know the reality of the priesthood at a very young age. Our prayers for her were answered.

Have I had some prayers that were not answered? Yes, and so have you. Sometimes the reason is that we may ask for something without enough faith, or we may in fact ask for something that isn’t expedient or that isn’t right. For us to get used to the fact that all prayers are not automatically answered is one of life’s growing experiences.

In brief form I will mention several examples:
On a visit to the Millcreek Stake in Salt Lake City some years ago, I learned that just over 100 brethren who were prospective elders had been ordained elders during the preceding year. I asked President James Clegg the secret of his success. Although he was too modest to take the credit, one of his counselors revealed that President Clegg, recognizing the challenge, had undertaken to personally call and arrange a private appointment between him and each prospective elder. During the appointment, President Clegg would mention the temple of the Lord, the saving ordinances and covenants emphasized there, and would conclude with this question: “Wouldn’t you desire to take your sweet wife and your precious children to the house of the Lord, that you might be a forever family throughout the eternities?” An acknowledgment followed, the reactivation process was pursued, and the goal was achieved.

The Millers’ most unusual family home evening started out very much as usual. Mom and Dad sat together holding hands. Twelve-year-old Jeramie looked bored. Nine-year-old Charlie tapped his toes impatiently. Eight-year-old Jimmy made faces at six-year-old Jenny, who glared back at him. It was four-year-old Billie Jo’s turn to lead the opening song, and she waved her hands wildly to “Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam”—as usual.
After the opening prayer, Dad began the lesson by hanging a picture of Jesus on the wall and telling the children that they should always remember Him.
Just then there was a knock at the door, and the man Dad invited in was anything but usual. He had a brown beard and long brown hair that hung to his shoulders. He wore a tan robe that came down to the brown sandals on his feet. A dark blue cloak hung across one shoulder. He looked just like the people in most of the paintings they had seen of the Savior’s time.
The children were very quiet when the stranger spoke. He said his name was James and that he was going to tell them some stories about his special Friend, Jesus Christ.
The first story was about a young man who died. The man’s mother had been very sad. She needed her son. She had asked Jesus to help her. He spoke to her son, and the young man awakened. (See Luke 7:12–14.)
James’s next story was about when Jesus had been teaching a large crowd of people on a mountain by the sea. No one had brought anything to eat, except a boy who had five loaves of bread and two small fish. The boy had been willing to share his food, so Jesus blessed it. After it had been blessed, it fed all five thousand people, with some left over. (See John 6:1–14.)
The stranger, who called himself James, talked to the Millers a long time. They had heard his stories before, but when he told them, they seemed to have just happened. There was an even more wonderful feeling in the room as James told them how much the Savior loved the people He had taught and how much He loved them. He told them that they would be happier if they remembered to love one another as much as Jesus Christ loved them.
Mom had begun to lead the closing song, “Love One Another,” before the children recognized the stranger. When he began to sing, they all knew that it was Brother Park, the man who led the singing in sacrament meeting each week. Long hair and a beard couldn’t disguise his singing voice. His first name really was James, he said, and the Savior really was his special Friend.
Brother Park stayed to eat ice cream and cookies with them. Before he left, he looked at the picture of Jesus that Dad had hung up and said, “You know, this is just how an artist thinks Jesus looks, but when you look at it, I hope that you will remember Him. Remember that He cares about what you do, and He loves you.”

1. Alexander’s breathing sounds funny. What’s wrong?
I’m not sure. Before Daddy goes to work, we’ll ask him to check Alexander.
2. Dad walked into the room wearing his doctor’s coat. Because Dad was a doctor, he was often able to help Kiersty and her baby brother feel better.
3. Dad checked Alexander.
Kiersty, you’ll need to come to the hospital with Mommy and Alexander so we can take some X-rays.
OK. But are you going to give him a blessing first?
Of course, Sweetie.
4. Kiersty knew that because Dad held the priesthood, he could give people blessings to help them. She closed her eyes and folded her arms as Dad placed his hands on Alexander’s head and gave him a blessing.
5. After the blessing, the family got into the car to go to the hospital. Kiersty sat in the backseat beside Alexander. She hoped he would start to feel better.
6. At the hospital, Dad and another doctor took Alexander to a special room. Mom and Kiersty sat and waited in big blue chairs. Kiersty looked at a book.
7. A little while later, Kiersty saw a doctor carrying Alexander as he walked down the hallway toward them. Dad walked with him.
Is this your brother?
Yes.
He is just fine.
8. The blessing worked. We need to thank Heavenly Father.
You are right, Kiersty.

Temperance Wick held a damp cloth to her mother’s feverish forehead. “I’ll fetch the doctor before it gets dark,” she murmured comfortingly. “‘Tisn’t far to ride.”
Ever since Father had died just ten days before, Mother had been ill. It was only a mile to Temperance’s sister Phoebe’s home on the road to Mendham. Phoebe’s husband, Dr. Will Leddell, would come quickly to attend to her mother on that New Year’s Day of 1781 if he possibly could.
Mrs. Wick shook her head sadly. “The roads are too icy. It isn’t safe to ride horseback alone. And there was talk of some shooting over at Jockey Hollow.”
Tempe, an excellent horsewoman, frequently cantered her horse, Captain, through the beautiful, wooded New Jersey countryside near Morristown. “I’m not afraid,” she boasted. “Besides, Washington’s soldiers are in camp at Jockey Hollow to protect us from the Redcoats.”
“Still, trouble is brewing,” insisted her mother. “The war for our independence has gone on too long. Be very careful,” she muttered weakly before drifting off to sleep.
Tempe wrapped her red homespun cloak about her and dashed to the barn. She flung her arms around the horse’s neck. “Oh, Captain,” she whispered. “We must get help for Mother.” Then Tempe quickly saddled the animal and galloped down the road.
As they sped on, Tempe became more and more apprehensive. Mother and she were all alone at the Wick farm now. Snow-covered trees hung ominously over the narrow rutted road, and a stiff wind lashed her face, stinging her tear-filled eyes.
She gave a sigh of relief when she reached her sister’s house. A welcoming door swung open. “Tempe!” Dr. Leddell, cried, surprised. “Come in by the fire. What are you doing out in such wintry weather?”
“It’s Mother,” the worried girl replied. “Can you come quickly? Her fever is worse!”
The kindly doctor assured her that he would come right away.
Tempe turned Captain around, and as she headed homeward, she began to feel more at ease. “Everything will be all right,” she murmured, “and I’ll soon be safely home.” But as she rounded a bend in the road, several soldiers stepped out of the woods. They waved for her to stop. “Halt!” shouted a tall, ragged man. Grabbing Captain’s bridle, he added, “We won’t hurt you. We’re not the British.”
“Then let go of my horse!” cried Tempe. “I must get home!”
The soldier continued to hold on to Captain. “Excellent horse,” he declared. “We can use it.”
“But he’s my horse, and I want to keep him. I need him!” objected Tempe.
The soldier laughed. “We need him more. We need all the horses that we can find.”
“But aren’t you from Washington’s army? Captain is the only horse we have left. All the others have already been taken by the troops. Why do you need him, too?” persisted Tempe.
One of the other men pointed to a soldier with bandaged feet. “Frostbitten, that’s why. He can’t walk, and we can’t leave him here.”
“Aren’t you encamped at Jockey Hollow to defend us against attack by the Redcoats?” asked the puzzled girl.
Another soldier shouted angrily. “We were at camp. Indeed we were! Nearly froze to death! And we haven’t been paid for twelve months in the bargain.”
“Get down from your horse, Miss, before you get hurt,” urged the tall soldier. “We’re men of the Pennsylvania Line on our way to Philadelphia to see the Congress and to demand our back pay.”
Tempe nodded sympathetically. She really felt sorry for the men. Just the year before, more than a hundred soldiers had died at Jockey Hollow because of sickness and a lack of food and warm shelter. But then she thought of her sick mother at home. They would be stranded at the lonely farmhouse without a horse. Surely the soldiers could carry this man to the nearby army hospital and stay to defend New Jersey.
All at once she made up her mind. She reached out her hand as if for help in dismounting. But when the soldier let go of the bridle to help her, she kicked Captain with her heels and spurred him on. Down the frozen road she galloped, musket shots ringing in her ears.
“It’s all right, Captain. They can’t catch us now,” she cried, slowing him down at last. “But they will follow us,” she told her steed. “I can’t keep you in the barn. And if I hide you in the woods, you’ll surely die from the cold.”
Past the fields and apple orchards she rode and straight through the herb garden to the farmhouse door. She sprang from the horse’s back and glanced down the road. The men were nowhere in sight. Holding tightly to Captain’s bridle, she led him quickly inside and closed the door behind him.
Gently Tempe took him through the kitchen and into her mother’s bedroom, where she explained to the amazed woman all that had happened. Then she carefully walked Captain into the spare room. The horse’s shoes clattered over the wooden floors.
“You must keep quiet,” she told him. Hurriedly she fetched some towels from the wardrobe and wrapped them around Captain’s feet. “Just in case you paw the floor,” she muttered.
Tempe stood with her horse, holding his head so that he wouldn’t whinny or snort. A few minutes passed before she heard the angry soldiers shouting in the yard: “She’s not in the barn!” “No sign of them in the woods!” Other men’s voices sounded closer to the front door: “The snow is so trampled down that we can’t see any fresh tracks.” “Must have gone past and down the road!”
Worried and thoughtful, Tempe quietly soothed Captain while the soldiers searched the grounds and outbuildings. Are they setting a trap for me and waiting until I come out of hiding? She wondered. Of course, they wouldn’t have expected me to bring a horse into a house! Nevertheless, she waited a long time, listening for their footsteps and voices, before she went to help her mother.
Just when Tempe decided that the men had given up the hunt and left, Captain whinnied when there was a soft knock on the door. Tempe went and cautiously opened it a crack. She was relieved to see that it was Dr. Leddell.
After the doctor treated her mother, Mrs. Wick began to feel better, and in a few days she was able to leave her bed.
Tempe continued to keep Captain in the darkened spare room, however. At first she was afraid to leave the house, so she fed him biscuits and lumps of sugar from the kitchen. Later she dared to sneak out to the barn for feed.
Six days later news came that the soldiers’ mutiny was over. “Now Captain can go back to the barn!” cried Mother thankfully. Tempe slowly led her horse out of the house, leaving behind hoofmarks on the wooden floor.
Word spread like wildfire about the young woman who had outfoxed the soldiers in New Jersey. Even General Washington and his men expressed their admiration for her. To this day, Tempe Wick is remembered for the daring, clever way in which she saved her horse.

“It was a dare!” Brett said, avoiding his father’s eyes. “I mean, I had to do it, or everyone would think I was a wimp, especially Alan.”
His father sighed. “Do you care so much what other people think?”
Brett blinked. “Of course I care what people think. I mean, a guy has a reputation to keep up.”
“But what sort of reputation do you want to have?” his father asked. He waited, but Brett was silent, so he laid down the law. “I don’t care who dares you. You are not to go out on the roof again, and certainly not wearing flippers.”
“Aw, Dad …” Brett knew from the look on his father’s face that it was pointless to argue. He quickly changed his tactics, smiling sweetly. “OK. I promise not to go out on the roof in flippers again.”
His dad gave him a close look and raised an eyebrow but said no more.
Brett was relieved. He hadn’t promised that he wouldn’t take any more dares. He’d just promised not to dance on the roof with flippers. Who’d dare him to do that again?
Still, Brett felt a little guilty for giving his dad the wrong impression. It was almost like lying. The thing was that all of his friends liked to do dares. It was easy to say you shouldn’t accept a dare when you were talking to your dad, but it was a lot harder when you were with a friend.
The next day, Brett dared his best friend, Alan, to run through the school office wearing his gym shorts on his head. Then Alan dared Brett to do a handstand in the cafeteria during lunch.
Then they both spent an hour after school in detention. Brett didn’t mind. After all, he’d proved how brave he was.
That night when his family was reading the scriptures, they read about the sons of Helaman.
“Now there’s an example of courage,” his mother pointed out. “They were willing to fight for what they believed in, and they even risked death for it. They trusted in the Lord.”
Brett frowned. Sure, that was courageous, but had any of them ever put a silly hat on the neighbor’s cat, then sent it back home and watched the fun?
“This has always been one of my favorite stories,” his father said. “I also like the story of Nephi, when he stood up for what was right even when his brothers disagreed.”
Brett had the impression that his parents were trying to tell him something. Still, the next day, when Alan bet him that he couldn’t climb the flagpole at school, Brett took the dare. He remembered his father’s words, but the dare was just too tempting. Climbing it was easy. Climbing it without a teacher seeing him do it was the hard part.
That was the part that he messed up on. That and getting down again. He slipped. Fortunately the custodian managed to get underneath him, or he might have been seriously injured.
His father came to pick him up from the principal’s office. Brett expected his dad to yell at him or lecture him. Instead, they walked to the car in silence. Brett got in and watched his dad. His dad didn’t slam the door. He just quietly slipped into the driver’s seat, rested his hands on the steering wheel, and closed his eyes.
Was his dad napping? Was he gathering his energy for a really big yell that would shake the car to its rubber tires? Brett was prepared for a good bawling out. It would clear the air, and everything would be all right again.
Then he realized that his father was praying. It wasn’t a quick prayer, either. It went on and on and on. Brett grew more and more nervous. Yelling was something he could cope with—but praying?
His father opened his eyes and silently drove home. As they pulled into the driveway, he stopped the car, then turned to look Brett in the eyes. “You could have been seriously hurt today. You could have been killed. Your mother and I love you, but you are showing poor judgment.”
“Dad, it was a dare,” Brett tried to explain. “I didn’t have a choice.”
His father opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. For a moment it seemed like he was listening to something. Then he turned to Brett. “You think that kind of a dare is hard—that it proves you’re a brave person?”
Brett nodded. “Yeah. Why else would I take it?”
“Could you handle a harder dare? One that really takes courage?”
Now Brett was on familiar ground. “I can handle any dare,” he announced proudly. “I haven’t missed one yet.”
“Then I dare you to do the right thing.”
“Ah, Dad,” Brett replied, “that’s just a ‘parent dare.’”
“What’s the matter? You can take the easy dares, but you can’t take the hard ones? That doesn’t sound all that brave to me.”
Brett got out of the car without saying a word and marched into the house.
That Sunday in Primary, they sang “Dare to Do Right.”*
Brett squirmed in his seat.
“Dare to do right! Dare to be true!” The words echoed in his head. What was this, a conspiracy?
On Monday, Alan met him walking to school.
“So, what’s it going to be today?” Brett asked him.
Alan grinned. “Today’s easy. I dare you to sneak into Mr. Suther’s desk during recess and get a copy of tomorrow’s math test.”
Brett swallowed. “But that would be cheating,” he said.
“Cheating, schmeating! We don’t have to use the test. I just dare you to steal it. Hey—not even steal. Borrow. I dare you to borrow the math test.”
Brett suddenly heard the words to the Primary song go through his head again. He turned to Alan. “No.”
“No? But I dared you.”
“Sorry.” It was hard, but Brett held his ground. “I have another dare to do, instead.” He swallowed again, then offered hopefully, “I’d be happy to help you study for the test.”
Alan stomped off in disgust. Brett didn’t know what to think. He’d done the right thing. Doing the right thing wasn’t supposed to make you feel lousy, right?
Later that day, Brett saw Mr. Suther walking Alan to the principal’s office. His teacher looked at him as they passed. He could tell that his teacher was surprised to not be marching two kids to the principal. Suddenly Brett realized what sort of a reputation he had made for himself. It wasn’t one he wanted.
The words to the Primary song rang through his head again—“Dare to do right! Dare to be true!” He promised himself that he would keep only the dare his father had given him.

We also visited my widowed Aunt Dorothy before she died. She had been very ill for some time, yet she lived on. She waited patiently to be with her husband again after this life. She depended on help from others but lived as fully as possible. She often read the scriptures. A small sign in her home expressed Dorothy’s attitude. It simply said, “Joy.”
Some of the happiest people I know: my mother, Ramona (top), my cousin Dave and Penny Barnes (center), and my Aunt Dorothy (above).
Photographs courtesy of the author
The Keetch family, my mother, Dave, Penny, and Aunt Dorothy are examples of being joyful during trials. They simply live the gospel and look to better days ahead. In doing so they show joy that exceeds the temporary, though painful, trials they face. With faith in God, they follow His plan for them and rely on Jesus Christ and the blessings of His Atonement. This brings joy and peace.

“When will Uncle Cory be here?” Michael asked his mother for at least the tenth time.
Earlier that afternoon the mailman had delivered a letter addressed to him, but when he opened it he couldn’t read what it said. Michael’s mother told him that the letter was written in Italian, and all she could read was the closing and signature at the bottom:
Arrivederci,Mario
Michael knew that arrivederci meant till we meet again, because that was how Uncle Cory’s letters were always signed when he was in Italy on a mission. Michael had called his uncle and told him about the letter. Now he was waiting impatiently for him to come and interpret what the letter said.
A few months before Uncle Cory had returned from Italy, he had written and asked Michael and his family to write their feelings about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in letters to individual members of a certain Italian family and send them back to him. He said he would put the letters in a Book of Mormon and give them to the family.
Michael had written—
Dear Mario,
I am eight years old. I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints last month. My father baptized me and confirmed me and said that I now have the Holy Ghost to guide me and to help me choose right from wrong. I go to Primary each week. I’m in the CTR class. CTR means CHOOSE THE RIGHT. Last week my Primary teacher taught us about Jesus healing sick children. Jesus loves children everywhere. He loves me and He loves you. I, hope you can soon go to Primary, too.
Your friend, Michael
Michael hadn’t expected to receive a letter in return, but now that one had come, he could hardly wait to know what it said.
Soon he heard the sound of a car in the driveway. Running to the window, he looked out and saw Uncle Cory coming up the walk. Michael ran and opened the door and gave his uncle a big hug.
Michael listened quietly as Uncle Cory read the letter.
Dear Michael,
I am nine years old. Today I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My father and mother were baptized too. Thank you for telling me about your Church. My father and mother read your Book of Mormon, and now we are all happy to be members of the true Church. Write to me again soon.
Arrivederci, Mario
Michael was so excited to know that he had helped bring the gospel to someone that he thought his heart would pound right out of his chest. He took the letter from his uncle and looked at it for a long time. Then he folded the letter neatly. “I will save this,” he said, “to remind me that it’s fun to tell others about our church. Maybe some day I’ll go on a mission to Italy and meet my new friend Mario.”

It was a cold day, and I was scared. I shook hard in my speed suit. It was my first ski race since I had been injured. The course was a long blur of blue and red gates. My coach skied by me.
“Noah, are you OK?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said, but I was actually scared out of my skin!
It was time for me to be at the start gate. Oh no! I thought as I skied down to the start gate. But then I remembered something I had learned in Primary: I can pray anytime, anywhere.
So I prayed, Heavenly Father, please help me to be safe and do well. Right then, I pushed out of the start.
What came next was natural instinct. Left, then right, gate after gate, for what felt like days until I finally crossed the finish line. Boy, I was slow! I thought. But I looked at the timer. I was 12th in my category!
“That was so good!” Mom said.
During the excitement, I silently thanked my Heavenly Father for answering my prayer.

Mommy sniffed and coughed. She blew her nose. “Madelyn, I am sick. I need your help with baby Jason today.” Madelyn wanted to be a good helper. She held baby Jason carefully and gave him a bottle. She made Jason laugh and smile while Mommy changed his diaper. When Jason wiped carrots all over his face, Madelyn cleaned him with a soft towel. While Jason was napping, Mommy had a rest too. Madelyn brought her a blanket. “Thank you for helping today!” Mommy said. Madelyn smiled. She liked being Big Sister Madelyn!

As she lay in bed, Julia thought back to the twins’ baptisms. They had been asked to sing a duet for the baptismal program. Julia remembered how nervous they had looked when they first got up in front of everyone. But they’d squeezed each other’s hand for courage and sung “Love One Another” beautifully.
When Sister Jacobsen, the stake Primary president, called Julia a few weeks ago, it surprised her. “Your sisters did such a wonderful job that we wondered if you would prepare a song for us also,” Sister Jacobsen had asked.
Before giving Sister Jacobsen an answer, Julia thought about it for several days. Her sisters were a lot more outgoing than she was, and they had lots of friends. Julia had a couple of good friends, but she usually just sat quietly in Primary and at school activities and seldom shared what she was thinking.
Once, Julia had overheard her mother’s friend call her shy. Her mother had replied, “Oh, she’s not really shy—she’s just a good listener.” But from then on, Julia thought of herself as being shy.
Dad had told Julia that after baptism she would be given a special gift, the gift of the Holy Ghost, and it would bless her in many ways. It would even help her gain more confidence. He said that it was one of the greatest gifts he had ever received, and Julia wondered if she’d feel the same. She didn’t really understand how it worked, and wondered how it could help her with her shyness. But she knew that the Holy Ghost is also called the Comforter, and the name sounded like that of a good friend.
One night, after praying and receiving a good feeling, Julia told Sister Jacobsen that she would sing at the baptism. Every night for two weeks she practiced “I Know My Father Lives” with her dad, who would accompany her on the piano. She knew both verses by heart, and her dad even learned them too. It was fun to sing together before going to bed.
As Julia lay in the darkness, the words of the song went through her head. “I know my Father lives and loves me too. The Spirit whispers this to me and tells me it is true, And tells me it is true.” She loved how the song made her feel, and as she softly hummed it, she finally fell asleep.
After breakfast the next morning, Julia dressed quickly in her new white dress. Everyone was happy and excited for her and listened one last time as she sang “I Know My Father Lives” without one mistake.
After changing into her baptismal clothes at the church, Julia and her dad took their places at the front of the chapel. There were five other children being baptized that day, and Julia knew most of them from school. She was surprised to see how many friends, parents, and relatives filled the chapel. A sick feeling of nervousness suddenly swept over her as she thought about standing in front of everyone and singing. She wished she hadn’t accepted, after all.
Julia tried not to think about the song and listened to the talks being given and watched the video presentation about the promises she was making. All too soon Sister Jacobsen announced her name and the song she would sing. Nervously she stood at the podium and looked down at her dad, who smiled warmly at her from his place at the piano.
I can do it, she thought to herself. I’ll just pretend I’m singing in my living room, and I won’t look at the crowd.
“I know my Father lives and loves me too,” Julia sang in a shaky voice. As she continued, she glanced down at the people who filled the chapel. There were so many of them, all looking at her, and all at once her head felt hot and dizzy. The words stuck in her throat, and then she couldn’t remember where she was in the song. There was nothing to do but stop singing.
It seemed to her as if she stood there forever, crying in front of everyone, her hands covering her face. Julia had never been so scared, and she didn’t know what to do. She felt so alone, in spite of all the people there, and she wanted to run out of the church just to get away from everyone.
But the piano was still playing, and through her crying she could hear a man’s voice softly singing the words. It was her dad. He was singing the end of the first verse. Julia wanted to sing along with him, but she was crying too hard. He started the second verse in a clear, strong voice: “He sent me here to earth, by faith to live his plan. The Spirit whispers this to me and tells me that I can, And tells me that I can.”
By the end of the song, Julia had stopped crying and had her eyes on her dad. She realized that the song was over and that her singing of it had been a failure. Embarrassed and still sniffling, she walked to her seat and took her place on the front row. When her dad slipped in beside her, she couldn’t bear to look up at him. She had disappointed her whole family and ruined the entire program. Oh, why did I ever think I could do it? Julia wondered. I’m just too shy.
Julia felt her dad’s strong arms lift her onto his lap. As she slowly looked up at him, she saw that he didn’t look disappointed in her at all. In fact, he had a big smile on his face.
“Oh, Julia,” he whispered excitedly, “this is how I can explain to you exactly how the gift of the Holy Ghost works. When you stopped singing and started to cry, you felt scared and alone, didn’t you?”
Julia nodded, puzzled.
“Then I helped you by singing the rest of the song when you couldn’t finish it. Well, after you receive the gift of the Holy Ghost, you need never feel alone again. When you are scared and don’t know what to do, if you listen very carefully, you will hear another voice coming through. Heavenly Father will send the Comforter to help you. He will help you make the right decisions. Most important, He will comfort you, if you just listen and keep the commandments. Julia, He will always be your friend.”
A warm feeling came over Julia as she placed her small hand inside her dad’s. She no longer felt embarrassed about not completing the song. For the first time she understood why the gift of the Holy Ghost was such a great gift. My own special Comforter, she thought happily.
“Maybe I am a little shy,” she whispered to her dad, “but I am a good listener.”

So at 19 years of age, I left the University setting to travel and figure out my part. On one adventure, I set off for a month-long stay in the ashram of a Hindu Holy Man in Puttaparthi, Andhra Pradesh, India. With the hopes of discovering the "truth", I meditated, I fasted, I chanted, and I prayed. While I had hoped to somehow vet the teachings of my youth, I found in the end, that I came full circle. The Holy Man essentially told me to go back to the teachings of my youth. To be honest, I was a bit stunned! However on further contemplation, I realized I was being schooled! Just like the Lord schooled Oliver Cowdery as he began the work as a scribe in translating the Book of Mormon:
Verily, verily, I say unto you, if you desire a further witness, cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart, that you might know concerning the truth of these things.
Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater witness can you have than from God?[4]
What greater witness did I need? From that point on, my journey changed- I no longer needed to find my purpose; I just needed to rediscover it. While, it still required time on my part to reconcile and heal, I ultimately discovered the truth was within me all along; I didn't need to have further witness. The Lord directed me to the fact that I already had the truth; I just needed to reflect on it and allow my spirit to recognize it.

When 21-year-old Elie Monga of Kolwezi read the Book of Mormon in 1987, he was impressed. “I strongly felt,” he later said, “that that’s what I need.” Monga traveled the 300 kilometers to Lubumbashi to meet with the missionaries. After only one discussion, he decided to be baptized. After his baptism, with encouragement from missionaries, he held Sunday School meetings in his home. “We started gathering and teaching our friends [and family],” he said, “bringing them the message of hope through the restored gospel.” A large group was soon meeting in Monga’s home. When the first baptismal service in Kolwezi was held the next year, it took more than three and a half hours for Monga to baptize the 82 converts who had accepted the gospel. It was one success among many: in 1990, just four years after the Church received government recognition, branches and districts were thriving in Kinshasa, Lubumbashi, and many other cities throughout the country.