Gospel Story Finder

I am grateful for my wife, Sharon. I hope you could sense her goodness as she has just addressed you. She makes my life’s journey so much the better for having her at my side …My wife is a survivor. Not only has she survived 38 years married to me but she survived a night lost in the Kahana Valley. The October night she didn’t come home gave me a unique perspective. It made me realize more completely how much I love her and how much I depend on her. We learned a few practical things as well: That you should always let someone know where you are going; that it’s wise to stop hiking before it gets dark; and that the search and rescue people truly are heroes. We remain grateful to all in the community who stopped what they were doing to help find her and our two friends.

I learned years ago a very important lesson. I think it was the second time I’d ever met President Lee; I had been introduced to him once before. I was serving as a member of a stake high council, and on one occasion the stake president presented in our meeting the name of a man to be called to a position of leadership in the stake. I was teaching seminary at the time, and Brother Leon Strong, also a seminary teacher, had talked to me a time or two about this man. We’d commented on what an able man he was, and how sad it was that he couldn’t do more than he did because of a handicap relating to his wife. She had one personality trait that I think could be characterized by the term malicious; I think that identifies what it was.

When the stake president presented the name of this man for a presiding office in the stake and called for a vote, the two of us cast negative votes. That’s rather unusual. The president talked it over for a few minutes and then said that he felt he’d like to proceed anyway, and he asked if we would sustain him in issuing this call. Immediately the issue changed. In my mind, then, it was a vote to sustain the stake president, not necessarily a vote for this man to office; and when he called for a vote, Brother Strong and I joined the other ten members of the stake high council affirmatively, approving the call of this man to office.

When our stake conference was held, a month or two later, when the ordinations were to take place, Elder Harold B. Lee, of the Council of the Twelve, was the visitor. After the conference, we’d assembled in the stake center for the ordinations. Elder Lee had ordained a bishop and his counselors and some others, and then this man was called forth to be ordained by the member of the Council of the Twelve. Brother Strong nudged me—we were sitting together—and with a smile on his face he leaned over and said, “Well, Brother Packer, now we’ll see whether this church is run by revelation.”

Elder Lee put his hands on the head of this man and began the usual introductory words to an ordination, then hesitated. Then he said words to this effect: “The other blessings relating to your activities and life and occupation that you’ve heard pronounced upon the others here apply to you as well, but there is a special blessing.” And then that man received the longest blessing, the most pointed of them all; and, in reality, it was not a blessing for him but a blessing for his wife. It was a very interesting thing to see.

Immediately, when the meeting was over, I went to Brother Lee and said, “Did you know this brother before you ordained him?”

“No,” he said. “I didn’t know him. I think I hadn’t seen him till I came into this room.”

I said, “He received a very unusual blessing.”

And Elder Lee said, “Yes, I felt that.”

Later, the president of the stake explained: “I meant to talk to Elder Lee about that and tell him that here was a man that had need of a special blessing, but in the press of business we just didn’t have time.” And so Brother Strong was right. That day we did see whether this church was run by revelation or not.

You see, I am a Mormon. When I was 13, I had lived with a foster family in Salt Lake City and, after receiving permission, had been baptized into the Church. Upon returning home I found my family very much against my new religion. They forbade me to attend or participate in Church activities, and I obeyed. During the last half of my senior year in high school, however, I was contacted by two missionaries, Elder Michael Morris and Elder Gene L. Peterson, and was retaught the gospel. They encouraged me to seek further education and even go on a mission if it was my desire. It was ironic that now these two options were being offered to me—but in a different way than I had expected.
I thought of every reason why I should accept the offer. My future would be secure, my dreams of a master’s degree in art would be realized, and I could devote my time to studying without having to worry about working. Was there really a difference in serving a mission for the Methodist church instead of the Mormon church? Weren’t they both Christian churches? My friends and teachers were encouraging me to take the offer. Their concern for my future was genuine, and I appreciated their love—I didn’t want to disappoint them. My personal desire to say yes to the Methodist church was strengthened by my fear of facing my friends if I did not.
“How could I turn down this offer?” I asked myself. But a still small voice, much quieter than the voices around me, whispered, “How can you accept it? How can you live a lie?” I realized then that if I accepted I would have to keep secret the fact that it was not the Methodist church I desired to serve. I could not use their support to achieve my goals. They were such wonderful people, so generous in their nature. The voice was right. How could I? I could not. My decision was made, and I had to find the strength to face it no matter how unrealistic it seemed to my friends. I wrote the council and explained that I was a Mormon, and though their offer was something I would never forget, I could not accept it. They answered my letter, expressing appreciation for my honesty with them, and wished me luck in my future endeavors.
Since then, through a lot of hard work and help from many people, I have graduated from Brigham Young University with the art degree I so much wanted. I was privileged to enjoy several teaching assistantships there plus the companionship of some of the greatest people I’ve ever known. When faced with similar decisions since then, I’ve reflected back on this experience of standing against the advice of friends and loved ones and listening instead to the whispering of one small voice that only I could hear. I have learned that no matter how great the problems and pressures or how difficult the decisions, Heavenly Father is always there to guide us.

Recently, you may have read about Sister Ella Hoskins, who at 100 years old was called to help the young women in her ward with Personal Progress.20 About two years later, at 102, Sister Hoskins earned her Young Womanhood Recognition award. The young women, the ward and stake Young Women and Relief Society presidencies, and family members gathered together to celebrate her accomplishment. Boundaries of age, organization, and marital status faded away in faithful service. Young women expressed gratitude for Sister Hoskins, for her teaching, and for her righteous example. They want to be like her. Afterward, I asked Sister Hoskins, “How did you do it?”
She promptly responded, “I repent every day.”

Photograph from Getty Images
Some years ago, I taught the six-year-olds in Primary. Anna was listed on my roll. I knew the family well enough to know that her parents had separated and she lived with her father. They rarely came to church.
I stopped by the house to meet Anna and her father and to invite Anna to Primary. Anna seemed interested, but she never came. Every Sunday morning for weeks, I called her home to invite her to Primary. No one ever answered the phone, but I always left a message telling Anna how happy I would be to see her in Primary.
One Sunday morning, Anna was there. Her father had helped her get ready for Primary in her best Sunday dress and then he dropped her off at the church. Happy to see her, I welcomed her and helped her get to know the other children in the class.
We had our lesson, sang songs, and had a coloring activity at the end of class. As the children were leaving, Anna came to me and dropped a crumpled piece of paper in my hands. At first, I thought it was trash. I was about to throw it away, but the Spirit prompted me to unfold it. Anna had written me a note on the paper. In a six-year-old’s handwriting, it said, “I love you.”
Anna didn’t know me enough to love me. All she knew of me was a voice on her answering machine inviting her to Primary. But that small effort to reach out to her helped Anna know that someone cared about her and wanted to help her feel the Savior’s love.
I saw Anna in Primary once in a while and her father began coming to church occasionally as well. But when circumstances changed again for their family, we didn’t see them as often.
I have thought about Anna over the years. With all my heart I hope she remembers her time in Primary. She may remember some of what she learned, but I hope far more that she remembers feeling the love of the Lord, the comfort of the Spirit, and the love of a teacher.

Later, while working back in London, Patrick met some members of the Church.

“They were great examples of our faith,” he recalls. “One of them was from California, and I went and stayed with that family while I worked there.”

That experience gave Patrick a wonderful foundation of understanding the Church. He was touched by the joy the family found in service, but he had many questions about Church doctrine and beliefs. Back in England two years later, however, he met some “impressive missionaries” on the streets of London. After discussing the gospel with them for several months and being told he was not progressing toward baptism, they asked him if he would like a blessing.
“I agreed to have a blessing from a senior missionary I knew,” he recalls. “How I felt during that blessing was a key moment in my conversion. It was an absolutely undeniable sense of light and joy and peace that no words can describe. The words of the blessing proved inspired and definitely prescient.”
That experience, coupled with “a number of other things in my progress toward baptism,” led Patrick to a testimony of the Savior and His restored Church. A couple of months later, on Christmas Eve 1987, he was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

My best friend in high school was an agnostic. My friend said he didn’t know if there was a God, but if a God created us, He must have gone far away and left us all alone. Why else would so many bad things happen in this world? How could a God who watched over His children let them be hurt so much?
I understood why some people did bad things. I knew about agency and the effects of choices we make. My widowed mother had taught me about those things at home. I knew the gospel was the right way to live. I saw it work for my mother in her life, and I knew in my mind that it was the way Heavenly Father wanted us to live.
But I didn’t know this where it really counted—in my heart. I thought I was sure of the truth, but sometimes I had my own “why” and “what if” questions about God and His plan for us. I wasn’t so sure of what I “knew” that I could tell my friend and mean it with every part of me.
That kind of knowing did not come until I took a Book of Mormon class while I was in college. Sister Irene Spears taught the class as if the Book of Mormon were completely new to us. In a way it was for me; I had never read the book all the way through. When I reached the end, I found Moroni’s promise to readers: “And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost” (Moroni 10:4). I knew this promise was to me. I got on my knees beside my bed to ask.
I didn’t expect an answer to be so strong or to come so fast. Before I could finish the words of my prayer, I knew that the Book of Mormon was the word of God and that Joseph Smith was a prophet. If those things were true, then David O. McKay was also a prophet, and he had said that every young man who was able should go on a mission, so I was going on a mission.

He bears his missionary testimony as a special witness without the fear of man. I have observed it. At the Copenhagen Denmark Area Conference held August 3–5, 1976, President Kimball went to see Thorvaldsen’s beautiful sculpture The Christus, the resurrected Christ, which has been reproduced, as you know, for the visitors’ centers in Salt Lake City, Los Angeles, and New Zealand. After a few spiritual moments admiring The Christus, President Kimball bore his testimony to the caretaker who stood nearby. As he turned to the statue of Peter and pointed to the large set of keys in Peter’s right hand, he proclaimed: “The keys of priesthood authority which Peter held as President of the Church I now hold as President of the Church in this dispensation.” Then he stated to the caretaker, “You work every day with Apostles in stone, but today you are in the presence of living Apostles.” He then introduced President N. Eldon Tanner, Elder Thomas S. Monson, and Elder Boyd K. Packer. He presented the caretaker with a Book of Mormon in Danish, and bore his testimony of the Prophet Joseph Smith. The caretaker was moved to tears in acknowledgment of the Spirit he felt in the presence of a prophet and Apostles. He acknowledged to me as we left the church, “Today I have been in the presence of servants of God.”

It was in the spring of 1989 when I realised I was a daughter of our Heavenly Father, and that He loved me and I loved Him.
I was a teenager making dubious choices, but I had been raised to believe in God and I knew I needed Him. I prayed for him to help me, and within days of that prayer I met a young man who would share the truth with me.
On our first date, he began to tell me about Joseph Smith and the Restoration. He gave me a copy of the Book of Mormon. I began to read the book and knew instantly that it was true; it just felt right, and I couldn’t stop reading it.
He departed on his mission, and I spent the next few months learning and accepting the principles of the gospel. My parents could see the positive changes in me but did not want me to join the Church. I fasted to gain their permission to get baptised. Receiving their blessing was the only thing holding me back from taking my Saviour’s name upon me. Three weeks after that fast, and surrounded by friends and family, I was baptised a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

“Son, don’t do this,” his parents said. “You’re throwing your life away.”
Those aren’t the words most missionaries expect to hear—right at the airport—just as they are leaving to report to the missionary training center (MTC).
Elder Morris, from New Zealand, knows how much his parents love him. They’ve been there for him through thick and thin. They cheered him on in his rugby matches. They applauded his decision to attend law school. They raised him with love and with hope that he’d have a bright life ahead of him.
Their pleading words came from a place of love. To them, the idea of their precious son serving a two-year mission for his new faith seemed not only confusing, but also a threat to the goals he’d worked so hard to achieve.
You see, Elder Morris was a gifted athlete on his way to becoming a professional rugby player. In his schooling, things were just taking off in his legal career.
Oh, and he was thinking about getting married!
Elder Morris already had this conversation with them many times before. He responded in the only way he knew how. “I told them I loved them. I embraced them. And I shared my testimony that I knew this was what I needed to do.”
Then he bid them farewell and hopped on the airplane for the MTC in Provo, Utah, USA, to prepare for his mission to the Philippines.
At which point COVID-19 showed up and turned the world upside down.
COVID-19 had already been making headlines throughout the globe for weeks before Elder Morris showed up at the MTC. In fact, his group would be the last batch of missionaries to report to the MTC for another 16 months. Groups after him were told to stay home and wait for further instructions.
To say that things were uncertain at the MTC would be an understatement. “Many people were worried about what was going to happen,” Elder Morris says. “For me, I felt calm. I still didn’t know how things would unfold. I only knew that they would work out for the best.”
When the news came that Elder Morris would be reassigned to his home country of New Zealand, his reaction might not be what you’d expect.
He was more excited than ever!
“I realize that many missionaries hope to serve in a faraway place,” Elder Morris says. “For me, though, I always thought it would be a privilege to teach my own people in my own country. I wanted to share the gospel with New Zealand.”
“I always thought it would be a privilege to teach my own people in my own country.”
Little did he know how this would change his life—and the life of a woman who is very important to him.
Elder Morris’s grandmother (his nan) was dealing with some serious health challenges. “She was so unwell that she said she reached a point where she was ready to die. She didn’t feel she had anything left to live for.”
Before his mission, Elder Morris had a chance to start teaching the gospel to his nan. But now, he was a full-time missionary assigned to the very area where his nan lived.
“I love my nan very much,” Elder Morris says. “And I’ve seen the gospel absolutely transform her.”
His nan chose to be baptized and become a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She’s the first member of Elder Morris’s direct family (besides himself) to join the Church.
Her life, Elder Morris says, is very different now. “When my nan found the gospel, she realized why she was still alive. Now she wants to live! Every morning she wakes up at 4 a.m. or 5 a.m. and sings hymns. She prays and reads her scriptures every single day. She does it because the gospel has blessed her with purpose.”
Time and time again, Elder Morris has seen the light that the gospel brings into the lives of those he teaches. He’s had the chance to teach other friends and family members. He’s seen firsthand how they improve. “The gospel of Jesus Christ gives us purpose,” Elder Morris says. “I feel so sorry for those who don’t have the gospel in their lives. They don’t know their true identity.”
On a related note, even his parents have begun to notice the changes in Elder Morris’s nan. They can now see that the gospel has blessed her life in many ways.
Elder Morris with his nan (grandmother).
Elder Morris has no doubts whatsoever that serving a mission was the right choice. He also knew at the start of his mission, when COVID-19 began to rage throughout the world, that God would still guide His work. “The work of man will be frustrated, but God’s work never will be,” he says.
Every time he has an opportunity to do so, he encourages youth to live worthy to serve a mission. For Elder Morris, no other decision would have had a greater impact on his future—especially his eternal future. “The biggest advice I would give to youth is to prepare to serve a mission. It will change your life.”
He recognizes that choosing to serve may come with sacrifice. But then again, he knows a thing or two about sacrifice, and the blessings that come from it.
Witnesses of Jesus Christ
Elder Morris: The gospel is simple, and the gospel is true. Jesus Christ is our Savior. He and our Heavenly Father are mindful of us. I testify that the Book of Mormon is amazing. It helps us to come closer to Jesus Christ and to learn the fulness of His gospel. The Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ through the Prophet Joseph Smith had to happen. Without it, we would still be lost today.
Elder Fotuaika (Elder Morris’s companion): I’ve seen in my life that, without the Lord, I’m nothing. With the Lord, I’ve seen myself grow to the best person that I could ever become. When we try to do the small and simple things like praying and reading the scriptures, God magnifies who we are. I have a testimony that God loves us.

My big chance came late one Saturday night. It had been fairly quiet and I had been spending time checking back alleys when suddenly the silence was broken by the breathless voice of an excited officer calling for help. “Fifth West and Second South … gang fight … 9-1.” Nine-one is the code meaning emergency aid is needed, and every officer able to help responded.
I was nearly the first car to arrive. There were hundreds of people completely blocking the street, and many were fighting. The officers quickly identified those who seemed to be the ring leaders of the disturbance and systematically started making arrests. As the first few were isolated and hand-cuffed, most of the crowd seemed to vanish into the alleys and doorways. Soon there were only the police cars, lights flashing in the darkness, a few officers, and those who had been arrested.
As the crowd disbursed, most officers left the scene, and I was also preparing to leave for the jail with the prisoner I had handcuffed and placed in the front seat of my K–9 truck. My dog was still in the back, since I didn’t feel it was wise to use him with such a large crowd. I approached the driver’s door and had just opened it, when suddenly I was engulfed from behind in the tightest, biggest bear hug I had ever felt. I struggled and fought futilely. This big man was trying to rescue his friend whom I had arrested, and it looked like he might make it.
Now was the time to use my dog. His name was Dusty, and I struggled to reach the small release handle on the side of the vehicle. It would free the back door to the cage and allow the dog to get out. With a lunge I jerked the handle, my arms still pinned to my sides, and the door swung open. “Get him, Dusty,” I shouted. Dusty hit the street running, skidded as he turned back toward me and my captor, and then to my amazement he ran right past me and around the truck. I continued to shout for him to “get him,” but without response. Around and around he went, once, twice, then with sudden purpose he turned from his path and ran to the gutter where fresh water was running and paused for a drink. Thank goodness by this time another police officer came to my rescue.
I spent about another year in the K–9 Corps after that incident, but it was spent with a different dog. In spite of his fine performance in training, Dusty had proven that in real life he couldn’t be trusted.

There is an old Chinese tale of a woman whose only son died. “In her grief, she went to the holy man and said, ‘What prayers, what magical incantations do you have to bring my son back to life?’ Instead of send­ing her away or reasoning with her, he said to her, ‘Fetch me a mustard seed from a home that has never known sorrow. We will use it to drive the sorrow out of your life.’ The woman set off at once in search of that magical mustard seed. She came first to a splendid mansion, knocked at the door, and said, ‘I am looking for a home that has never known sorrow. Is this such a place? It is very important to me.’ They told her, ‘You’ve certainly come to the wrong place,’ and began to describe all the tragic things that had recently befallen them. The woman said to herself, ‘Who is better able to help these poor unfortunate people than I, who have had misfortune of my own?’ She stayed to comfort them, then went on in her search for a home that had never known sorrow. But wherever she turned, in hovels and in palaces, she found one tale after another of sadness and misfortune. Ultimately, she became so involved in ministering to other people’s grief that she forgot about her quest for the magical mustard seed, never realizing that it had in fact driven the sorrow out of her life.”[30]

Illustration by Melissa Manwill
Iren was having fun visiting Taiwan. His grandfather, his Yéyé, took him and his little sister, Ila, to the zoo and on a ferry ride to a small island. They went to beautiful gardens filled with mango trees and orchids. And they visited a mountain where monkeys tried to steal their food! The monkeys made Ila nervous, but Iren thought they were awesome.
Yéyé was teaching Iren and Ila all about where their family came from. He took them to meet all of their relatives and to restaurants to try new foods. Iren had been practicing with chopsticks. He was getting really good.
One day Yéyé took Iren, Ila, and their parents to a special place. It was a big building with large, open doors and shiny wooden floors. Before they went in, Iren and his family took off their shoes. “This is a place where you have to be reverent,” Mom said. “Just like at our church.”
“Is this a church?” Iren asked. It sure didn’t look like any church he’d ever seen. The building’s colorful roof had curled-up edges. People in dark blue robes walked quietly through the doors.
“Sort of,” said Mom. “It’s a Buddhist temple. But people don’t get married or sealed here, like in our temples. It’s a church building for Yéyé’s religion. He comes here to learn the teachings of Buddha and to help people.”
Dad added, “Do you remember the earthquake in Taiwan we saw on the news a month ago? Yéyé and the other volunteers at this temple all helped after the earthquake was over.”
“What did they do?” asked Ila.
“I think they brought water to people and cleaned up rubble,” said Dad. “They also helped people who lost their homes find a place to stay.”
“Whoa,” said Iren. He looked at Yéyé. “That sounds like a lot of work!” Yéyé smiled and nodded.
When they went in the temple, Iren noticed how quiet and peaceful it was. He looked around and saw a large wooden statue. Ila and Iren stopped and stared.
“Is that Buddha?” Iren asked.
Mom nodded.
Yéyé said something to Dad in Chinese, pressed his hands together, and bowed in front of the statue of Buddha three times.
“Yéyé is teaching us how he shows respect for Buddha,” Dad said, his voice just above a whisper.
Iren scrunched his eyebrows together. “Isn’t that … ?” He tried to remember something he’d heard before. “Isn’t that worshipping idols?”
“Buddhists don’t actually worship Buddha,” Dad said. “Buddha was a great teacher, and they visit his statue to remember what he taught.”
“When people bow here, they’re showing respect—sort of like shaking hands,” Mom whispered. “Yéyé bows to show respect for Buddha and what he taught.”
Mom put her arms around Iren and Ila. “And do you know what?”
“What?” Ila asked.
“These are all God’s children. He loves them. He loves what they’re doing to help each other.”
Go to “Family Night Fun” for an activity to go with this story!
Iren looked over at Yéyé and all the other people sitting quietly. He felt warm and good inside and knew what Mom said was true. Iren said a little prayer to Heavenly Father: Thank you for helping me meet more of your children.

In the spirit of the thought in that verse, I determined a few years ago that I would no longer put off a visit with a dear friend whom I hadn’t seen for many years. I had been meaning to visit him in California but just had not gotten around to it.
Bob Biggers and I met when we were both in the Classification Division at the United States Naval Training Center in San Diego, California, toward the close of World War II. We were good friends from the beginning. He visited Salt Lake once before he married, and we remained friends through correspondence from the time I was discharged in 1946. My wife, Frances, and I exchanged Christmas cards every year with Bob and his wife, Grace.
Finally, at the beginning of January 2002, I was scheduled to visit a stake conference in Whittier, California, where the Biggers live. I telephoned my friend Bob, now 80 years old, and arranged for Frances and me to meet him and Grace, that we might reminisce concerning former days.
We had a delightful visit. I took with me a number of photographs which had been taken when we were in the navy together over 55 years earlier. We identified the men we knew and provided each other an update on their whereabouts as best we could. Although not a member of our Church, Bob remembered going to a sacrament meeting with me those long years before when we were stationed in San Diego.
As Frances and I said our good-byes to Bob and Grace, I felt an overwhelming sense of peace and joy at having finally made the effort to see once again a friend who had been cherished from afar throughout the years.

Over 100 years ago, in the Samoan Islands of the Pacific Ocean, a young man named Tom Fanene was an important help during a life-and-death situation for members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Tom lived in a village called Sauniatu, which had been founded by Latter-day Saints in the area as a place for them to gather and make a community. Just like Saints of God in other times and places, they experienced trials as well as miracles as they worked to build God’s kingdom together. One trial came in 1918, when an influenza pandemic reached the village.
As soon as the illness arrived, it was devastating, and it spread quickly. Nearly every one of the roughly 400 villagers was bedridden because of it. Only a couple of them were well enough to get around: an older man and 12-year-old Tom.
During the 1918 influenza epidemic, Tom exercised faith as he worked hard to care for the people of the village. “Every morning I went from house to house to feed and clean the people and to find out who had died,” he said.
He fetched buckets of water from a spring and brought water to every house. He climbed coconut trees, picked coconuts, husked them, and opened them to collect the juice to bring it to the sick. He also killed all of the chickens in the village to make soup for each family.
The 12-year-old Tom Fanene helped nurse his village to health during a pandemic.
Illustration by James Madsen
During this pandemic, around one-fourth of all of the people in Samoa died of influenza. Some of the people in Tom’s village died as well. Tom helped dig graves and bury more than 20 of them, including his own father, Elisala.
But thanks to Tom’s hard work and loving care, many people in his village survived. He made a big difference to those people and to the building up of the Lord’s kingdom in Samoa. He was “laying the foundation of a great work.”
The 1918 influenza pandemic hit them hard. But Tom helped many to survive. Children went back to school, and villagers again formed the Sauniatu Branch Band (above).

With Kelly’s family members being some of her greatest friends, they also help fill in gaps when other friendships hit bumpy patches. For example, there aren’t a lot of Church members where Kelly lives. Sometimes the difference in values between Kelly and her friends has been a challenge for her.

“When I was younger, I kind of got lost in what my friends wanted me to be,” she says. “But reading the scriptures and praying helped. I also turned to my family.

“One time I asked my friends to change their bad music, but that didn’t really work. They just said, ‘If you don’t like it, go home.’ So I prayed and asked Heavenly Father what I should do. He told me to call my parents and go home.”

The young men of the Canoga Park Third Ward had a problem before starting their basketball season. Their uniforms were old and ragged. Instead of buying new ones, they decided to custom-tailor their own. The team members did the shopping and selected the material. They organized the sewing crews and used an old pair of bermuda shorts and a jersey as patterns. Each uniform was altered to fit the range of sizes on the team.
With the fluorescent colors in the flowered print and matching jersey, the team had high visibility on the floor. The team also discovered that the more funny comments made about their uniforms by opposing teams, the harder they played. Several of the girls wanted to join in the fun, so a cheerleading squad was organized with the girls making their own uniforms. The ward was caught up in the spirit of camaraderie and showed up for the games to lend support.
The team made it through stake play undefeated and went on to regionals.

You could say 17-year-old Chris S. of Florida danced his way into the Church, but that’s not totally correct. Actually, it was the people he danced with who introduced him to the gospel. Chris is part of a troupe that performs Panamanian folk dances, and two of his best friends, Rebecca and Joshua R., who are also in the group, invited him to come to church.
“One time we started talking about the Church, and I just told him more about it, and he seemed really interested,” Rebecca says. “I told my parents about it, and they said we should invite him to church.” So one day they invited Chris to come, and he accepted.
“I asked my parents, and they said I could go,” Chris remembers. He also remembers how well received he was. “I was kind of nervous. But once I came, everyone was so warm and welcoming. It was nice to be there, and I felt comfortable.”
Soon Chris began meeting with the missionaries. “When they came over, they taught me a lesson and gave me a Book of Mormon,” he says. “They told me to read and pray, and I did. I didn’t feel anything at first, but then later on as I prayed, I felt great because it was like something inside of me was really warm. I know that was the Spirit, and it was a great feeling.”
Chris continued learning and decided to be baptized. “After being baptized, I received the Holy Ghost, received the Aaronic Priesthood, and was ordained a priest,” he says. “I felt special knowing that I am in God’s Church and that He loves me.”

Born at the outbreak of the First World War, he received only the very basic formal education. That finished when aged fourteen. He understood it would greatly reduce his chances of earning a good living. Frugality however, was bred in him; everything had a use, even when its original purpose was no longer possible. Volunteering for the RAF in World War II, he made full use of discarded parachutes. Silk from the canopies was given to my mother to make baby dresses, while my father wove the cords into table mats. He repaired our shoes and built cupboards and shelves from wood salvaged from demolition sites. He grew our needed fruit and vegetables in a garden, which the local Anglican church allowed him to use in return for growing flowers to decorate their magnificent medieval minster.

The fourteen-month-old son of a doctor became very ill. During the course of his treatment, many consultants were brought in, but their contributions resulted only in a symptomatic approach to the disease. The result was that the child’s condition steadily worsened. His temperature was 104 degrees and the family had entirely given up hope for his recovery; his death was expected momentarily. At this point, a number of miraculous things happened. On their own and without a previous appointment, the bishop and his counselors came to visit the family. At the request of the family, they administered to the child. Almost immediately following the blessing, an intern, who was a friend of the family, stepped into the room and said, “Why not give him a transfusion?” The intern was a universal blood donor, and blood was taken from him immediately and given to the child. The child’s temperature dropped from 104 degrees to normal and remained at normal throughout his hospital stay. This is a case where medical aid had essentially failed; and on the basis of what medicine could offer, the child’s life had been despaired. The priesthood came into the picture, and the administration was followed by additional medical steps that previously had not been projected. The child’s life was saved. Today, he has matured and has a lovely wife and family.