Gospel Story Finder

Mary likes to tell the story of how The Children’s Friend began. As early as 1894 the women of the Primary wanted to publish a little magazine to be used by the teachers in giving their lessons. They asked the First Presidency if they might have permission to do so. However, the Brethren knew that a number of magazines were having financial trouble and they did not feel that women inexperienced in preparing a publication would be able to produce and sell one. However, in 1902 Sister Felt and Sister Anderson went again to the First Presidency and this time were told that they could try it, with the understanding that they would give the women their blessing but no funds. With the support of all members of the Primary General Board, Sister Felt and Sister Anderson visited a little printing office that was on the corner where Hotel Utah now stands.
The printers were discouraging. They said they would not agree to do the printing unless the women could give them cash in advance or would arrange for property to be used as a guarantee for payment. Sister Felt owned a small home and this was placed in the hands of the printers in case the magazine was not successful. During the days of planning and preparing the first issue, these two women saved every piece of string they could find. Scraps of wrapping paper were carefully ironed, folded, and laid aside with the string. When the first issues were ready for mailing, they addressed them all by hand, wrapped them into bundles with the paper, tied them with the hoarded string, and carried them in several trips the four long blocks to the post office.
Sister Anderson was asked to be editor and business manager for a period of six months at a salary of $30.00 a month. She remained with the magazine for thirty-eight years!

In the early days of the Church there was a good and faithful woman, Mary Smith, widow of the martyred patriarch Hyrum Smith. She firmly believed in the promises of the Lord. Her son, Joseph F., and her grandson, Joseph Fielding, lived to become presidents of the Church. President Joseph F. Smith related an incident that occurred when he was a 10-year-old boy:
“I recollect most vividly,” he said, “a circumstance that occurred in the days of my childhood. My mother was a widow with a large family to provide for. One spring when we opened our potato pits she had her boys get a load of the best potatoes, and she took them to the tithing office; potatoes were scarce that season. I was a little boy at the time, and drove the team. When we drove up to the steps of the tithing office, ready to unload the potatoes, one of the clerks came out and said to my mother, ‘Widow Smith, it’s a shame that you should have to pay tithing’. … he chided my mother for paying her tithing, called her anything but wise or prudent; and said there were others who were strong and able to work that were supported from the tithing office. My mother turned upon him and said: ‘… you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Would you deny me a blessing? If I did not pay my tithing, I should expect the Lord to withhold His blessings from me. I pay my tithing, not only because it is a law of God, but because I expect a blessing by doing it. By keeping this and other laws, I expect to prosper and to be able to provide for my family.’” (CR, April 1900, p. 48.)

I feel we can never compare the levels of people’s burdens. Each has his or her own set of problems, and it’s up to each person to learn the lessons from them. In the past year, my family has lost my mother and brother-in-law to cancer. Both were kind, good, righteous people who were strong in the Church. For the longest time I would not try to learn from this. Instead I could only ask God why. Then, with the help of a blessing from my bishop, I was able to learn the lesson I needed to learn. I was able to gain a greater love towards my brother and sisters. I finally realized how much my family means to me. I know that if we pray for help, our trials will become blessings and make our spirits even stronger.
Jenifer Jakoubek, 17Chehalis, Washington

I was born in Australia and lived in the community of Byron Bay, located on the eastern seacoast. I remember the great ships that used to sail up the coast of Australia. Very often they would come into port at Byron Bay. During storms, though, the ships would have to sail out to sea again to avoid getting smashed against the rocky beaches or wooden piers.
When I was about seven or eight years old, I had an experience that had a tremendous impact on me. My father came rushing into the house very late one night. Outside, there was a blinding rainstorm, and a very large ship was struggling to get out to the open sea. Its crew members had been celebrating in town and had delayed returning to the ship to prepare it properly for sailing. As a result, it didn’t have enough steam to sail out of port and away from danger.
My parents bundled my brother, sister, and me up in our oilskin coats, and we went down to the harbor to watch the crew frantically trying to sail to safety. The sea was rough. The waves were high. Hundreds of townspeople awakened from their sleep and gathered on the shore to watch and pray that the ship would get away.
I remember that there were many lights on the ship as it tossed on the waves. We knew that dozens of crew members were in the hold, shoveling coal into the engine’s furnaces, trying to get up enough steam to sail to safety. It was an awesome and frightening sight to a little boy.
Suddenly a cheer burst from the crowd. The ship was clear of the pier, and we watched as her bow turned seaward. It looked as though she would make it to the open sea. She went for a short distance. Then, because she didn’t have sufficient steam, she lost the struggle. The waves beat too heavily against her, and that great ship swung around, raced straight up onto the beach, and crashed against the rocks. She never sailed again.
I’ve never forgotten that night. It’s as vivid in my memory today as it was when it happened so many years ago. I believe that I am a General Authority today because of the lesson I learned that night—to prepare myself so that I can head in the proper direction with sufficient strength.
When storms come and waves beat against us, we’ll be dashed against the rocks if we don’t have sufficient faith in the Lord, in the gospel, and in our own abilities. We need to learn the gospel and to learn to love the Lord. Then we will have all the steam we need, and we will know the right course to sail in this life.

The smell of baking cookies filled the air as Nataniel helped Grandma scoop dough onto cookie sheets. Grandma smiled at him. “Who loves you?” she asked.
Nataniel thought about how Grandma always made his favorite kind of cookies and kept paper on hand because she knew he liked to draw. “You do,” he answered.
“That’s right,” Grandma said. “I’ve known you longer than anyone besides your mom and dad. But there’s someone else who has known you even longer than I have.”
“Who else?” Nataniel asked.
“Someone who loved you before you came to earth,” Grandma said.
“Oh,” Nataniel said. “You mean Heavenly Father.”
“Yes,” Grandma said, giving Nataniel a hug.
He smiled. Knowing he was loved made him feel warm inside.

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.

Australian Corey Karaka knows that each challenge, change, or opportunity can help you grow.
Corey Karaka grew up in a suburb of Sydney, Australia, where, as the oldest of six brothers, he grew up like many typical Australian boys. He played rugby, soccer, basketball, and learned to swim. In fact, he quickly became a good enough swimmer to make it to the national swimming championships at the age of 12, qualifying a year early. As a boy, Corey thought he actually might want to make swimming his career, but then a whole world full of choices started coming his way, and he began taking advantage of some great opportunities.
First was his short opera career.
Opera? Why would a boy who loved sports want anything to do with opera? But Sydney, after all, has one of the most famous opera houses in the world. And Corey just happened to have a grandmother who had been an opera singer. She taught her grandson (in fact, she teaches music lessons to all her grandchildren) to sing while he was still a boy soprano. Corey auditioned and was hired to sing with Opera Australia. He remembers it as a fun time, going to rehearsals and dressing up in makeup and costumes. Corey says, “It wasn’t an intense experience for children. There are scenes where you come in as part of the chorus. It’s a shame that my voice broke, but it was a good experience.” Plus, his mother, Caragh, says, “He put away the money he earned for a mission and university.”

At twenty-nine, Ransom Stevens was president of the Samoa Mission when stricken with typhoid fever, which was complicated by a heart problem. He died on April 23, 1894.
His widow, Sister Annie D. Stevens, started for home by steamer on May 23. She reached Ogden on Sunday, June 10, where she was met by President Joseph F. Smith and Elder Franklin D. Richards. On June 11, she had an interview with the First Presidency in Salt Lake City and then went on to her home in Fairview, Sanpete County, arriving at 6:00 p.m.
The history states, “The greetings by her friends were necessarily brief for Sister Stevens was ill and had to retire to bed early, and at 11 p.m., five hours after her arrival home, she gave birth to a nice boy.” She had gone through the whole ordeal in the advance stages of pregnancy.

This morning I composed a new song—“All Is Well.”
With this brief statement on April 15, 1846, William Clayton recorded in his journal the writing of a hymn that has become a favorite of members of the Church everywhere. It is now called “Come, Come, Ye Saints.”
William Clayton was in the first company of pioneers to leave Winter Quarters after the Saints were driven out of Nauvoo. His journal entry was made when his company was 300 miles and 48 days’ travel from Nauvoo. His wife had remained behind, and the night before Brother Clayton wrote these words, he received word that she had given birth to a baby boy. This good news was probably one of the reasons he felt inspired to write “All Is Well.”
The words were written to fit an old melody that had been arranged by J. T. White and published in the songbook Original Sacred Harp.
The hymn was often sung by members in his pioneer company. When someone started to sing “All Is Well,” everyone in the camp joined in. The song became so popular it was sung by other companies of pioneers who made the long trek across the plains.
When you read or sing the words of this favorite hymn, can you see why it was such a great help to the weary and often discouraged pioneers? It is a song of faith and courage, and William Clayton will always be remembered for this great hymn.

Let me tell you of one young woman who has demonstrated remarkable strength in the face of great tragedy. On April 17, 1999, a big van broadsided a car and severely injured 16-year-old Emily Jensen. Her skull was fractured, and she was in a coma for three months, and six months in the hospital. She has had to learn everything again as if from birth. It would have been easy to give up, but giving up is not in Emily’s vocabulary. She works so hard at recovery that she runs the equivalent of a 26-mile marathon every day. Her faith, courage, and perseverance have strengthened and motivated many other hospital patients.
Emily is still working very hard to regain her speech. Even so, she fearlessly asks nurses, technicians, and therapists, “Are you a Mormon?” If they reply no, she tells them in her muddled sentences, “You should be. Read the Book of Mormon.” Emily dictated to her mother what she wanted written in five copies of the Book of Mormon that she gave to a doctor, three therapists, and a technician before she left the hospital.
Emily dearly loved one technician who had become totally inactive in the Church. They prayed together in Emily’s hospital room. In language that was difficult to understand, but with a spirit that was strong and clear, Emily told her that she needed to go back to church. That technician later wrote Emily: “I want to thank you so much for the Book of Mormon you gave me. I cried when I read what you wrote. I know someday I will love this book as much as you do.”
Emily’s life was recently brightened at Skyline High School in Salt Lake City. The student body picked her as this year’s prom queen in recognition of her extraordinary courage. Her classmates stood and cheered as she struggled to the stage of the packed auditorium, supported on the arm of the student body president. Though she continues to go each day for therapy, Emily’s life is still defined by her spiritual identity, her goodness, her kindness to others, and her strong testimony.

Tony landed the balloon near a busy expressway one afternoon and got out so that a friend who was learning to fly could solo. The pilot was no sooner aloft than he decided it was time to land. Being inexperienced, he pulled the rip panel too soon and came streaming down into the corner of someone’s backyard, draping the canopy over telephone wires. The “someone” turned out to be the local stake president whose neighbors all came over to take pictures and admire the pilot and the just-arrived young men of the chase crew. The president’s wife made lemonade for the pilot, crew, neighbors, Tony—who had enlisted the help of a stranger on the expressway—and the power company linemen who had turned up in a basket truck to get the envelope off the wires. One of the guests came up to the balloonists and said, “Thanks. This is the first time the neighborhood has been together in weeks.”

On my first Sunday in a new ward, I was overwhelmed with gratitude when I left Relief Society feeling actual relief!
For a few years before, I had struggled to feel like I was connecting with other sisters at church. I often felt out of place and lonely in Relief Society, but I was at a loss over how to improve my situation.
Camille N. Johnson, Relief Society General President, describes relief as “the removal or lightening of something painful, troubling, or burdensome, or the strength to endure it.” In this new Relief Society, my loneliness and stress lessened, and I felt resolve to carry on through my personal trials. I felt rest.
Over time, I observed that it was a few Christlike individuals in this ward who significantly impacted the atmosphere of Relief Society and made it a loving and accepting environment. They had three things in common they each did to help others feel welcome and comfortable in our meetings, and their examples inspired me to do the same. I eventually came to see that I had more influence over my and others’ experiences at church than I had previously thought.
Consistently attending ward activities, getting to know others, and sharing your thoughts in lessons will not only help you feel a sense of belonging but will also have an impact on those around you. The individuals I mentioned earlier were consistent. I was willing to attend Relief Society and ward activities because I could count on them to be there and knew they would continue to embrace me. Through your consistency, you may become a lifeline for someone without even knowing it—like these individuals were for me.
Those who have consistently reached out to me at church have taught me what it looks like to be an answer to prayer and a Christlike ministering sister. Their examples have inspired me to do my part in making Relief Society a place of true relief.

I close with this last true story as it was given by the Reverend Bob Richards. It always touches my heart, and it may touch yours also.

Lou Little tells it about his greatest football team. They were on their way to the conference championship. One last game. He had a boy on his squad who couldn’t quite make the team for four straight years. Just before the game—three days before—Lou was given a telegram to give to this boy that his only living relative had just died. The boy looked at the telegram and said, “Coach, I’ll be back for Saturday’s game.” The morning of the game he came up to his coach and said, “Lou, I want you to put me in this game—I know I haven’t made the first team yet, but let me in for this kickoff. I’ll prove to you that I’m worthy of it.” Well, Lou could see he was emotionally disturbed and he made all kinds of excuses, but finally he thought, “Well, he can’t do much harm on the kickoff; I’ll put the boy in.”

The roar of the crowd was heard at the kickoff. The opposing quarterback took the ball on the goal line, moved up, and on the seven-yard line met with a tremendous tackle—the boy had dropped him in his tracks. On the next play Lou left him in—he made the next tackle—he was in on the next tackle—you couldn’t move him out of there. He made practically every tackle that day—terrific downfield blocking. He was the reason why Columbia won the championship. Afterwards, all the guys were pounding him on the back. When they were all done, Lou Little went up to him and said, “Son, I don’t understand it. Today you were an all-American. I’ve never seen you play like this in four straight years. What happened?” And the boy looked up at his coach and he said, “Coach, you knew my dad died, didn’t you?” And he said, “Yes, I handed you the telegram.” He said, “You knew he was blind, didn’t you?” He said, “Yes, I have seen you walk him around the campus many times.” He said, “Coach, today is the first football game my dad ever saw me play.” It makes a difference, friends, when those unseen eyes are watching. (“Life’s Higher Goals,” by the Reverend Bob Richards.)

This story happened in the USA.
Carlos frowned at himself in the bathroom mirror. His face and arms were bright pink. His sunburn was worse than he thought. And he had lots of itchy bug bites on his arms and legs. Hiking with his Primary class was fun, but now his skin hurt all over!
Carlos looked at his backpack on the floor. The sunscreen and bug spray Mom had packed were still inside. He should have used them like she told him to. But he thought he didn’t need them.
Carlos opened the cabinet and found the little bottle his mom always used for sunburns. He rubbed the gel on his face. It felt cool on his hot skin.
Next Carlos put the gel on his arms. But he couldn’t find the bug-bite cream. Soon he gave up. He needed help. He would have to talk to Mom.
He found her in the kitchen. When she saw his sunburned face, she looked worried. Carlos thought she would get mad at him for not wearing sunscreen. But she didn’t.
“Are you OK?” she asked. “That must really hurt.”
“Yeah.” His head hung down. “Will you help me? Please?”
“Of course.” Mom led Carlos to the bathroom. She looked in the cabinet and pulled out a little tube.
“This should help the bites to stop itching,” she said. She rubbed a tiny bit of cream on each bite.
“There,” she said, closing the tube. “I hope that helps you feel better.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Carlos looked down at the floor. “I’m sorry I didn’t use the stuff you packed for me. I should have listened to you. I thought I knew best, but I didn’t.”
She pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “You’re welcome. Sometimes I think I know best too. Then Heavenly Father shows me that I didn’t know best at all.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Even grown-ups can make mistakes.”
Carlos laughed. Then he frowned. “If I had obeyed you, I wouldn’t hurt so much right now.”
“I think that’s how a lot of Heavenly Father’s children feel when they disobey Him,” Mom said. “They wish they’d listened to Him. And He hurts for His children when they’re in pain, just like I hurt for you now.”
“But He can help them feel better,” said Carlos. “Just like you helped me. Right?”
Mom smiled. “Right! When we repent, Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ can help us. And then we can make better choices in the future.”
Carlos smiled too. His sunburn and bug bites still hurt, but he knew he would heal. And next time, he could make a better choice!

Joseph’s mother stayed in the Nauvoo area rather than going west, for her remaining family was there, including three daughters. “Here in this city lay my dead,” she explained in an impromptu 1845 talk, “my husband and my children.”12 But her interest remained lively in the work of the western Saints. Enoch Tripp visited her in 1855, the year before her death. They had been close friends when he taught school in Nauvoo. Finding her very feeble. Enoch stepped to her bedside and identified himself: “She arose in her bed and, placing her arms around my neck, kissed me, exclaiming, ‘I can now die in peace, since I have beheld your face from the vallies of the mountains.’” After inquiring after her Utah friends, she remarked that she was on the verge of meeting “with her beloved ones beyond the veil.” As he left, Enoch received a “farewell blessing from this great mother in Israel.”13

I was sitting on Mom and Dad’s bed, missing them an awful lot, when the phone rang.
“Hey, Levi. Guess what?” Dad said. “Your sister Nora was born this afternoon!”
I could tell Dad was happy, but his voice also sounded weird—like he was worried.
“How big is she?” I asked, wondering if I really wanted to know the answer.
Dad was silent for a moment. “A little more than two pounds,” he said. Now he definitely sounded worried. Nora was supposed to be born during Christmastime, but it was still September. “She’s tiny, all right,” Dad continued. “Remember to pray for her, Levi. And pray for us too so we can trust that Heavenly Father knows what’s best for our family.”
After I hung up the phone, I went into the kitchen and picked up a bag of beans that Mom was planning on making into soup. The package said it weighed about as much as Nora did right now. I held it in my hands, trying to imagine what a baby that size would look like.
“Her spirit was just with Heavenly Father,” I thought, remembering what I had learned about the pre-earth life and the plan of salvation. I knew that even if Nora died, we would get to see her again because we were all sealed together as a family. But I also hoped she would stay with us here on earth.
Over the next few months, Mom and Dad were at the hospital a lot. Grandma and Grandpa came to our house to help take care of me and my younger siblings. The ward fasted and prayed for our family, and nice ladies from the Relief Society brought dinners for us sometimes. Everyone wanted to know how Nora was doing.
One evening, Mom and Dad called all of us into the living room. They told us that Dad was going with the bishop to give Nora a blessing. After Dad left in his suit and tie, Mom gathered all of us around the couch to say a prayer.
“Please bless Dad as he gives Nora a priesthood blessing,” Mom prayed. Her voice grew soft. “And please, if it is Thy will, allow her to come home and be healthy.”
As we prayed, I could feel the Holy Ghost fill the room with peace and love. It was like Heavenly Father was telling me that, no matter what happened with Nora, it was all part of His plan.
Later that night, Dad came home and told us that something wonderful had happened at the hospital. Usually Nora’s room was loud and noisy. There were lots of machines and monitors with alarms and flashing lights, and nurses and doctors were always hurrying around to help the tiny babies there. But when Dad and the bishop arrived, things were different. All of the machines were quiet. The nurses were sitting by the babies, watching over them. Dad and the bishop were able to give Nora a blessing without any interruptions.
I don’t know whether Nora will grow up here on earth or return to live with Heavenly Father soon. But I do know that Heavenly Father hears and answers our prayers, and I feel peace when I remember that He has a plan for every member of my family.

For three days we had been driving our newly restored, 40-year-old Auburn Phaeton convertible through the Canadian and New England countryside. Our dream after five years of hard work was a reality. A handsome, shiny, black and chrome machine created by the genius of classic automobile carriage designer, Gordon Buhrig, the model 851 Auburn is indeed a beautiful road car. It is akin in many ways to Buhrig’s more recent design for the Lincoln Continental. On the highway the Auburn’s performance is difficult to match even today. The great auto racing and engineering brothers August and Fred Duesenburg, of Indianapolis fame, combined the nearly all-aluminum, 8-cylinder Lycoming engine, turbocharged carburetion, and negative pressure exhaust with a dual-speed Columbia rear drive—a fantastic combination of automobile engineering, performance, and economy that was almost unbelievable in 1935. It was way ahead of its time, and it was known as the King of the Road. After driving and enjoying it for three days, we all began reminiscing about the first time we had seen it.
It had been abandoned beside a barn, and weeds were growing around and inside it. It may not have interested some families; but we were so excited at the prospect of a true, classic automobile to restore that we were almost afraid to ask the owners about it. We drove by the barn three times, looking and talking excitedly. Finally we stopped and, with a surge of courage, made the purchase. We slept little that night and even less during many nights to come as the family planned, unbolted, repaired, restored, rebolted, and refinished the Auburn as a family project.
Around the supper table, usually three nights each week, we talked of the previous night’s progress and planned the work that needed to be done. Rust, grease, and road dirt by the pound, accumulated over nearly half a century, were scraped, wire brushed, and washed away. Many bolts, under stress for years, had to be sawed off to allow complete disassembly of vital running parts. All the bearings required either repacking or replacement. New upholstery with the same fine leather and the original style had to be made to restore the convertible’s interior. Replating all the bright work with copper, nickel, and chromium added to the list of goals to be reached.
We took special trips so the family could learn how to take care of the metallurgical testing of the rods, pistons, crank, and camshaft. We personally observed the lead-pouring of the engine bearings. With fascination we all watched “striking-a-match” to a newly rewound electric starter. Fusing the electrical insulation by fire was actually necessary in such old-type winding.
The second springtime after we had begun the project was especially memorable for us. The mechanical work was nearly completed. The family just had to hear, see, and feel the Auburn in action. After carefully oiling each cylinder and bearing, we rolled the car out into the beautiful, warm, Saturday-morning sun. Because of the tightness of the newly poured lead bearings, rods, and piston rings, the starter couldn’t turn the engine over; so we had to tow the car a few blocks to get it started. It was like Christmas to a five-year-old. The family celebrated the halfway goal we had set for ourselves and each took a turn driving the Auburn around the yard. None of us (and probably none of the neighbors) will ever forget that thrilling morning when the King again roared to life.
The project wasn’t strictly limited to our family, either. Neighbors and friends were caught up in the spirit of the King of the Road. Ted, with his welding torch, a perfect diversion from his chemistry lecturing at the university, put smooth metalwork in place of rusted-out panels. Rebuilding the engine and drive train with new bearings and piston rings would not have been possible without Tony’s skilled hands. Compliments received for the beautifully restored body lines gleaming with a dozen hand-rubbed coats of black lacquer were the result of Richard’s creative ability. It was during hundreds of hours of working together that Richard fell in love with our Auburn, and more important, he and his family learned more of the gospel and were baptized into the Church.
The thrill of driving that masterpiece of design and engineering and the countless hours of labor to restore it have indeed strengthened the life of each individual member of our family. Seeing the goal, planning and working together to achieve it, and finally feeling the achievement of driving that beautiful King has made our family goals, temporal and eternal, very real and important to us.
At the time of restoration, the Auburn was important to every member of our family. Today, in our philosophy of life, it has become merely the symbol of our real achievement. We have found that most of our life problems and challenges can be planned and worked out together much the way we restored the Auburn.

For the first 18 years of my life, I followed my parents and grandparents to church every Sunday. Witnessing their joy instilled in my heart the desire for own children to find joy in attending church and communicating with Heavenly Father. Growing up in the Free Church of Tonga, I saw how committed the ministers were in teaching us to always put God first in our lives. This brought great blessings to me. We migrated to Auckland, New Zealand, seeking a better life, unaware that God was preparing us for a greater purpose.

In 2019, one of the missionaries who found and invited us to follow our Saviour, Jesus Christ, told my wife, Lupe, and me a story. He said that in 1990, he and his companion knelt in prayer, seeking to know the will of the Lord. They were led to a particular street where they knocked on every door, but no one wanted to hear their message.

As they were about to leave, he felt impressed to go back and try again. Obedient, they began knocking on the same doors they had knocked on before, and when they got to the sixth house, I was sitting outside. So began my knowledge of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

These two beautiful missionaries taught me about Heavenly Father’s plan of happiness, about The First Vision, and the Book of Mormon. They taught how Joseph Smith, seeking to know what church he should join, read the book of James and prayed to God with faith his prayer would be answered.

The missionaries bore testimony that in answer to his prayer, God the Father and His beloved Son Jesus Christ appeared to Joseph Smith, that he was called to be a prophet, and that the gospel of Jesus Christ was restored through him.

This was all new to me, but they promised that I could know for myself if this did happen. They gave me a Book of Mormon, with an invitation to read, ponder, and apply Moroni’s invitation to ask God if the book is true.

When they returned two days later, I explained that after reading the introduction, the testimony of the witnesses, and the account of Christ visiting the people in 3 Nephi, I pled with God to know if it was true. I felt warmth all over me but didn’t understand what that was. The elders then taught me that the Holy Ghost was bearing witness to my spirit, which brought excitement to my heart. My mother and three younger brothers joined our next lesson, and we all got baptised into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.

With tears of joy, this former missionary, Tomasi Takau, shared his experience from over 30 years ago, blessed now to witness the fruit of his labour. Because of the prayers, faith, and courage of Elder Tomasi Takau and his companion, Elder Johnson, I served my own mission in Wellington, New Zealand, from 1991 to 1993, then met and married my wife, Lupe, in the Hamilton New Zealand Temple, and we now have four sons and a daughter, with two grandchildren and a third due later this year.

What a joy it was for Lupe and me to cross paths with Tomasi Takau’s son, who is now serving a mission in the Kingdom of Tonga. Looking into the younger Elder Takau’s eyes, I thank his father for bringing the joy of the gospel into my life and praying sincerely with his companion to know God’s will all those years ago, and I also thank this young man for answering the invitation from President Russell M. Nelson for every young man to serve a mission. “The worth of souls is great in the sight of God” (Doctrine and Covenants 18:10).

My life changed because two missionaries had the courage to submit to the will of the Lord and to knock a second time. I know Heavenly Father hears and answers the prayers of His children. I’m grateful for my membership in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and I know we are led by a living prophet of God. Jesus Christ is the Saviour and Redeemer of the world. May we bind ourselves to Him who has all the power to heal, forgive, and bless our lives.

Almost as soon as the caravan stopped at the end of the forest road, the doors popped open and Scouts, dads, and a lot of backpacking equipment and fluorescent-orange life jackets came tumbling out of the cars and trucks. In no time at all the Scouts were lined up, drawing their allotment of food to carry, and stuffing it into their packs. Everyone seemed to know his duty and how to perform it. The few dads who were along to help were impressed with the organization. In fact, the only person not surprised by all this super efficiency performed by 12- and 13-year-old boys was their Scoutmaster, Nob Wimmer.
For Brother Wimmer this trip with the American Fork Utah 14th Ward Scouts was only one of hundreds of Scouting outings he has participated in during his 25 years of Scouting experience.
When asked how he got 12- and 13-year-old boys to perform much beyond their years, he commented on his philosophy:
“The age of the boys isn’t that critical. With cooperation you’d be surprised what even young boys can accomplish. There are three elements that do seem to make for a great trip. First, you need to plan well in advance. Second, a trip needs to require effort from everyone. Preferably the work starts a long time before the trip. If it does, the people involved get more excited about the actual event, they learn more, and they improve their teamwork. Then when we have taken care of all the variables that we can control, the third element of a great trip often comes into play. This is the element of surprise—the unexpected or the unusual happening that really makes the event stay alive in people’s minds long after the trip is over.”
To the 35 Scouts and adults who went, the trip was a success. They had been planning for months; each of them knew his duties and how to carry them out. They had also been working very hard to get ready. They learned how to handle canoes. They conditioned themselves to their backpacks, and many of the Scouts invested extra hours in learning to tie fishing flies. They worked one evening a week with Brother Wimmer learning how to do it, and then they tied quantities of flies in anticipation of the trip. In addition, every meal of the five-day camp was carefully planned in advance. Then, a few days before the trip, the food was bought and repacked so it would be easier to carry. They used off-the-shelf grocery items rather than the more expensive dehydrated backpacking foods. They even made their own oven-dried jerky to save on weight and expense.
Once the gear was out of the vehicles and strapped on backs, everyone started up the trail together. The few miles to the lake seemed more like a dozen since each person not only had to carry his own personal gear but also had to take a turn helping to carry one of the canoes.
At the lake, supplies and Scouts were ferried across the water to a lovely campsite. Scouts built simple, plastic-covered shelters under the pines, and had camp completely set up and organized in time to take in an evening’s fishing.
It was easy to get to sleep that first night. David Miller, however, woke up in the middle of the night with a creepy feeling that he wasn’t alone in his bag.
“I thought I felt something in my bag. I lay still for a while, and pretty soon whatever it was began running down my back. I grabbed it between the folds of my sleeping bag, got out of the bag, and woke my father. He helped me brush it out. It was a little squirrel, and it seemed as glad to be out of the bag as I was.”
The next morning Bishop Bean found fresh moose tracks around his sleeping bag, and there were deer tracks all through camp. After that everyone kept watch for the abundant wildlife in the area. Every morning and evening they were able to watch moose saunter down to the lake for a drink and a swim.
“The wildlife provided the unusual and the unexpected on this trip,” said Brother Wimmer. “Each day most of the boys got to see deer and moose in their natural setting. The animals didn’t even seem frightened of us. We didn’t bother them, and they seemed content to let us share their lake for a few days.”
Everyone caught some fish, and even one boy who had been cool on the trip in the first place had a terrific time. He told the leaders when they were planning the trip, “I don’t want to go up in the woods somewhere and play cowboys and Indians.”
““He sure got interested when the fish started biting,” said Bishop Bean. Like the rest of the boys, he had set goals he wanted to accomplish on this trip. Each boy became more proficient at some skill, and they were all better trained to operate as a group than ever before.”
During lunch one day one of the adults was swatting at some of the huge horseflies that seemed to be everywhere. “These horseflies are terrible,” he said.
Brother Wimmer piped up, “Don’t say that! Nothing up here is terrible!”
“Okay, I’ll just say the horseflies are mildly aggravating.”
“Fine,” said Brother Wimmer with a smile, and then let silence complete the sermon. It was a sermon that was relived time and again as the boys later shared the memories of this experience at troop meetings and a special ward banquet in their honor.

After high school, David studied business at Utah State University. He graduated, found a job at a Salt Lake City department store, and was put in charge of hiring new employees. That’s when he met his sweetheart, Ruby Olson.

After spring term at the University of Utah, Ruby was hired to work at the store where David worked. He soon asked her to lunch. They dated for a year and were married in the Salt Lake Temple on 4 September 1930. Elder Haight said, “Ruby and I were married the right way, sealed in the temple with its divine covenants and commitments that promote trustworthiness, faithfulness, devotion, and dedication.”4 He and Ruby enjoyed 74 years of marriage. They have 3 children, 18 grandchildren, and 78 great-grandchildren.