Gospel Story Finder

• Sealings. Former United States senator Jake Garn was reluctant to remarry following the death of his first wife, Hazel, in 1976, but he soon realized he could not be both a father and a mother to his children. When he began dating Kathleen Brewerton, who would become his second wife, questions soon arose about how his first wife would feel should he become sealed to a second wife. The couple took their questions to President Spencer W. Kimball.
“He said he did not know exactly how these relationships will be worked out, but he did know that through faithfulness all will be well and we will have much joy,” Brother Garn later recalled. “Kathleen told him that she was afraid of offending Hazel. President Kimball’s demeanor seemed to change. From being somewhat hesitant in his earlier answers, he now became sure and spoke with firmness. He looked right at Kathleen and with a tear forming in his eye, he said, ‘I do know this: you have nothing to worry about. Not only will she accept you, she will put her arms around you and thank you for raising her children’” (Why I Believe [1992], 13).

Two days before the reception Grandpa and I were sitting in my bedroom drinking apple juice and club soda. Grandpa told me again about the day he married Great-grandma Marie, the civil ceremony in Fremont, and then, the train ride to Salt Lake City.
“Ted and Katie can fly to Salt Lake and get married tomorrow. But it took us three days by train,” Grandpa explained. “So we were married before, to make the trip respectable. It was an expensive marriage for me, but it was worth it.” He smiled at me. “The right things are difficult sometimes, but they’re always worth it.”

“When I was seven, I was like any other seven-year-old,” says Brennah Kahaunani Payne. “I went to school, went to church on Sunday, and lost teeth.” But then Brennah was in a terrible car accident. She had to stay in the hospital for six months and have nine surgeries.
Many people helped Brennah in the hospital—doctors, nurses, and even a schoolteacher. Brennah thinks her hospital stay was like a “little mission.” She gave pass-along cards to several people to tell them about the Church. And she tried to comfort other children whenever she could.
But Brennah never got to meet some of the people who are most special to her. They are the people who donated blood that helped save her life. After her accident, Brennah lost a lot of blood. The doctors gave her blood that other people had donated.
Brennah wanted to thank those special people and encourage others to donate blood too. So she went to places where people were donating to say thank you. She passed out candy bars with little cards that said, “It’s SWEET to donate blood!” In California, where she lives, she told her story to community groups, at churches, and on the radio and TV. Brennah has made many friends by just being her cheerful, loving, enthusiastic self.
At age 10, Brennah is back to singing, dancing, and swimming. She feels her experience taught her several things. “It softened my heart and helped me see all the blessings I have,” she says. As the youngest of five children in her family, she now knows that “being small doesn’t mean you can’t do great or big things.” She has also learned how much Heavenly Father loves her as He helped her through her trials. And she has a message for all children: “You should always know how much Heavenly Father loves you.”

Families signify responsibility to and for each other. This spring my seven-year-old grandson, David, called to see if I could come to his class’s spring concert because, he said, “I have a solo part.” It was on a Tuesday, my busiest day, but I promised I would try. On the day of the program, I was there, straining with his parents to identify our little David amidst the sea of faces framed by Mickey Mouse ears. David did have a solo; every child in the class had a solo. But the reward came at the end of the program when he bounded down the aisle saying, “Grandma, I knew you’d come.”

I often suggest that people think honestly about their temptations. One individual who tried this approach realized the women depicted in pornography would not act that way in real life. He learned that the images he saw were enhanced using computer technology and did not represent reality. He further discovered that some of the actors indulged in alcohol or drugs to numb their feelings, allowing them to participate in degrading activities. Because of this man’s honest approach to pornography and his efforts to recognize it for what it is, its attraction diminished significantly. He was able to cultivate more fully his ability to distinguish good from evil (see Gen. 3:5; Moses 4:11).

My friend Stephen was not just any friend. He was awesome in every way, and I really looked up to him. One day, he asked me if I wanted to know about something that made him incredibly happy. Of course I did. Anything that was important to him was important to me. He continued to ask me other questions before he would reveal what it was that made him so happy. Did I want to know the truth? I finally realized that he was probably talking about his church. After a couple of weeks, he asked if I would speak with the missionaries. I thought, “Why not? Nothing is going to happen from just one visit.”
The day came to meet the missionaries, and as I walked into Stephen’s house, I was quite nervous. I had no idea what to expect. The elders introduced themselves. They seemed extremely nice and fun. Then after a prayer, they began the first discussion. I remember the feeling so well. As they talked about Joseph Smith, the Book of Mormon, and Jesus Christ, I knew that there was something special about this gospel.
When I arrived home, I told my mom everything I had learned and how much sense it made. My mom seemed slightly interested but not even close to the level of excitement I had. I was filled with some sort of energy, and I wanted to know more.
The next week I had the second discussion. Again, everything taught made sense. At the close of the discussion, one of the elders asked if I would be baptized. Honestly, I was shocked. I didn’t think this question would come up so soon. I told the elders that I simply didn’t know. They asked me to kneel with them and pray aloud to know if the things I had been taught were true. I had never prayed vocally with others before, so I was rather timid.
My best friend, the missionaries, and I knelt, and I prayed. I prayed to Heavenly Father to know if Joseph Smith was a prophet. I asked if the Book of Mormon was true. I pleaded to know if this was the true church and if it was in His plan for me to join it. I prayed for guidance and direction. I prayed to know what Heavenly Father wanted me to do. After probably 10 minutes of sincere prayer, I said amen and opened my eyes.
All I could feel was the Spirit. It was the most wonderful feeling I had ever felt. I was amazed with the knowledge and truth I had just been blessed with. I looked at the missionaries and told them I wanted to be baptized. We set the date. I knew at that moment that everything I had been taught and everything to come was true. I had gained my own testimony.
When I told my mother, she was more understanding than I had expected. She told me that if I really felt this was what I needed to do, then I should do it.
Sooner than I could believe, I was getting ready to be baptized. My whole family attended, which made it even more special. As my best friend and I walked into the font, wearing all white, the Spirit was present. I was about to be clean, as clean as I had been when I was born.
When I came out of the water, I couldn’t believe it. I had been baptized. This was my first best day.

Photograph from Getty Images
My brother left home as a 14-year-old to attend an elite math and science academy boarding school. Although he came from a big family, he felt easily lost in the crowd. He saw all his older siblings go and live their lives, some in the Church and some not. Living away from home as a teenager, he found it easy to just not go to church. He didn’t interact with a quorum or have weekly youth nights to attend. And so my family and I watched him finding his own way for a few years.
He went to a university, and serving a mission just didn’t enter his mind. I’d still try to find ways to stay in contact with him, whether it was discussing the philosophical differences in Star Wars: Episode VII vs. the Prequels or geeking out on our mutual admiration for Brandon Sanderson novels. Of all the ways we tried connecting with each other, talking about the gospel together never led to a strong bond between us.
Then one morning he texted me.
7:42 AM txt msg: “Hey man, can we talk?”
When you get a text like that early on a Sunday morning, yeah, you forget everything else that’s going on and you talk.
He told me he’d just gotten a new apartment and a new roommate. He said, “Ben, I don’t know any other way to explain this, but I got something like an impression in my heart that I needed to be both careful and helpful with this new guy … like I could be a light to him somehow, like I could somehow support him in his life. And I don’t get it. I don’t get those kinds of feelings.”
I could read between the lines of what he was telling me. Heavenly Father was talking to him. I told him that sometimes when we use things like cell phones or laptops or radios, we may get weird little signals from places we weren’t meaning to tune in to. Sometimes folks with ordinary terrestrial radios have picked up snippets of broadcasts from the International Space Station even though they weren’t trying to. Sometimes people with baby monitors can hear phone conversations in neighboring apartments.
And sometimes God will send impressions to people who aren’t used to talking to Him. Such impressions won’t always be very strong and they won’t override the agency we have. But sometimes we just may get a little pulse of a signal or a quiet whisper from Him trying to talk to us.
Photo illustrations by Leslie Nilsson
His experience reminds me of the beautiful, sublime truth: there is a God in heaven who loves us. And He can find ways to talk to us through little tiny promptings of the Spirit. And then we have the choice as to how we’re going to respond.
So that’s what I told him. “Are you going to find ways to maybe tune in a little bit more, seeing if you can get closer to His signal, shut out the noise, and hear His voice a little bit stronger? Are you going to actually act on what you feel? Or are you going to just let it wash over you and fade away?”
He said “Well, I think I know what I need to do.”
We talked for a few more minutes, and I felt a prompting. And the irony wasn’t lost on me; there I was, trying to help him have the courage to follow the Spirit, while I was simultaneously welling up my own courage to do the same.
I said a silent prayer, took a breath and big gulp and said, “You know, I think God is trying to call you back.”
And what wonderful joy as I could hear him smile over the phone as his tension melted away.
He said, “I think He is too.”
This may be the first time he realized on his own what God could really be. He felt that throughout his whole life people had talked to him about the Church, the gospel, and what he should do.
And now he could say he knew for himself. It was only small, candle-sized knowledge, but he knew that if he would take steps to get closer to the source of that signal, then he would get a stronger signal and the light would grow brighter.
There is a God who lives and knows each one of us. He’s there. And if we tune in to His signals, get out of the spiritual dead spaces, eliminate the noises, and do what we can to truly listen, He’ll speak to us in the ways we need to hear.

Becky Latimer, seated in front of a computer, has a glow about her only partially caused by her bright red shirt and the light from the terminal. The other reason for the glow is the triumphant look on her face as she explains, “Yesterday my friend Eryn and I worked on a program for five hours. It was so difficult that we named it Faith. Today we’re on a roll, so we called this program Hope. And we think things will be going well tomorrow. If so, we’ll call our file Charity.”
Becky and Eryn are participants in a two-week intensive program in computer science at Brigham Young University for outstanding high school students. High school students who have completed their junior year come from throughout the United States and abroad to participate. No previous experience with computers is necessary, but students must be nominated to attend by their teachers, school administrators, and PTA presidents, based on their PSAT (college entrance test) scores. Every participant accepted to the program receives a full scholarship.
Becky and Eryn are now good friends. The hard work they’ve done together over a glowing computer terminal has cemented their friendship. And together they have found Faith, Hope, and Charity.

During high school my heart wasn’t really in the gospel. In the mission field I slowly learned what a mission was really about and wanted the power and progress it could bring in my life if I were truly worthy. Finally, the guilt and sorrow from past transgressions bore me down, and I wanted freedom—to be clean and to be a better tool in the Lord’s hand. After some discussion with my mission president, I went home to take time to repent.
Returning home was among the hardest times of my life. I began reading the scriptures differently, actually understanding and applying them. While I was doing everything “right,” I still felt a great burden of guilt. Then I started to focus my studies on Christ and His Atonement, how He could be my Savior and how His infinite Atonement could redeem my soul. One night while meditating upon all I had learned from those prayerful studies, I felt the Spirit touch my heart, heal my soul, and comfort me. I felt secure and loved, and my guilt left.
When I first got home, I thought a change of heart was all I needed for the repentance process. Now I know that I needed time to repent—change comes line upon line, a little at a time. It requires prolonged effort to change our hearts, desires, and habits to be more like Christ. We can’t make 180-degree changes instantaneously, but because of the Atonement, they can happen completely.
Name withheld, Georgia, USA

May 26, 1853 I went to Fourchu, a place 6 or 7 miles from Gabarouse. On my way along the beach I saw a large duck on the waves, picking among the kelp. This was a desolate place, no houses for 6 or 7 miles. The Spirit said to me, “You are going among strangers. No Saints there. Take the bird with you.” So I sat down right where the wave broke and the bird floated straight towards me, picking among the kelp and sea weed. When it got close to the shore it put its head under its wing, so I jumped and caught it. It was lively enough then and tried to get away. So when I got to Fourchu (6) I went to a house, asked if that was Mr. Cann’s. They said yes. I told them I had come over from Gabarouse to preach the Gospel to them. I had forgotten the duck. I then happened to notice them looking at it. Says I, “Here is a bird. I saw it out on the water and I thought I would bring it along, that it might be good to eat.” Says he, “Is it hurt?” “No, Sir.” I handed it to him. Heexamined it very close and said it was all right. It was cooked. We ate it. It was fat and good. A few came in. We had a meeting. The sectarian minister had poisoned the minds of the people, but Mr. Cann and family treated me very kindly … and spoke favorably to others of me.

Imagine my surprise when I returned to Cannes in the 1990s with my wife, Kathleen, to find a new Latter-day Saint chapel in Le Cannet, a choice neighborhood on the slopes overlooking Cannes. It accommodated a vibrant and overflowing ward anticipating a split. When the congregation heard the humble story of my time in Cannes, we were cornered by three grandmothers who had joined the Church in the 1960s.
“If the Cannes Branch had not remained open,” they told us, “we would never have known about the Restoration of Christ’s Church! Now we all have grandsons serving in the mission field.”
As we rejoiced together at the happy result of keeping the branch open, a distinguished gentleman joined us who had overheard our conversation.
“I am Brother Paya, and I too joined the Church in Cannes in the 1960s,” he said. “I was the former bishop here, president of the Nice Stake, and a mission president in Spain.”
Later, Brother Paya became president of the Madrid Spain Temple and an Area Seventy. We all wept with joy upon hearing their stories.
What a tender mercy of the Lord for me to learn that our missionary work on the French Riviera was not in vain, as I had supposed for so many years. The Lord carefully oversees our labors and blesses them with success, though we cannot foresee the future outcome as He does.

An elder in our mission has had some pretty serious health problems. He has a skin allergy, bronchial problems, and sinus problems. When I arrived in the mission, he was sleeping in to avoid becoming weak and catching the flu. Then when he came in for lunch, he was sleeping for a couple of hours to keep from catching a cold or the flu. His companion was frustrated and called me.
I called the elder’s doctor. He said, “Well, his condition is bad, but it’s better than it was when he came into the mission field. It’s not going to change much no matter how many hours he works.” I called the elder into the office and suggested that I would rather see him sick with the flu legitimately than always worrying about it. I discussed with him the principle of suffering in silence, of simply going to work and doing what the Lord had called him to do. I said, “The doctor says your condition isn’t going to change no matter how much or how little you do. We’ve done and are doing all we can do. Why don’t you learn to suffer in silence?”
Bless his great heart, he took the counsel and put it into practice. He has become one of the top missionaries in the mission. He was made a training senior companion and then a district leader, all within about six weeks. What a great missionary he is now! He discovered how to suffer in silence and do the work. He is a great example of self-denial.

Some twenty-four years ago I was seated in the choir seats of the Assembly Hall situated to the south of us here on Temple Square. The setting was stake conference. Elder Joseph Fielding Smith and Elder Alma Sonne had been assigned to reorganize our stake presidency. The Aaronic Priesthood, including members of bishoprics, were providing the music for the conference. Those of us who served as bishops were singing along with our young men. As we concluded singing our first selection, Brother Smith stepped to the pulpit and announced the names of the new stake presidency. I am confident the other members of the presidency had been made aware of their callings, but I had not. After reading my name, Brother Smith announced, “If Brother Monson is willing to respond to this call we shall be pleased to hear from him now.” As I stood at the pulpit and gazed out on that sea of faces, I remembered the song we had just sung. Its title was “Have Courage, My Boy, to Say No.” I selected as my acceptance theme “Have Courage, My Boy, to Say Yes.” Such is the courage I seek this evening.

I guess everybody at some time longs to feel important and to do something that will be remembered by the people of the world—something that will change the course of history and become legendary because of its momentous impact on society. At least that’s the way I felt when I was a teenager.
Of course, I could dream of being rich and famous, or of making a major scientific discovery, or of being the first woman on the moon or in the White House, but somehow I knew those things were not within the realms of probability. At least not for me.
I was not exactly what you might call an outstanding person. I don’t really remember standing out in anything, except maybe the rain. I was a great follower, but never a leader. I knew I’d never be class valedictorian or win any contests or talent shows, and I was too uncoordinated in sports to excel. It’s not that I didn’t try or didn’t care. I was just shy and lacked self-confidence. So how could a person like me possibly make a difference?
I asked my mother what she thought. She said getting through the school year without getting any C’s on my report card would certainly make a difference when it came time for me to go to college. I knew she was right, but that wasn’t the kind of thing I had in mind. I thought of rewriting the school constitution or taking a petition around for people to sign, but I couldn’t think of what to change in the constitution or what to petition for.
When I finally started to run out of ideas and hope, I turned to the Lord. I asked him to help me find something that wouldn’t take any special talents or qualifications, but would help me feel I was making a worthwhile contribution. Nothing earth-shattering just something suited to my capabilities.
It wasn’t long afterwards that I got this genius idea. It was so right for me that I knew it had to be inspired—I never would have thought of it myself. The idea was that I should get to know people’s names—everyone that I came in contact with on a regular basis—and greet them by name whenever I saw them.
I started with my own neighborhood and learned the names of everyone—even the children and pets. Then I went on to memorize the names of all my ward members. When I had successfully completed that, I started on my high school.
It was a big school in a large city and it took me quite a while, but I did it. I didn’t pay any attention to racial or clique boundaries. At first I felt a little strange saying hello and calling people by name that I didn’t even know, and I embarrassed myself quite a few times by accidentally calling people by the wrong name, but I got better at it as time went on.
It became a game to see how many new names I could learn in a day. Once in a while I got some puzzled looks and some questions like, “Are you trying to win an election or something?” But for the most part, everyone acted like they really appreciated it.
Did it make a difference? I think so. Once Brother Barton, the oldest man in the ward said to me, “Young lady, I think you are the only young person in this ward who knows my name. It sure is nice when you speak to me and remember who I am.” Then one day at school I found an anonymous note stuck into my locker that said, “Thanks for saying hi to me today. I’m new at school and I didn’t think anyone even knew my name. Thanks for making me feel welcome.” I even got to like some of the people I’d previously thought were unfriendly or snobbish. When I started being nice to them and calling them by name, they were usually very nice in return.
The greatest difference it made, though, was in me. My whole attitude changed. I didn’t feel average or ordinary anymore. I felt that I was a special person who was doing something worthwhile because I was helping others. I could see them light up inside whenever I said their name and greeted them with a smile. It may have made only a small difference to them, but with the Lord’s help, it made a big difference to me.

My great-great-grandfather Jens Anderson was from Denmark. And in 1861 the Lord led two Mormon missionaries to the Jens and Ane Cathrine Anderson home, where the missionaries introduced them and their 16-year-old son, Andrew, to the restored gospel. Thus began a legacy of faith of which my family and I are the beneficiaries. The Andersons read the Book of Mormon and were baptized a short time later. The following year, the Anderson family heeded the call of a prophet to cross the Atlantic to join the Saints in North America.
Sadly, Jens died on the ocean voyage, but his wife and son continued to the Salt Lake Valley, arriving on September 3, 1862. Despite their hardships and their heartaches, their faith never wavered, and neither has the faith of many of their descendants.
In my office hangs a painting6 that captures so beautifully a symbolic reminder of that first meeting between my ancestors and those dedicated early missionaries. I am determined not to forget my heritage, and because of my name I will forever remember their legacy of faithfulness and sacrifice.

Anela (14), Chiyo (11), and Daniel (10) from the Philippines have a brother, Bien (12), who has cerebral palsy. They see him as a unique person with his own strengths. They wish others would get to know Bien the way they do.
“Where we live, there’s a steep hill that my siblings and I call a ‘mountain,’” Anela says. “We enjoy riding our bikes up the hill and racing back down. Bien has a hard time going up, so we help him. Sometimes people stare at him. It bothers me when that happens. But Bien doesn’t seem to mind. He smiles and waves at them as we pass by.
“I wish people would know when they see Bien that he’s friendly and enjoys being around other people. He’s shy at first, but he’s a lot of fun once he feels comfortable. He can’t do what able-bodied people can do, but he loves to learn. I’ve learned from Bien that we shouldn’t worry so much about what everyone else thinks about us, and we should treat everyone with kindness.”

When area conferences first began, the meetings were held in only one city at a time, such as Manchester, Mexico City, or Munich. Traveling to the conference and then back home again was a relatively simple schedule for the Brethren to follow. As the idea of taking the conferences to the people expanded, particularly under President Spencer W. Kimball’s leadership, it came to mean scheduling five or six area conferences back to back. This made the travel schedules more than hectic—they became absolutely strenuous.
When the area conference plans were announced for Asia in 1975, I became a little concerned and felt that someone should go along as a physician to the General Authorities, their wives, and other members of the group. There were quite a few people traveling together, and it seemed appropriate to have medical help available if needed. A recommendation was made and accepted to have a physician accompany those traveling to the various area conferences. In 1976 I was asked to go to Europe in this capacity.
From the very start of our journey, I was moved by President Kimball and Sister Kimball’s concern for the others traveling with them. When my wife and I boarded the airplane in Salt Lake City, we took seats to the side and in back of President Kimball. A few minutes after the plane took off and the seat belt sign was turned off, President Kimball turned around and said to us, “Are you comfortable?” I was there to serve him and the others traveling with him, and yet he showed this concern for us. Throughout the entire trip this great, kind, friendly man was always interested in the welfare of the people around him. We felt so comfortable traveling with him because of his warmth and graciousness.
After the first area conference in Paris, we traveled to Helsinki, Finland. President Kimball had been going strong now for three days. He was up early every morning, worked a very heavy schedule throughout the day, and then went to bed late at night. His responsibilities were greater than anyone else’s.
His jobs included not only presiding and conducting, but he spoke for long periods of time using a translator. He had held an exhausting press conference and had interviewed and set apart many local Church authorities. We boarded an airplane late in the evening for Helsinki. It was necessary to change planes in Copenhagen, and as we walked through the hallways of the airport, President Kimball carried a travel bag with his suits in it. I had a free hand and walked up and said, “President Kimball, let me carry that.” He turned and said, “No, thank you, I have to have a reason for being here.” He was almost serious in humbly expressing his desire to carry his own weight; he didn’t want to be a burden on anyone. I was impressed with that same beautiful attitude during the entire trip.
In Dortmund, Germany, during the last area conference on this trip, we stayed in an older, beautiful hotel. The manager was an austere, tall, straight, gray-haired Prussian gentleman. He looked as if he could have been an officer in the army. On the second day after arriving at the hotel, the manager commented, speaking of President Kimball, “Every time that man walks through this lobby, I feel goose bumps all over me.” He felt the spirit that radiates from President Kimball. After making that remark he was introduced to the prophet. President Kimball spoke with him briefly and gave him a family home evening manual. Arrangements were made for him to receive the missionary discussions.
The hotel manager was vividly influenced by that very brief contact with the living prophet. On the day we left, we boarded a bus in front of the hotel and drove around the block, passing the hotel again because of the one-way streets. As we passed the hotel, this handsome, stately gentleman was standing outside on the sidewalk waving good-bye to President Kimball with his white handkerchief. It was significant that the hotel manager could feel the Spirit of the Lord just by watching our prophet walk through the hotel lobby. You know, President Kimball looks like any one of the rest of us. Some may not think that there is anything unusual about his appearance—but there is an unusual spirit that he carries with him.
After the Dortmund conference, while most of the group returned to the United States, President Kimball, President Tanner, and their wives, and a few others traveled to Bern, Switzerland. Here the two members of the First Presidency were busy for an additional day and a half in the Swiss Temple. They had been traveling now for 14 days while participating in the five area conferences. They had been going unceasingly when we boarded a bus at Bern to go to Zurich where we were to catch our flight to New York and then on to Salt Lake. I saw President Kimball’s exceptional enthusiasm in action again.
There had been 14 days of going, going, going, and in the 30 hours ahead there would be no opportunity for the prophet to go to bed or really relax. On the bus most of us leaned back in our seats and began to nap. I was seated behind President Kimball and expected that he would use the next hour for some well-deserved rest. We had not quite reached the autobahn when President Kimball stood up and made his way up the aisle to a jump seat next to the bus driver. As I sat in my seat feeling almost exhausted, our prophet, who had reason to be more tired than anyone else, couldn’t rest because there was a person on that bus who hadn’t been taught the gospel of Jesus Christ.
As I watched what happened, I had a feeling of guilt—I had been content to sit back and relax, but the prophet, realizing the transcending importance of missionary work, didn’t let weariness dampen his burning desire to share the gospel with others.
I wondered how he was going to talk with the bus driver who seemed to speak little English. President Kimball doesn’t speak German. Initially there was some difficulty as they tried to speak to one another. After only a few minutes, however, the two of them were obviously quite able to understand each other. Now my worry was transferred from how they would communicate with each other to whether the bus driver, while glancing frequently at President Kimball, would be able to keep the bus on the road. It was clear that he understood and was interested in President Kimball’s sincere message. Their conversation continued until we reached the outskirts of Zurich when President Kimball returned to his seat.
When the bus pulled up at the Zurich airport, President Gary E. O’Brian, president of the Zurich Switzerland Mission, was waiting on the curb. President Kimball went to the door of the bus as it opened. He asked President O’Brian to step on the bus, and while shaking hands with him, said, “President O’Brian, this is Mr. __________. Will you promise me you will teach him the gospel?” President O’Brian said, “Yes, President.” And then President Kimball said, “Mr. __________, this is one of our mission presidents. Will you let him teach you the gospel of Jesus Christ?” The bus driver nodded his head and said he would.
This experience really taught me the importance of sharing the gospel. Our prophet is in close communication with our Heavenly Father and sees beyond the veil much more clearly than I do. He puts this degree of urgency on missionary work. Even when he has every reason to be tired, when sitting back and resting would seem to be a valid excuse for passing up a missionary opportunity, President Kimball continues to be a vigorous missionary. How can you or I do less than share the gospel with our families, our neighbors, our friends, and everyone else we meet?

Our stake in Venezuela decided to organize a soccer tournament for the Aaronic Priesthood youth. This activity had more than one purpose, including building friendships and strengthening the various priesthood quorums.
The stake leaders said that only the young men of each ward or branch were allowed to participate and they were to encourage new members and less-active members to join them so they would have full teams for each age group. In our ward there were only two deacons, one teacher, and a few priests.
My son, José Francisco, whom we lovingly call “Junior,” was part of the deacons quorum, with his good friend Oscar Alejandro. It was obvious that there were not enough boys to participate in the soccer tournament. So they worked with the missionaries and ward leaders to find all of the less-active youth. They spent time each week seeking out these young men, encouraging them and gaining their trust. Because of the efforts of this pair of 12-year-old boys, they were able to get enough young men for a team. One of the miracles that resulted from their efforts was that our ward gained several more active youth!
During the week they would pick up their new friends and then practice on a community field. It was a lot of work, and they were always tired. They had little coaching or strategy, but the young men didn’t let that stop them. They were happy with what they were doing.
At last, the first day of the competition arrived. Our valiant team of deacons arrived at the stake center. They didn’t have much of a crowd to cheer them on, nor did they have a coach to help them or uniforms like most of the other teams. But they played with enthusiasm, unity, and love.
They lost the first game by a landslide. But they didn’t give up, and the entire stake began to encourage them, saying that the boys were such good examples.
Junior was the goalkeeper. He defended the goal with such fervor that the balls he blocked left marks on his hands. That night at home, he told me that his hands really hurt and that he needed some gloves. We got out our savings so we could buy him a pair of gloves. But the gloves at the store were more than we could afford, so we had to buy some fabric gardening gloves. He took them with much gratitude.
I don’t know where his team got the motivation to continue. They were last in the rankings, but they kept playing.
Finally it was time for the elimination rounds. Due to the lack of deacons in the stake, this valiant group was able to play in the finals, but they played against a practiced team whose coach was a very good player. He had spent a lot of time working with his team. They were the top team; they had matching uniforms and exhibited the discipline that came from training. Their coach likely felt confident about winning the game because my son’s team was not very good.
My husband had just returned from a trip, so he decided to help the deacons. He encouraged them, gave them some pointers, and surprisingly they won. So they were able to face the other stake team. Our young men won again!
When the game ended, everyone applauded. The crowd could hardly believe that those young men were able to win first place in the deacon’s category and third place in the stake for the entire Aaronic Priesthood.
This experience taught us about principles and eternal truths that would serve us here in this life. The young men of the stake were examples of love, activation, perseverance, enthusiasm, and working together as a team. They demonstrated the true objective of the activity. They built bonds of friendship with others.

In a remote part of Ireland, Brid Harrington lived with her father and mother in a thatched cottage covered with ivy. A low stone wall surrounded the yard and yellow primroses, daffodils, and roses filled the summer air with perfume.
One morning as the sun rose over Wicklow Mountain, Brid yawned and stretched and wiped her clenched fingers across her eyes. Getting out of bed, she swung her window open wide and leaned on the windowsill. A song thrush was singing in a nearby tree, and the sheep were grazing down by the lake beyond.
“Brid!” Mother called. “Breakfast’s on, luv!”
She quickly splashed her face with water from the basin, made her bed, and dressed. Her mouth was watering for honey and biscuits as she hurried toward the kitchen.
“The road’s up,” Father explained as they ate. “I don’t know how we’ll get the sugar beets to market,” he sighed, “and we surely need the money.”
“Can you go by way of Woodenbridge?” Mother asked hopefully.
“The bridge would never hold my weight and the beets at the same time,” Father explained.
“Can’t I pull them?” Brid asked brightly.
“No, lass, you might not have the strength to pull the cart.”
“But I’m strong, Father. I could pull the sugar beets, I’m sure. The bridge could certainly hold me,” Brid pleaded, “and I did help with the planting.”
“If we don’t get the beets to market,” Mother added, “we’ll lose the crop, that’s sure, and all our work for nothing.”
Brid’s father was thoughtful for a few minutes. Mother’s look showed her mixed feelings. Finally, he spoke. “You’d have to stay to the middle of the bridge then, and be very careful. Still, it’s a worry.”
Brid ran around the table and hugged him. “I’ll be ever so careful,” she promised happily.
“Well then, that’s settled,” Father said, sighing with relief. “Will you keep the sheep in pasture, Mother, and not forget them while you do your chores?”
“Sean Harrington! I’ve kept sheep in pasture for years! Now off with the two of you and be careful!” Mother said, smiling.
Brid helped her father load the wooden cart and, waving a kiss to her mother, they followed the path through the fields of yellow gorse to Woodenbridge. When they came to the river, the swollen stream was lapping at the planking. Beyond the bridge and farther downstream, a small waterfall churned and splashed.
“Mind you stay to the middle, and don’t look down!” Father shouted over the roar of the water. “I’ll wait right here for you!” he added assuringly.
Brid stepped carefully onto the bridge but, when she reached the halfway point, a wheel wedged between the planks and she glanced down. Between the boards, she could see the white swirling water. Suddenly she felt dizzy. Closing her eyes a moment to steady her balance, Brid glanced back at her father who gave an encouraging smile and then waved her on. She returned the motion with a smile. Then tugging at the wheel with all her strength, she worked it free. Brid glanced over the side of the bridge. Her legs felt wobbly and she couldn’t move!
“Look up! Look up, lass!” Father called.
Brid looked at the sky. A lone songbird circled slowly overhead. The sky was blue and the sun shone brightly. She started to sing to herself, “Look up, look up.” Then with her eyes straight ahead, she pulled the cart safely to the other side.
“I made it! I made it!” she called jubilantly to her father.
He waved back. “Good lass! I’ll be with you in a minute!” And he stepped lightly across the bridge. Then together they continued to market.
“I hear the road is up,” Mr. Molloy said while counting out their pay for the beets. “Do you know how long they’ll be working on it?”
“No,” answered Father, putting his arm around Brid. “We had to come by way of Woodenbridge, and Brid had to pull the cart over by herself.”
“That was a brave thing to do, lass,” Mr. Molloy said. “By tomorrow the price for sugar beets will be going down, I’m afraid. It was a good thing you made it today.”
Brid and her father hurried back to the bridge. Father crossed with the empty cart first to see if it would still hold and then waited for Brid.
“Keep your eyes on me, lass,” Father called.
Brid took a deep breath and stared straight ahead, keeping her eyes on her father. Slowly she crossed Woodenbridge for the second time that day.
“Good girl!” her father cried, and hugged her tightly. “You are a brave one.”
“I was afraid I would fall,” Brid confessed, smiling nervously.
“But you did as you were asked and you did just fine.”
“Was I a help, Father?”
“The best little helper I could ever have had. I’m very proud of you. Your mother will be proud too,” he added. “You saved our crop, young lady!”
Brid climbed into the cart and dangled her legs over the sides. And while Father pulled her along, their happy singing echoed throughout the countryside.

Peter Burt was born in 1949 in Napier, New Zealand, and grew up in the nearby city of Gisborne. He was only 14—a student at Lytton High School—when his family suffered a devastating loss: Peter’s father died from a fall while painting their family home.
“Losing my dad at such an early age was absolutely tragic,” he recalls. What made the experience more heartbreaking is that, growing up atheist, he had no concept of an afterlife. Years later, Elder Neal A. Maxwell’s (1926–2004) general conference messages helped Peter understand how profound his grief was at the time. “A resurrection-less view of life produces only proximate hope.”1
With no knowledge of God or His plan, Peter remembers, “My philosophy of life was, eat drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die. Thankfully, I now know better—infinitely better!”
Peter studied at Victoria University in Wellington, and to support his education, he worked holidays back home at the Gisborne Refrigerating Company. There he met a fellow employee who was a devout Christian. “He was different from the other workers around us,” Peter says. “He was very firm in his belief in a Supreme Being. It got me interested enough to buy a Bible and begin to read it.”
The words of the Bible affected Peter so much—he just knew that this book was true—but it also raised many unanswered questions. “I was definitely seeking more knowledge,” Peter says. Still, he wasn’t interested in joining any church.
Peter earned his bachelor’s degree and then married Frances Mary Costello in 1970. The couple moved to Auckland so Peter could gain a diploma from Ardmore Teacher’s College. Shortly after that move, he was approached by two missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“I agreed to meet with them because they seemed like nice people,” Peter remembers, “but I wasn’t interested in their religion.” Still, when the missionaries left copies of the Book of Mormon for him and Frances, they read it. “That same Spirit came upon us as when I read the Bible,” Peter says. “We just knew that it was true.
“When the missionaries came back, we said, ‘Well, we believe the Book [of Mormon] is true. What do we do now?’ That is how we came to be baptised.”
The couple have been active members since they joined the Church in 1972, “and what a wonderful journey it has been!” Peter says. The “patient, kind and loving people” in the Auckland South Stake’s Papakura Ward helped them adjust to their new lives as Latter-day Saints, and when they returned to Gisborne at the end of that year, they joined Gisborne’s 2nd Branch in the Poverty Bay District.
In 1976, Peter, aged 27 became the branch’s president. When the district became a stake, he began a 9-year calling in the stake presidency, then nearly 10 years as the stake president. In that time, he and his wife, Frances, welcomed five sons into their family and were blessed to raise them in the gospel. In 1985, Peter chose a different career path—he spent the next 24 years as a beekeeper until his retirement in 2009.
“One of the highlights of our Church membership was our decision to serve a full-time mission,” Peter says. Called to the Quezon City South Mission in the Philippines, they were sent to the island of Mindoro. “It was a wonderful experience, which we will always remember, especially for the faith and humility of the people there.”
When they returned to New Zealand, the Burts sold their Gisborne property and lived in a caravan for a year before settling in Taup?, because it is a nice town and central to where their sons and families lived. Peter served as the Taup? Ward’s elders quorum president until the Rotorua Stake conference in mid-2023, when he was called as patriarch.
Looking back, Peter recognises the hand of God guiding him towards the gospel of Jesus Christ and a life that he could have never imagined. “I now know that it was the Holy Ghost testifying to me of the truth.”
As a newly called patriarch, he earnestly prays that he’ll be able to help other members find that same divine guidance through special, personalised blessings from our loving Heavenly Father.
“I will do my very best to fulfil [this calling] with the respect and responsibility expected of me by the Lord . . . It is such a huge honour and privilege. I am almost overwhelmed by the responsibility . . . but I have faith to believe that whom the Lord calls, He qualifies.”