Gospel Story Finder

One preparation day, my missionary companion and I were visiting a cathedral in Parma, Italy. While marveling at the beautiful paintings there, I noticed a monk reading nearby. I received a prompting to talk to him about the Book of Mormon, but I became afraid.
How would a Catholic monk react to a missionary proselyting inside a cathedral? The prompting came again, but again I dismissed it.
A few weeks later, the other two elders in our apartment told us they had visited with a monk named Giuseppe while street contacting. After they had taught him a lesson, he accepted a copy of the Book of Mormon.
When the missionaries met with Giuseppe a week later, he had already read much of the book. He was very excited about it.
Before the missionaries met with Giuseppe again, my companion was transferred, so I joined their companionship. When we went to teach Giuseppe in the cathedral, I was not surprised to see that he was the same monk I was prompted to talk to earlier.
Giuseppe told us he was reading the book of Alma, whom he compared to the Apostle Paul. We decided to teach him the second lesson, which ended with an invitation to be baptized. At the end of our lesson, just before we could invite Giuseppe to follow the example of Jesus Christ by being baptized, the cathedral bells began ringing, startling us.
Giuseppe had lost track of time and said he needed to join the other monks for midday prayers. Then he apologized, saying he would be unavailable in the future because he was going to a monastic retreat. His ordination as a priest would follow.
We were surprised at how that significant moment had just evaporated. Had I responded to my earlier prompting, we would have had more time to teach Giuseppe and he would have had time to finish reading the Book of Mormon. As far as I know, missionaries never taught him again.
After that experience, the sound of clock-tower bells reminded me how valuable and short our time is. For the rest of my mission, every time I heard a bell tower ring, I was motivated to speak to anyone I could about the gospel. Today, I still strive to follow promptings from the Spirit.

While living in Singapore, I came home late one afternoon to find our children strangely alert to my arrival. They greeted me, smiled, and seemed unusually attentive. Clearly, something was up. “What is going on?” I finally asked. “Nothing,” they said with smirks impossible to hide.
I coaxed until someone finally revealed that they had made blue slime … which somehow ended up plastered to a very high ceiling. “But don’t worry Mom, we cleaned it all up! Look!” I looked up, and they had done an impeccable job; only a slightly damp spot remained. They were so proud and even showed me a time-lapse video of their "successful" endeavor. I saw a mix of tennis racquets, broomsticks, and dust pans. Their ingenuity was impressive.
With their camera angle, I still couldn’t figure out how they had reached such heights. But they had photo evidence. They enthusiastically described how they had carefully constructed a mountain of kitchen chairs to support a step stool. My heart skipped a beat. A topple from that height onto a hard tile floor could have landed someone in the hospital with broken bones or worse. While I was grateful for their cleanup, I was more grateful we weren’t in the emergency room!
That moment caused me to reflect on my parenting. They were clearly more scared of asking me for help than they were of risking injury!

Recollecting times of fervent prayer during her childhood, Sister Smith continued: “The day I was to be baptized, my mother was delayed trying to find a place to park the car, so she sent me into the Salt Lake Tabernacle baptistry by myself. The sisters there helped me get ready, and I went into the baptistry and sat down. My mother wasn’t there yet. I was so nervous I could hardly sit still. The only thing I could think to do was to pray that Heavenly Father would make sure my mother would soon come to be with me. While I was praying, in she came, and I knew that my prayer had been answered.

Mary Elizabeth sat in the July shade of the ferryboat landing’s rough wooden overhang, her head resting peacefully against Isadora, the ox her father used to draw his ferry back and forth across the Fox River. The huge animal was harnessed to one end of a horizontal pole; the pole’s other end was fitted into a revolving stone wheel about which the ferry cable was wound. It was Mary Elizabeth’s responsibility to lead the old ox around its well-trodden path when the ferry was in use.
Mary Elizabeth let her fingers move up the length of Isadora’s great horns. They felt strong and smooth and warm like the now-rubbed-worn railing her father had built long ago onto the sides of the landing to keep her from falling off. As long as she could remember, she had liked to sit on the edge of the jetty and dangle her feet in the water that ran cool and deep through the hot, towering redrock gorges. She’d tilt her head and listen for the lonely screech of a circling hawk, for the wind whining through the sandstone pinnacles above the cottonwoods across the water, and for the faint, scolding squeals of a prairie dog in one of the invisible washes beyond the skyline.
This afternoon Mary Elizabeth’s attention was fixed on the red cliffs across the easy roll of water. She tried to imagine what red was really like. It must be warm, she thought, because Mother often says that the evening sun looks as red as the earth here in southern Utah where we live.
Mary Elizabeth wondered a lot about things—more than most, perhaps, because she had been born blind. Though she lived in a perpetual nighttime, in her nine years she had come to know better than many people the earth beneath her feet and the secrets of life that flourished upon it in reverent profusion. She had developed her other senses to detect the finer sounds and smells, and her hands were always reaching out … touching … feeling life as she found it.
She knew well the melodies of God made in the windy wood just down from Red Owl Ridge and the hymns of the leaves that whispered to her ears. She detected the delicate scent of a wildflower on a windless day and the wee rustling in the greasewood when a jackrabbit scampered by.
It was the little things that she enjoyed most: the wet tickle of Isadora’s nose, the friendly sound of lapping water against the mossy landing timbers, the softness of the newborn fawn that Father had found, and the gentle music of the white-throated swift.
Most of all, Mary Elizabeth enjoyed being with Father. His strong arms could split wood with one stroke of his big broadax, or they could gently sweep her up onto his big, powerful shoulders. He would carry her to where the dirt was soft between her toes, and as they sat amid the fluttering sounds of aspens, his soft, easy voice would spin a tale. Or he would talk about something that Bishop Andrews had said on Sunday or about how good it was to see Brother Nielson’s boy baptized in the Fox River or about how Mother’s smile could light up the whole world.
Mary Elizabeth had felt that wondrous smile with her fingertips more than once. It was as soft as lace and every bit as smooth and warm and constant as the earth beneath her feet.
The young girl had accepted her blindness as a part of life, a part of God’s plan for her. Her mother had said that a body should not brood over something that couldn’t be changed, and Mary Elizabeth believed her.
Now as a wagon neared, the blind girl sensed a kind of penetrating sorrow. It seeped through her contentment and challenged her peace of mind.
Mary Elizabeth heard her father welcome the wagon’s occupants, Mr. and Mrs. Styles. Then he said hello to their son, Joshua. Once, when Mary Elizabeth had asked her mother why the Styleses used the ferry so often, she had been told that they took their boy to a doctor for treatment at a settlement upriver.
“What’s wrong with him?”
Mother had been quiet for a moment, then explained that Joshua had a disease called leukemia and that he was dying.
Suddenly Mary Elizabeth began to comprehend the strange silences that always seemed to accompany the Styleses’ visits and their mumbled, listless hellos when Father greeted them by the landing.
Because it was late in the day, Father invited Mr. and Mrs. Styles and Joshua to lodge with them that night. They must have nodded agreement, because Mary Elizabeth heard Joshua’s father instruct him to go into the house and lie down. Mary Elizabeth listened to the boy’s feet plod heavily across the long yard toward the house.
Mary Elizabeth tugged on her mother’s arm. “Can’t he stay outdoors a little while, Mother?” she asked quietly. “I could show him Isadora and—” She stopped upon hearing the warning sound of her mother’s shoe poking at the hard ground.
“Joshua’s parents … well, they don’t allow him to do much of anything, from what I hear, honey, … except to rest. He only has a couple of years left, and time is precious.”
Mary Elizabeth lay awake that night, feeling for the first time a different kind of pain. She spoke her thoughts to her hug-frayed rag doll. “Time is precious, Charity! A person shouldn’t waste it moping. There’s too much to be happy about.” She rolled over and listened to a chorus of piping frogs among the reeds. That’s funny, she thought. Somehow they don’t sound as happy as they usually do.
Even the owl’s wonderfully bewitching hoots didn’t seem very enchanting that night. There was something out of harmony with the proper order of things, at least in Mary Elizabeth’s way of thinking, and she wondered how she could set things right.
The next morning when Mr. Styles opened the door to the spare room given to Joshua the night before, the boy was gone. Mary Elizabeth was also absent from her room.
“Where do you suppose they’ve gone?” Mary Elizabeth’s father questioned. He stepped to the window. Through the glare of the morning sun on the soft river mist, he could see the children. Mary Elizabeth was walking Isadora, and Joshua was riding atop the ox’s great, swaying back.
Mr. and Mrs. Styles joined Mary Elizabeth’s father at the window and were taken aback. “Joshua’s riding an ox!” Mrs. Styles gasped.
“Isadora’s as gentle as a baby, folks,” Mary Elizabeth’s father reassured them.
Mr. Styles blanched. “But our boy is dying!”
Father put a kind hand on the man’s shoulder and spoke with gentle understanding. “We all are, Mr. Styles. It’s just a matter of when. In the meantime, don’t you think a little sun might help thin out the shadows?”
Joshua’s mother sighed. “You don’t understand,” she said, “the more Joshua tromps around, the weaker he gets, and the weaker he gets—”
“What my wife means,” Mr. Styles interjected, “is that we don’t want to lose our boy a day sooner than we have to.” He crossed the room and started to open the door.
Mary Elizabeth’s father counseled compassionately, “Did you ever stop to consider the possibility that you’re already losing him, Mr. Styles?”
“What do you mean?” Mr. Styles asked defensively.
“I’m just suggesting that maybe you could go to him more, not after him.”
Mr. Styles just stared, and Mary Elizabeth’s father smiled and continued. “Joshua needs you and Mrs. Styles. But I just can’t help but think that the way you two go around so stretchy-faced all the time has your boy feeling like he’s already dead and buried.”
Mr. and Mrs. Styles regarded each other silently, then went outside.
Joshua slid off the ox into the tall grass, laughing with simple glee.
“Take off your shoes, Joshua,” Mary Elizabeth said, encouraged at the sound of his joy. “The grass feels good between your toes, especially when it’s early wet.”
Joshua sat down, pulled off his boots, and worked his feet into the green dampness that tickled his toes.
Mr. and Mrs. Styles, unnoticed by Joshua and Mary Elizabeth, stopped a short way from the children, surprised at their son’s exhilaration. “He’s laughing!” Mrs. Styles exclaimed in a stunned whisper. “And so is your daughter,” she added to Mary Elizabeth’s parents, who had joined them. “I mean,” she went on, “you’d never know that she was blind by the way that she’s enjoying herself!”
Mary Elizabeth’s mother smiled. “She has a way about her, all right—a way of living, I guess you could say, a bright way of looking at things.”
Mr. Styles shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes. “I can’t remember the last time that I saw Joshua so happy.”
Mrs. Styles took her husband’s arm and blinked back her own tears. “When was the last time that we let him be happy—or ourselves?
“It has come to me,” Mrs. Styles added a moment later, “that you’re right,” she said to Father, “that maybe it isn’t always how much time we have that matters most, but rather what we do with that time.”
Mary Elizabeth listened to Joshua’s uninhibited laughter. Things were in harmony again. The owl in the lightning-split poplar tree would sound wonderfully enchanting again. And life would be, and was, sweet and fine. Each moment of it.

Just over a week after the prisoners were arrested, Joseph F. Smith, son of Hyrum and Mary Fielding Smith was born. When he was about three months old, his mother struggled to escape Missouri because of the extermination order of Governor Boggs. Besides her three-month old baby, she took with her five other children who had been born to Hyrum and his wife, Jerusha, who had died. She eventually reached Nauvoo, Illinois.

Mary's trials can hardly be imagined without having experienced her sacrifices. Hyrum, who of course was in prison, said: “Our enemies carried off nearly everything of value, until my family were left destitute.”[2] Mary might well have said, as did Abigail Adams during the establishment of this nation: “Posterity who are to reap the blessings will scarcely be able to conceive the hardships and sufferings of their ancestors.”[3]

About five months later the brethren imprisoned in the Liberty Jail escaped and made their way to Nauvoo, their families, and the body of the Church. For the next five years, Joseph F. Smith and his parents enjoyed a period of relative peace. During this time, Mary Fielding Smith wrote the following to her brother who was living in England.

"The situation is very pleasant and you would be much pleased to see it. How long we will be permitted to enjoy it I know not; but the Lord knows what is best for us. I feel but little concerned about where I am, if I can but keep my mind staid upon God; for you know, in this, there is perfect peace."[4]

Joseph F. Smith was younger than six years old when word came that his father, Hyrum, and his uncle, the Prophet Joseph, had been martyred in Carthage Jail. Age nine saw him crossing the plains filling the assignment of an adult teamster driving an ox team for his widowed mother. Two months short of his fourteenth birthday, his beloved mother, Mary Fielding Smith, passed away. When he was fifteen years old, President Brigham Young called him to serve a mission to the Hawaiian Islands. That mission lasted four years, and his service left an indelible impression on the people there. The Hawaiian Saints still remember him and hold his name in reverence and honor.

In time he was called to be a General Authority where he served for fifty-two years. Seventeen of those years he presided over the Church.

I saw his wagon coming across the flats, wheels churning up the dust, wagon top flapping in the wind. I slid off Red’s back and broke into a run for the cabin.
“Look, Ma!” I hollered. “The Bible man is coming!”
Ma came to the door. Shading her eyes against the sun with a flour-covered hand, she watched the dust cloud slowly moving our way. “If he stops here, help unhitch and feed his horses,” she said. “I’ll get the biscuits into the oven.”
I tied Red to the corral poles and sat on the fence to wait. I knew he’d stop. Anybody who knew about Ma’s biscuits wouldn’t pass on by. And the Bible peddler knew about them, sure enough. He’d stuffed down plenty of them every time he’d stopped by our cabin.
The peddler would likely be hauling the same wooden box filled with hymnbooks and Bibles. And he’d talk about how he was saving “lost sheep” by selling his books to folks.
He usually teased me about my red hair matching perfectly with my horse, Red. I didn’t much look forward to his teasing.
When the peddler drove into the yard, I hopped off the fence to help him unhitch.
“See you still got that red colt,” he said, first thing.
I nodded. “I ride him now.”
“Want to sell him?” he asked, all the while rubbing his thick mustache.
My head jerked up. “I won’t sell him for any price! He’s the best thing I ever had!”
He chuckled and slapped the flank of the nearest unhitched horse. I led his team to the corral and tossed them some loose hay. I gave Red some too. Then I sprinted for the cabin. Even though I dreaded the peddler’s teasing, I didn’t want to miss out on anything.
He was eating Ma’s biscuits like he’d never get another chance. Ma had set out fresh buttermilk for him too. I slid onto a stool, hoping she’d set some out for me. But she paid me no mind at all, and I saw why. She was holding one of his books and sliding her fingers over its pages edged with gold. “How much?” she asked.
I missed what he told her, his mouth being so full of biscuit. But Ma heard. She just sort of smiled, put the book down ever so gently on the table, and shook her head.
The Bible man glanced at me. “I’d take that red colt out yonder for it,” he told Ma. “This here is the finest Bible made. I’d throw in the latest hymnbook to boot.” He might have winked at Ma, but I didn’t see it.
I came off the stool, my eyes wide. “You can’t do that, Ma! Red’s my own!” I gave the peddler a dirty look. “Red’s worth more’n any old book; you know he is.”
The peddler gulped down the last of the buttermilk and rose from the table. “I’ll come by next year,” he said. He looked at me. “Maybe by then Ben can figure out a way for you to have that Bible, him being the man here now.”
I looked at Ma. What looked to be a tear slid down her cheek. I’d not seen Ma shed tears since Pa died, and it choked me. I knew she really wanted that Bible, and I wished that I could figure out a way. But I sure couldn’t part with Red to get it for her.
I was still choked some when I went to lead the peddler’s team outside and hitched them up again to the wagon. I held the team while the Bible man put an armload of books back into the wooden box at the end of the wagon bed and climbed up onto the wagon seat. I wasn’t sorry to see him go.
I watched him going toward the knoll that marked one edge of our homestead, his wagon wheels making dust again. He hadn’t teased me at all about my red hair, and I puzzled over it.
Right in the middle of my puzzling, Ma came running out of the cabin, hollering, “He forgot the Bible!” Her face was full of worry. “He’ll think I kept it on purpose!”
My mouth dropped open. Nobody could think that about Ma. “I’ll catch up to him,” I promised her.
I ran to untie Red, and sidled him over to the fence so that I could climb onto his back. Then I took off after the Bible man. Halfway to the knoll I slowed, thinking. What if I don’t catch up? Will he remember leaving the Bible behind? Ma would have plenty of pleasure from that book by the time he comes again.
I let Red plod slowly along in the dusty road, and the peddler’s wagon went out of sight behind the knoll. I reined Red in and sat awhile. Then I started feeling uncomfortable.
I had never done anything deceitful like I was doing now. It bothered me some that I had told Ma that I’d catch up to the peddler, and I wasn’t even trying. I kicked Red and sent him toward the knoll at a good lope.
At the top of the knoll I stopped and stared. The wagon was bouncing and rattling off through the sagebrush, the team looked to be on a dead run, and the peddler was pulling hard on the reins.
Runaway!
The clatter of the bouncing wagon was something fierce. It swerved through a boulder patch, hit a big rock, and bounced high in the air. The wooden box came flying out, sending books sailing. I closed my eyes for an instant and prayed that the Bible man wouldn’t go sailing off too. When I looked again, I saw that the wagon had slowed some and the peddler had the team circling.
I rode Red down through the brush to help look for the scattered books. Nobody will miss a gold-leaf Bible in all this mess, I decided. And with such excitement, even Ma wouldn’t hold me to remembering why I’d set out after the Bible man.
I slid off Red’s back, righted the wooden box, and gathered the books and loose pages the best that I could. It was a while before the peddler had the horses calmed enough to drive them to where I was. Then he just looked at the jumbled books and rubbed his mustache.
After a while he said, “An old sage hen and her young’uns flew up right under the horses’ noses. Scared them clean out of their wits for a spell.”
He picked up one of the books. “Not worth much now,” he said.
“There’s one book not hurt at all,” I heard myself say. “You left the gold-edged Bible back at the cabin. Ma sent me to tell you.”
I could have kicked myself for saying it. I looked away, chewing my lip, knowing that Ma’s only chance to read that Bible was gone.
“A good, biscuit-bakin’ woman like your Ma should have a Bible,” he said. “Now, I could be takin’ Red there as payment for it.”
My chin dropped, and my heart plumb sank inside me. I figured I’d best get Red out of the Bible man’s sight. When the peddler stooped to load the wooden box, I started scrambling onto Red’s back.
Then I heard him laugh.
“I meant her to have that Bible—to even up some for all those good biscuits that she’s fed me. You tell her so, Ben.”
He climbed up onto the wagon, grinning at me, and I knew then that he’d been teasing me all along. That was why he hadn’t mentioned my red hair. He had sparked more fire out of me over Red than he ever could have about my hair.
As the Bible man turned his team toward the road, I waved. “I’ll tell her!” I yelled.
And I was kind of sorry to see him go.

By the time my companion and I started teaching Corina Aguilar, she had already expressed a desire to come to church. After learning about the Restoration of the gospel and reading and praying about the Book of Mormon, she felt that the Church was true. There was just one thing holding her back: her husband, Manuel.
Corina would not attend church by herself—she was determined that her entire family learn about the gospel together. However, Manuel was busy working long hours, and when he came home, the last thing he wanted to do was listen to a couple of missionaries.
Corina began praying that Manuel would have a desire to meet with us, but weeks passed with no change in his attitude. Then, one day at the end of a lesson, Corina asked us about fasting. We were late for another appointment, so we briefly explained that when we fast, we go without food or drink for two consecutive meals. During that time we pray to Heavenly Father for help and guidance for ourselves or for others. With a promise that we would teach her more during our next visit, we hurriedly left.
A few days later we visited Corina again. During the lesson she surprised us when she said sadly, “I don’t think I can fast.” She explained that since our last visit, she had been fasting. She would go through the day without breakfast or lunch and would then eat dinner. Following that meal, she would start again, not eating anything until the next day’s dinner. This pattern continued for three days. “I tried really hard,” she told us, “but it was so difficult.”
Amazed at her faith, we quickly explained that normally a person fasts for only one day. Then, curious to know the motive for such sacrifice, we asked, “Corina, can we ask what you were fasting for?”
“For my husband,” she responded.
We were impressed by her desire to follow the commandments of the Lord and seek blessings for her family. Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin (1917–2008) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught, “Often when we fast, our righteous prayers and petitions have greater power.”1 So it was with Corina. The next week Manuel agreed to meet with us. Although skeptical, after learning about the plan of salvation, he too began to pray and even kept a copy of the Book of Mormon in his truck to read during his break at work. Eventually Corina, Manuel, and their three children began attending church together.

“Before the big dam was built near Hyrum, there was an open place called ‘the holler.’ That’s where my Grandfather Wilson had his pastures. One of the grandchildren’s duties was to take the cows down to pasture every morning. Nearby was a stream where we fished and swam. The ‘holler’ was located between Hyrum and the town of Paradise. The holler was truly a paradise for us kids. We’d get together there with our cousins and swim, fish, hunt, and play all day long. Toward evening we would get the cows and lead them back home to be milked.”

A few years ago I attended groups sponsored by the LDS twelve-step addiction recovery program. I attended with a dear friend, and we supported each other. These groups are held every day of the week at various locations throughout the Wasatch Front. Recovering from addiction is a lifelong challenge.
My friend and I learned practical lessons from group members. I learned that successful days of sobriety are never lost. When you slip and fall back into old patterns of addiction, it is critical that you immediately get back on track, repent by following the necessary steps, and move forward to add another day of sobriety to your “new history.” You do not lose any of your days of sobriety. Instead, you keep those previous days of sobriety and simply add your new days to the tally. I appreciated the fact that you keep making “new history”—what a positive way to think about getting back on track and staying on track.
Contrary to Satan’s voice, which tells us that things are hopeless, that we are worthless, and that we are forever lost, our Savior wants all of us to repent as quickly as possible, get back on track, and come unto Him.

Gene has learned a lot about aiming high by following the example of his mother.
“When she was 16 she contracted polio. Doctors said she’d never walk again, or that if she did walk, she’d never have children. But she worked her way from braces to crutches to a cane. And she went ahead and had four sons. I’m the youngest.”
Even though his mom is currently confined to a wheelchair, the doctors are now saying she should be able to walk again.

When I was called to serve as a General Authority, I had an interview with President Faust. He noticed that I was concerned because I felt inadequate for such a call. In his tender way, President Faust told me, “Athos, be yourself. Be yourself.” That night I lay awake in bed, thinking of my new responsibilities and of President Faust’s words. And I prayed. I asked myself, Who am I? And the answer came as clear and bright as the dawn of that brand-new day. I am, like each one of you, a child of God who wants to obey the Lord and serve wherever He sends me and thus be a better child of our Heavenly Father and a faithful member of the true Church of Jesus Christ.

The importance of this concept came home hard when President Ezra Taft Benson telephoned with an assignment to speak at a funeral service for a missionary who had lost his life in the mission field. Do you have any feeling, brothers and sisters, for what it is like to speak at a service for a missionary who was serving well and lost his life on his mission, who was called home, in effect, to continue to another mission? I was impressed to tell the family that he had been transferred to a greater work, a higher work. Can you sense the feeling that goes through a General Authority’s mind in that position? Oh, how grateful I was that I could call the mission president and ask him this brief question: “What kind of an elder was he?”
“Outstanding,” the president said. “He could have had any assignment in our mission. Brother Ballard, I just didn’t have any finer missionary than this young man.”
What a thrill it was to know that that missionary was striving to live the celestial law on his mission. I am sure he did not expect to be called home. I am sure he did not expect that accident to occur. But it happened. He was alive and well in the morning and gone in the afternoon. Gone where? Back to the presence of our Father in Heaven.

Many first-generation members of the Church—like my parents, and perhaps your parents (or even you)—came to know the gospel after discovering the truths of the Restoration. They embraced these truths with enthusiasm because they filled some essential things that were missing in their spiritual understanding and their way to live the teachings of Jesus Christ.

The story of the conversion of Valérie’s mother is especially meaningful in our family.

Francine was a young mother of three children, living in Nancy, France, when two missionaries knocked on her door in 1967. At that time, Francine was in the middle of a sincere and searching spiritual journey. She had many questions about life, but she had not been able to find clear or satisfying answers.

During that first visit, she felt something she could not fully explain. The Spirit filled the room. Before leaving, the missionaries invited her to read the Book of Mormon. They showed her a page inserted in the book that listed some of life’s most important questions, along with passages from the Book of Mormon that provided inspired answers—questions like: What is the purpose of life? And how can I know what is true?

The elders promised that if she read the Book of Mormon with a sincere heart, with “real intent,” [3] and with faith in Jesus Christ, she could find the answers she was seeking.

Francine began to read—and she could not put the book down. She read day and night, finishing the Book of Mormon in less than a week. For her, it was a moment of pure revelation. She knew it was true. She had found what she had been seeking, and from that moment, she had only one desire: to be baptized.

Francine passed away four years ago. But throughout her life, she and her husband remained faithful and devoted, bearing powerful witnesses of the life-changing truths found in the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.

A few months ago, members of the Daveyton Third Branch, of the Benoni South Africa Stake, experienced firsthand the thrill of researching their own family histories and performing sacred ordinances for their ancestors in the Johannesburg South Africa Temple.
The project began in earnest last April as branch members became at first interested and then determined to discover the spirit of Elijah in their own lives and in the lives of their families. The Church’s family history tools—especially the new and easy-to-use Family Tree Lite website at lite.fs.org—enabled the branch members to research their ancestors’ names and key dates and then record those individuals as branches in their own family tree.
Branch members were aided by Elder Gordon and Sister Susan Foote, who are a senior missionary couple assigned to the Daveyton Third Branch. “We got behind this effort and supported the goal of the branch president (Edward Mtshali) for branch members to find at least one of their own family names and then perform baptismal ordinances in the Johannesburg Temple,” Sister Foote explained.
Elder Foote began by helping more than 40 branch members register online and obtain individual FamilySearch accounts. Then an Africa Southeast Area senior missionary couple, Elder Dennis and Sister Merrily Bird, who are area family history specialists, traveled to the branch several weeks in a row, helping complete registrations, teaching key concepts, and assisting members with their questions. They also taught branch members how to enter family history information themselves through the Family Tree Lite website on their personal cell phones.
Once members had properly entered the names and information of their ancestors, they scheduled a day trip for Saturday, April 21, 2018, to travel to the Johannesburg South Africa Temple to complete proxy baptism and confirmations. With the distance from Daveyton to the temple being about 50 kilometers—and with few members owning cars—transportation was a key issue. Branch members made and sold African greeting cards to pay for public transportation to and from the temple.
All their hard work and planning paid off and on that very special day, 25 branch members journeyed to the temple and completed baptisms and confirmation ordinances for 66 of their ancestors. The spirit of Elijah poured forth.
Back in Daveyton the next day, Sunday, April 22, 2018, President Mtshali invited all who desired to share their testimonies of the experience. Many in that meeting could not hold back tears as they listened to the testimonies that were shared about the preparation and research—but especially their experiences in the temple. Here are some of the comments:
“I saw angels in the temple. I felt my ancestors’ presence.”
“I told my mother of a dream I had the day before going to the temple, of being in the temple and seeing all the people in the temple, including my ancestors.”
“If I had any doubts about the Church before, they all left after I went in the temple.”
“During my confirmation, I felt my aunt and my sister-in-law were present.”
“I felt a presence in the temple I never felt before.”
“While going to the temple yesterday I felt a spirit and joy that was like I feel it will be like at His Second Coming.”
“I was baptized by my husband for his mother. I express genuine gratitude to him and his honorable use of his priesthood.”
“I had to be baptized seven times for one ancestor. She must have been troubled on the other side. It was worth it to know she has the gospel now. I was very scared to be baptized so many times, but now I am happy.”
“Yesterday I was baptized for my great-grandmother. I know she loves me and when we meet on the other side she will thank me.”
“I followed in the footsteps of Jesus Christ and used my priesthood to baptize and was baptized myself.”
“Having my young priest-aged brother baptize me was frightening, but I did it and we both were so very happy.”
“It was truly wonderful. I can’t even find words to express my joy.”
“The temple brings us joy and our ancestors joy.”

Elder David B. Haight and his wife Ruby attended a movie they very much enjoyed some time before their call to serve as Mission President and companion in Scotland. On the voyage home at the completion of their mission, they attended a showing of the same movie. They were shocked to discover that there were things in the movie that were distasteful and offensive to the spirit. What had happened? Sister Haight wondered if those who had made the movie had added these offensive things, but the truth was that the movie had not changed; the change was in Elder and Sister Haight.
This is the way we are schooled by the spirit. As we strive harder to keep the commandments our spirits become more refined, and we find ourselves feeling uncomfortable and ill at ease with what we may have thought was funny or entertaining at an earlier stage of our development.

Junjiro, Steve, and Cassidy know what it is like to be elders. They did, after all, just come home from missions. Now, at school, they were all set to throw themselves into their education when a new learning experience presented itself. They were called to serve as the elders quorum presidency in the BYU–Hawaii First Ward.
“I was excited about the calling because I felt like the Lord trusted me,” said elders quorum president Junjiro Makise, originally from Japan. “I knew He would not give me a calling that I could not handle. And I could do something to help all the members of the ward.”
Called to serve as counselors were Stephen Dangerfield from Moscow, Idaho, and Cassidy Matthew from the Marshall Islands. Alvin Singh is the secretary. The new presidency set out to learn how to be leaders. They followed the pattern they had learned in the Aaronic Priesthood and while on their missions—they turned to the scriptures and to the Lord in prayer.
“I had a good example in my life,” said Junjiro. “That was my father. He had been the bishop and the stake president when I was growing up. He said that in a leadership position, you have to be an example and participate in everything. It’s not just telling the members what to do but showing by example. You have to do all the things that you ask them to do. You have to be at the activity or at the service project. Then they will do the things you ask them to do more willingly because they know you are doing them as well.”
“My father always drove me to Church activities,” said Junjiro. “Sometimes I just wanted to stay home and play with my friends, but he was always there to take me. Because of my father, I developed the habit of participating in all Church activities. To me, he was what a leader should be.”
Junjiro follows his father’s advice. If he asks the members of the quorum to volunteer for service or to teach a lesson or come to an activity, he is there himself offering support. He said, “Before my calling, I didn’t know the members of my quorum very well. Now I worry about how I can help them to do their part.”
When Junjiro was called, he approached the Lord, as the bishop suggested, in deciding upon his counselors. Two names came up: Stephen Dangerfield and Cassidy Matthew. He felt the influence of the Spirit in asking to serve with these fine young men.
Steve had been serving as a district supervisor for home teaching. “I knew he was on top of things and would get things done,” said Junjiro. Cassidy was newly called as the membership clerk in the ward. But when Junjiro talked to the bishop about him, the bishop said if that’s what the Lord wants, then that’s how it will be. The presidency is united in their goal to serve the elders of their ward.
Steve said, “I think the biggest thing you learn in this sort of position is how significant each person is. It doesn’t need a huge effort on each person’s part, just doing home teaching or coming to activities. It’s fulfilling your responsibilities. You don’t need to go beyond what you’re asked to do. But just doing what you are assigned makes an amazing difference.”
The first challenge facing this presidency was just getting to know all the members of their quorum. Since they are all students, turnover is significant. People finish a semester or a school year and then return home or go on to school in other places.
At first, the quorum was combined from three wards for the summer semester. “Our quorum,” said Steve, “is a good bunch of guys. They all want to be friends.”
On Sundays, Steve often has to assign the quorum to service or welfare projects. He appreciates those who are willing to serve. “They are valiant—or they have flexible schedules,” said Steve, with a smile. The presidency strives to include everyone and leave no individual overlooked.
For Cassidy, it was a surprise when he was called to the presidency. “I got a call asking me to come for an interview with the bishop,” said Cassidy. “I knew something was going to happen, but I didn’t know what it was. I had served in the elders quorum presidency in my small branch back home in the Marshall Islands before my mission, and I learned a lot. But here, in such a large quorum, I have learned even more.
“The thing that has impressed me most was when we looked at all the names on the list and discussed what we were going to do to help each person. It meant a lot to me that we were talking about the needs of each person. It hit me that I was thinking more about others than I was about myself.”
Even in a student ward, this elders quorum presidency is young. But they all see it as a chance to grow. “There are a lot of people in the ward,” said Junjiro, “who know more than we do, and they know more about how to run activities. At first, we looked at our weaknesses. They are hard to get over, but then we gained confidence, and now we just need to keep going.”
And that’s just how this presidency is working. They are pushing ahead, getting to know everyone, trying to get them all involved, finding ways to help fulfill the needs of those in the ward. They are leading by example.

Moving forward in life requires faith. That is part of the plan. President Packer shared this experience:

Shortly after I was called as a General Authority, I went to Elder Harold B. Lee for counsel. He listened very carefully to my problem and suggested that I see President David O. McKay. President McKay counseled me as to the direction I should go. I was very willing to be obedient but saw no way possible for me to do as he counseled me to do.

I returned to Elder Lee and told him that I saw no way to move in the direction I was counseled to go. He said, “The trouble with you is you want to see the end from the beginning.” I replied that I would like to see at least a step or two ahead. Then came the lesson of a lifetime: “You must learn to walk to the edge of the light, and then a few steps into the darkness; then the light will appear and show the way before you.” Then he quoted these 18 words from the Book of Mormon:

“Dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith” [Ether 12:6].10

“I wish we didn’t have to take the tree down,” Jeff sighed. “It still looks so pretty.”
“I know it does, honey,” Mom said, “but Christmas was 10 days ago.”
Jeff and his mother carefully wrapped shiny ornaments, bows, lacy stars, and the treetop angel in pieces of tissue paper and put them in boxes so nothing would break.
“Next Christmas we’ll decorate the tree again,” Mom said, “and we can make lots of new ornaments.”
She took the last string of lights off the tree, and Jeff put away the ornaments he’d made in church.
“The empty tree looks lonely. It makes me feel sad,” Jeff said. “I wish we could have Christmas all year.”
“In a way, we can,” Mom said. “Christmas means giving, and we can do that all year.”
“But how?” Jeff asked.
“Well, for one thing, the tree doesn’t have to stay empty.” Mom went into the kitchen and got bread, cranberries, and nuts from the cabinet.
“Let’s take the tree outside and put it near the kitchen window. Then we can put the food on the branches for the birds.”
After Jeff and his mom put on their coats, they lugged the tree into the backyard and trimmed it with the food.
“Now the birds can sing while they eat,” Jeff said with a smile. “What else can we do?”
“Let’s go inside. It’s cold out here,” Mom said.
While Jeff looked out the window at the blue jays and cardinals eating food from the tree, Mom found a notebook. “Let’s make a Christmas All Year calendar,” she said. “We’ll fill it with good things to do that will make others happy. Each month we can do a different project. We did the food tree, so let’s write that on the calendar for January.”
Jeff enjoyed making the calendar. When it was finished, here’s how it looked:
JANUARY—Make a Christmas food tree for the birds.
FEBRUARY—Bake valentine cookies for neighbors.
MARCH—Make snowmen for friends.
APRIL—Plant flowers in our garden.
MAY—Help older neighbors clean their yards.
JUNE—Pick strawberries and give them to someone.
JULY—Have a picnic with our family.
AUGUST—Have a lemonade stand.
SEPTEMBER—Help my teacher keep the classroom neat.
OCTOBER—Have fun raking leaves in our yard.
NOVEMBER—Invite friends for Thanksgiving dinner.
DECEMBER—Decorate the Christmas tree.
“We can celebrate Christmas all year!” Jeff declared as he helped Mom hang the calendar on the kitchen wall. Outside it started to snow, so Jeff put on his hat, coat, and mittens and ran out into the front yard. His neighbors were taking down their outdoor Christmas decorations. They waved. Jeff called to them, “Merry Christmas to you for the whole year!”

Would you permit me to relate just one personal experience. When I was fourteen years old, our troop went to Big Cottonwood Canyon on a Scout outing. After setting up camp, our leader said to me, “Monson, you like to fish. I’m giving you two fishing flies—a black gnat and a white miller. Now you catch enough fish to feed this troop for the next three days, and I’ll pick all of you up on Saturday.” He departed. I never questioned his charge. I knew if I did my part I’d catch the fish and feed the troop. And I did. I was a man before I realized it just isn’t proper for the Scoutmaster to bail out on the boys. But what a learning experience it was for us.

When I was recently assigned to a conference in the Mission Viejo California Stake, I was touched by an account of their four-stake New Year’s Eve youth dance. Following the dance, a purse was found with no outside identification. I share with you part of what Sister Monica Sedgwick, the Young Women president in the Laguna Niguel stake, recorded: “We didn’t want to pry; this was someone’s personal stuff! So we gingerly opened it and grabbed the first thing that was on top—hopefully, it would identify her. It did, but in another way—it was a For the Strength of Youth pamphlet. Wow! This told us something about her. Then we reached in for the next item, a little notebook. Surely this would give us answers, but not the kind we were expecting. The first page was a list of favorite scriptures. There were five more pages of carefully written scriptures and personal notes.”

The sisters immediately wanted to meet this stalwart young woman. They returned to that purse to identify its owner. They pulled out some breath mints, soap, lotion, and a brush. I loved their comments: “Oh, good things come out of her mouth; she has clean and soft hands; and she takes care of herself.”

They eagerly awaited the next treasure. Out came a clever little homemade coin purse made from a cardboard juice carton, and there was some money in a zippered pocket. They exclaimed, “Ahh, she’s creative and prepared!” They felt like little children on Christmas morning. What they pulled out next surprised them even more: a recipe for Black Forest chocolate cake and a note to make the cake for a friend’s birthday. They almost screamed, “She’s a HOMEMAKER! Thoughtful and service minded.” Then, yes, finally some identification. The youth leaders said they felt greatly blessed “to observe the quiet example of a young lady living the gospel.”

This account illustrates the commitment of our young women to Church standards. It is also an example of caring, interested, dedicated Young Women leaders all over the world. They are incredible!