Gospel Story Finder

Young Latter-day Saints on the outer islands of French Polynesia wanted to hold a youth conference. But they faced some challenges.
Challenge 1: Location. The islands are far apart, with no regular lines of communication or transportation between them.
Challenge 2: Law. The government requires any youth gathering to comply with approved standards, including supervision by a state-certified director.
Challenge 3: Food. Little edible food grows in the crushed coral soil of the atolls. The diet is based on fish, coconuts, and whatever is shipped from Tahiti.
Challenge 4: Water. There are no rivers or lakes. Rain provides the only source of drinking water.
Challenge 5: Lodging. There are no dormitories, barracks, or even hotels on the outer islands. Where would people stay?
Faced with so many obstacles, it might have been tempting to give up. But the Saints here knew that if they had faith, God would help them find answers. They continued planning their conference. And soon, solutions were found.
Solution 1: Stay close to home. Conference planners decided to hold several small conferences at local levels. This would allow youth groups to gather without lengthy travel or a lot of expense. The first conference was held on Takaroa, one of seventy-seven islands in the Tuamotu Archipelago. Takaroa is a stronghold for the Church in the area—270 of its 396 inhabitants are Latter-day Saints.
Solution 2: Find a willing supervisor. Brother Stanley Brodien, executive secretary in the Paea Tahiti Stake, was the answer. A school psychologist, he spends summer vacations organizing youth gatherings, summer camps, and outings. He already had the proper government certification and was happy to supervise the conference.
Solutions 3, 4, and 5: Use local resources. Takaroa had been blessed with an abundance of rain. Storage tanks were full and could supply needed water. Some food had to be brought along in coolers, but a baker from the nearby island of Manihi, branch president Pitori Faura, provided bread, and local members helped the youth catch fish and gather coconuts as needed. As for lodging, most of the youth stayed in homes with members. Some of the young men brought tents and camped on the beach.
And now, the conference! Most of the seventy LDS youth from the three islands attending the Tuamotu North Youth Conference are involved either directly or indirectly in the pearl industry. The youth are highly skilled in tasks like skin diving and scuba diving, which are required for pearl cultivation.
But besides the pearl farms, the focal point of the island of Takaroa is the century-old LDS chapel, built from coral, with its hand-painted moldings, red tin roof, and bell tower stretching ninety feet above bedrock. It is larger and taller than any other building on the island, symbolic of the Church’s importance in the small community, and a perfect place for the youth to gather.
After their arrival, some aboard a fishing vessel, some by speed boat, the youth were divided into four groups, each with a mixture of participants from various age levels and from the three islands of Takaroa, Manihi, and Takapoto. The youth chose Book of Mormon names for their groups: Ether, Nephi, Mormon—and a popular hero in these islands, Hagoth.
Cynthia Tufariua of Takaroa said, “At first I wasn’t excited about not being with my friends, but after the first day, I thought it was great to get to know kids from the other islands.”
Eric Hio of Manihi said, “I’ve never seen this many Mormons together in one spot.”
Set an example of service. The shining moment of the conference came in the form of service. Except for one very rainy morning, the youth spent several hours each day cleaning different areas of the island—picking up trash, cutting weeds and bushes, removing rocks, hauling away garbage. During the conference, they cleaned beaches along the dock area and tidied up the village cemetery, the church grounds and building, and the local soccer field, which had become little more than a garbage dump and an eyesore.
Mani Terooatea is a Laurel from Takaroa home on vacation from Japan, where she has been studying the technique of pearl grafting (placing tiny pieces of mussel shells inside oysters in order to cultivate pearls). Mani said, “It was super to clean up the field, to see everyone working side by side. It didn’t take long, and I’m glad we could leave the place cleaner than we found it.” Mani brought along a friend who is a member of another faith. The friend, Hina Dexter, developed a new appreciation for Latter-day Saints, as did several other non-LDS participants.
Start with the scriptures. Each morning started with individual scripture study, followed by breakfast and a devotional. Then came the service projects, followed by sports and group activities, including island games such as “The Crab and the Coconut Trees,” “The Dog and the Thongs,” and “The Thief and the Pearl.” To cool off after a hard day of work and play, the youth found that a dip in the pristine lagoon waters among some of the most beautiful coral gardens in the world, myriads of brightly colored tropical fish, and curious but harmless reef sharks, provided a refreshing change of pace.
Besides morning scripture study and devotionals, two firesides and a home evening emphasized spiritual topics such as faith, standards, scripture study, goal setting, enduring to the end, striving for excellence, mission preparation, and seminary attendance. One speaker gave a brief history of the Church in French Polynesia, speaking of sacrifices made by early missionaries and members and challenging the youth to be willing to make similar sacrifices to share the gospel.
End with a testimony meeting. As the conference closed, young people expressed gratitude for new bonds of friendship, strengthened testimonies, and their renewed desire to know and serve the Savior. One young man who had not been very active in the Church expressed his newly gained desire to serve a mission: “I want to get my life in order so I can share with other people the testimony I felt growing during this conference. I want to spread the joy the gospel brings.”
Like a pearl. The youth conference taught the outer islanders another thing as well. They saw that with patience, challenges can be turned into blessings. It reminded them of the black pearls they grow in their lagoons. A little bit of mussel shell is an irritant. But with time and care, the oyster transforms it into a thing of beauty.

One Sunday, my Primary friends Rebecca and Crystal were going to another ward.
That would make me the oldest child in my Primary class. I was pleased, but two of the boys sometimes don’t respect me—maybe because I play with them too much. So I try to be a better person.
One of the two boys, Sammy,* doesn’t always pay attention in class. Sometimes he makes fun of me and makes me angry. But I decided to not get so angry. That’s how you become a better leader. Jesus Christ would not get angry if He was here. I know that Jesus is true and is our Savior. It’s hard to be a good leader, but it is good to be a leader like Jesus Christ.

The tribal bond is very strong. Abel discovered just how strong when, a year after joining the Church, he says, “My heart began to yearn for my parents and my tribe.” He took his family back to Lifou. With no branch of the Church there, he lost contact with his new religion for six years.
Brother Seiko remembers: “During those six years, I didn’t have a good job, and I had problems with my wife. Nothing was going as I wanted it to. Then, after a big argument, Louise left for Nouméa. She knew it wasn’t good to be away from the Church. I was alone on the island. After she left, I went to my house and prayed all night to have the Spirit again.”
A few days later, Brother Seiko had his answer. Before he could have the peace he wanted, he had to come back to the Church. “I knew the Church was true,” he says, “and I knew I needed to repent. From then on, my goal has been to work for the Lord all the time.”
And work he has. In the years since, he has served as a Primary teacher, president of the elders quorum, counselor in two branch presidencies, branch president, high councilor, counselor in the district presidency, and now district president.

I was baptised in 1968 at the Nottingham chapel, West Bridgford. I was 17 years old. It was not long before I was called to serve as a ward missionary. This was a challenge for me at the start, but after a short period of time I became more valiant in my call, and with the help of local full-time missionaries I began to find it easier to testify to the truthfulness of the gospel.
It was during this time that I would go out with the full-time missionaries on teaching appointments or tracting.
One day they invited me to join them in the Market Square, Nottingham. We called it “Slab Square”—Elder M. Russell Ballard (1928–2023) preached there as a young missionary. They were going to preach the gospel. They stood on a raised wall and started to preach the message of the Restoration. I was amazed when a small crowd gathered, and even more amazed when I found myself volunteering to do what they were doing. The crowd had grown to about 40, and I said a silent prayer and started to share the message of the Restoration. Individuals in the crowd started to respond with some very critical comments, until one gentleman seemed to shout with a very loud voice, “Give the lad a chance!”
It worked and I was able to finish my remarks. I’m not sure if this gentleman was a little the worse for drink but I was very grateful for his comments.
We left the Market Square and I’m not sure what good I did, but I always remember that day in Slab Square. It gave me the courage to stand up and testify, no matter what. I thought, “If I can do that, I can do anything.” Even today I think the Spirit moved not only upon me that day but also upon the gentleman who spoke up for me.

The more I read on a regular basis, the more I found myself turning to the scriptures in times of need or distress. On one occasion, I became extremely angry with someone who had broken an important promise to me. For days I was resentful and considered retaliation. I was miserable. I knew that it was wrong not to forgive, but I did not know how to overcome my feelings. Finally, in anguish, I picked up the Book of Mormon. Without any real intention of reading, I let the pages fall open. The words of the Lord from Mormon 3:15 seemed to jump out at me: “Vengeance is mine.”
In an instant, everything was brought into eternal perspective. I was chastened and humbled, realizing that my attitude was wrong. At the same time, this scripture brought great relief. The Lord was aware of my feelings! He cared. How much easier it was, then, to pray and to forget my bad feelings.

The youth of the Brea Second Ward, Fullerton California Stake, had an unusual opportunity. They helped a member of their ward celebrate her 99th birthday! Because Sister Polly Hall is unable to leave her nursing home to attend church, two priests from the ward visit her every Sunday to administer the sacrament.
Through their service, the priests have become friends with Sister Hall, and decided they would give her a birthday party.
Sister Hall was pleased to be the guest of honor at the party, which included games, dancing, music, and presents.
“I just love the youth of the Church,” says Sister Hall. “My testimony is strengthened each week when the boys come to visit me with the sacrament.”

Bronwyn sighed deeply as she gazed out the window of the small thatched cottage. She had been idly watching Mrs. McKay across the street talking again to the two tall men. Mrs. McKay’s husband had died ten years ago, a year before Bronwyn was born, and the woman had to work hard to support herself and her five children. She left early in the morning and didn’t return until long after dark. Then the lights burned late into the night as she washed and sewed and cooked for her family. She seldom visited, but went her way unsmiling, wrapped up in her own problems. She certainly looked happy now, however. Suddenly Bronwyn realized that that was what was unusual about her neighbor—Mrs. McKay was smiling!
Bronwyn turned from the window, her thoughts again on Mam. Mam didn’t smile much anymore either—not since Dad had died two years ago. How different it had been then, with laughter, singing, and hugging.
Dad had worked long hours in the coal mine. He would leave early in the morning, while it was still dark, and wouldn’t return until long after the sun had gone down in the evening. In the Welsh mining towns of the 1840s, a man could go for months without seeing the sun, except on the Sabbath.
Oh, the sunshine Dad brought into their home when he was there!
Mam would begin supper, and Bronwyn would hop around like an excited little bird, knowing that soon her father would be home. Mam would work quietly at the fire, heating the delicious stew she made so well, while oatcakes were delicately browning to the side of the bubbling pot. Mam would be humming, and Bronwyn would set the table, fill the mugs with frothy milk, and cut thick slices of rich brown bread.
Finally Bronwyn would hear her father’s deep, laughing voice shouting farewells to his work companions, and the door would fly open. “Mair!” he would call, and he would lift his wife from the floor in a fierce embrace.
Bronwyn always waited in the far corner, for she knew her father would gently set her mother down, open his arms wide, and shout, “Bronny! Where’s my Bronny?”
And Bronwyn would race across the room and leap into his outstretched arms.
After supper Bronwyn and her mother would wash the dishes, and the rest of the evening would be filled with Dad’s booming voice as he danced Bronwyn and her mother around the room. Later, before Bronwyn fell asleep, she would hear her parents’ quiet voices as they sat at the kitchen table.
Then one evening there was a knock at the door just as Mam was starting supper. When she answered the door, she saw Mr. Walters, the mining foreman, standing on the stoop. Mam’s face turned white as she stared at the little man, and Bronwyn felt a tightening in the pit of her stomach. She never took her eyes from Mam, and when Mr. Walters removed his hat and said, “I’m sorry, Mair, there was a cave-in … ,” Bronwyn saw her mother crumple speechlessly to the floor.
The next few days after that were a blur: neighbors coming and going, Mam lying on her bed as she never did during the day, food being brought in, and women taking Bronwyn in their arms and crying.
Bronwyn wasn’t allowed to go to the funeral, and when her mother came to pick her up at the neighbor’s house, Mam’s eyes were dull and her face had a pained look that never quite left it. In the two years since the funeral, Bronwyn rarely saw her mother smile.
“Bronwyn?” Mam’s voice brought Bronwyn’s thoughts back to the present. “Are you ready? We’re going to the chapel on Altwyn Street again.”
Bronwyn’s heart sank, but without comment she quickly tied her bonnet. How many different churches have we gone to this year? she wondered. She knew what her mother was looking for but so far had been unable to find. Bronwyn had heard a neighbor speak of it once to her mother: “Mair, it’s been nearly a year since your Iorwerth died. You’ve got to start living your life again. You should remarry, give Bronwyn a new father.”
Mam had sat serenely in the rocking chair by the fire. “I don’t need another husband, Mrs. Rees. And Bronwyn doesn’t need a new father. I have no doubt that we will be together again with Iorwerth in the next life.”
Mrs. Rees looked shocked. When she regained her voice, she spoke with terrible finality. “Mair Jones, wherever did you get such an idea? Didn’t your wedding vows say ‘till death do you part’?”
“Mam,” Bronwyn had asked hesitantly after Mrs. Rees had left, “is what she said true? Will we never see Dad again?”
Mam held Bronwyn so tightly that it hurt, yet Bronwyn felt a flood of relief when her mother whispered fiercely, “Don’t you ever believe that, Bronwyn. Ever! God would not allow so much happiness in a family, then snatch it away from us forever.”
And that was when they had started going to different churches. After meeting with a new congregation for a few weeks, Mair would find an opportunity to speak to the minister alone while Bronwyn waited outside. Sometimes her mother would be in there for a long time. Sometimes she would stride out of the church after only a few moments. But the outcome was always the same. Mair would come out, take Bronwyn firmly by the hand, and resolutely march home, repeating over and over, “They’re wrong. I know they’re wrong. We belong together.”
The Altwyn Street church was on the other side of Pontygwyn. As they trudged down the dusty road, their long, heavy skirts rustling against their shoes, Bronwyn asked, “Are you going to speak to Reverend Hugh today?”
Mair’s grasp tightened on Bronwyn’s hand. “I hope to catch him after the service.”
Mair wasn’t with the minister long. The determined look on her mother’s face as she emerged from the minister’s office answered Bronwyn’s unspoken question. And she wondered, Can all the ministers be wrong? Is Mrs. Rees right? Will we never be with Dad again?
Later that week, while her mother washed the clothes she had started taking in after Dad died, Bronwyn entertained herself by swinging back and forth on the front gate. She was so involved in counting how many times she could slam the gate without falling off that she didn’t see the two men turn the corner until she had swung against one of them and had fallen into his arms.
“Mae’n ddrwg gen i (I’m very sorry),” she gasped. Only when she got over her embarrassment did she recognize them as the strangers she had seen talking to Mrs. McKay.
“You needn’t be sorry,” the one with blond hair said, laughing. “It would be fun to swing on a gate again.” Ruffling Bronwyn’s long dark hair, he and his friend hurried on their way.
He talks differently than we do, Bronwyn thought as she watched them cross the street. He used the right words, but they sounded funny. She watched them knock on Mrs. McKay’s door and noticed her neighbor’s bright smile as they entered the house.
“Are we going to a different church today?” Bronwyn asked Mam the following Sunday.
“No,” her mother answered. “I thought we would take a lunch and go picnic by the river.”
Unable to believe her good fortune, Bronwyn hurried to help Mam pack some cheese and bread and boiled eggs into a small hamper. Soon they were striding down the road. It was a beautiful spring day, and Bronwyn was alive with enthusiasm. She would run ahead, dash back to hurry her mother along, then race off to the side to pick some wildflowers. And each time Bronwyn looked up at her mother and saw the relaxed flush on Mam’s cheeks, she wanted even more to dance with joy.
“It’s a good day, isn’t it, Mam?”
Mother smiled suddenly and answered, “Yes, Bronny, it is. I don’t know why, but I feel like it’s a very good day.”
It was then that they heard the singing. It seemed to come out of nowhere, but as they walked closer to the river, they saw a small cottage just ahead of them, and the music was coming from it. Curious, they approached and read the neatly printed sign to the right of the door: THE CHURCH OF JESUS CHRIST OF LATTER-DAY SAINTS.
“What does that mean, Mam?” Bronwyn whispered.
Her mother shook her head slowly, and they both peered in through the open door. Perhaps a dozen people were now standing about, chatting quietly.
“Is this a church, Mam?”
“That’s what the sign says,” Mair answered, looking puzzled.
“It’s different from any other church I’ve ever seen,” Bronwyn said as she looked at the small cottage.
“Let’s go on,” Mair urged, taking Bronwyn’s hand. “Some of the people are beginning to leave.”
But Bronwyn had seen the two tall strangers inside, and she pulled back excitedly. The young men were coming toward them now, and suddenly—unable to explain why—Bronwyn very much wanted them to talk to her mother, to make her mother smile the way they did Mrs. McKay. “Wait, Mam,” she said urgently, “they want to talk to us.”
“Mair! Bronwyn!” To their astonishment, Mrs. McKay rushed over to them just ahead of the two young men.
Bronwyn suddenly felt shy, and her face reddened as the tall blond man knelt beside her and smiled. “Isn’t this the little gate-swinger?”
Bronwyn glanced up at her mother, who stood looking bewildered. “You know Bronwyn?” Mam asked.
“Mair,” Mrs. McKay was saying, “how strange that you would appear at the door like this! I have been telling the elders that I had a neighbor who very much needed to hear their message.”
“Elders?” Mam repeated.
The blond man turned to her. “I’m Elder Butler. My companion and I are missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We have come all the way from America to deliver the message of Christ’s restored church.”
“They’ve been teaching me, Mair,” continued Mrs. McKay. “Let them talk to you too.”
“Mam, they’re nice,” Bronwyn added. “They make Mrs. McKay smile. Maybe they can make you smile too.”
Bronwyn took her mother’s hand, and they entered the small building with Mrs. McKay and the two young men. But Bronwyn’s heart sank as her mother said, “I have been to many churches, and none of them have been able to answer an important question to my satisfaction. Before we go any further, I want to ask you just one thing: Can Bronwyn and I ever be with my deceased husband again?”
Tears of joy streamed down Mrs. McKay’s face as Elder Butler answered kindly, “My dear Mrs. Jones, yes, you can. You and your daughter can be reunited with your husband as a family forever. Won’t you sit down and let us tell you about it?”
The look of peace that spread over Mam’s face sent shivers of happiness and excitement down Bronwyn’s back. And as she and her mother sat down to listen, she understood why this day was indeed a very good day.

Mary sat on the shiny wooden bench before the great organ in the Tabernacle on Temple Square. The building was lit only by the glow of the streetlights shining through its paneled windows. Do I really dare try to play this wonderful musical instrument? she wondered. She had received permission and encouragement to play the organ from Alexander Schreiner, the Tabernacle organist, but still she hesitated.
It was a Thursday and very late. The Salt Lake Tabernacle Choir had held its usual practice and gone home. Mary thought about how a few weeks before she had finally gained enough courage to ask Brother Schreiner if she could play something on the grand organ. With a kind smile lighting his face, he told her to learn to play “Come, Come Ye Saints” note-perfect on her piano at home and then he would show her his favorite stops for the organ.
Mary patiently practiced and practiced until she could play the hymn with ease. But later when she sat down on the organ bench with Brother Schreiner after choir practice was over, she was so nervous that her clumsy fingers could scarcely play the keys. Brother Schreiner showed her the stops he used in playing the hymn, but she was reluctant to push them.
“That’s all right, Mary,” Brother Schreiner said to her, understandingly. “You stay after everyone else has gone home tonight and practice all by yourself if you’d like. I’ll show you how to close and lock the organ and you can play it to your heart’s content whenever you wish.”
Now the building was empty, the magnificent ivory keys were waiting for her fingers. Mary looked into the darkness of the big building. She had seen it filled with people hundreds of times, but tonight she was all alone. Finally she reached out and pressed the keys, praying they would sing out her memorized hymn.
It seemed to Mary that the music flew like doves out of the golden pipes and rested on the empty benches and chairs. Serenading the quiet night, she was thrilled that her fingers could cause the mighty instrument to produce such glorious sounds. She played another hymn, a piece by Bach, and then another hymn. At last she carefully closed and locked the organ and left the building. This was the first of many after-midnight concerts Mary enjoyed in the empty Tabernacle. As she played she sometimes remembered how in 1916 she had timidly gone to see Evan Stephens, the noted composer and conductor who led the choir, to ask if she might sing with the group. This was the beginning of Mary’s sixty years of service with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. Today she is probably the only person living who sang with Evan Stephens.

In a prominent place in my office, where I can always see it, is a small, very old lantern which once lighted the binnacle on the H.M.S. Clarion, an old sailing ship registered out of Bournemouth, England. Not many people these days know what a binnacle is. Yet it is the forerunner for very important equipment on any ship.
A binnacle is a stand for a ship’s compass, usually placed before the steering wheel. The binnacle holds the compass by which the mariner steers his ship. And because ships travel at night, there must be a light over the compass.
The lamp that lighted the binnacle of the H.M.S. Clarion is important to me because it was given to me by a friend who retrieved it from the old ship, now far from home and long out of service, and because that friend had inscribed on the front of it, to me, these words: “Your light in my life made the difference.”
This tribute may be undeserved in my case, but I think everyone recognizes what a great privilege it would be to truly be a light in the life of another. Like the lantern over the binnacle, such a light may help point the way.

As these young people are converted to the gospel, they help one another remain strong. Last summer, Klein Kinga, 19, and another young member of the Church found employment away from home. “There weren’t any other Church members around—just the two of us and the world,” she says. “We had a lot of adversity. When we came home in the evenings, we always prayed together, read together from the Book of Mormon, and waited for the letters we received from our Church friends here in Dunaújváros. These things helped us endure that difficult time.”

Later I mailed the overweight birthday card and enjoyed the thought of Eric reading his life out loud to his roommates.
It was almost midnight Friday when the phone rang.
“Mom, this is Eric.”
“Eric! Today’s your birthday. You got my card! You got the money! You loved them both! But you didn’t have to thank us at this hour!”
“Mom! Listen! Brad and I were just sitting around here in the student dormitory reminiscing when the telephone rang. It was a girl.”
She said, “Is this Eric Miller? You probably won’t remember me. It’s been a long time. This is Jena Hamilton.”
“Jena! I can’t believe it! Of course I remember you. What are you doing here in Utah? Visiting?”
“I’m going to the BYU just like you.”
“But why? How did you decide to come here?”
“Well, about three years ago mother and I were doing dishes when two young men knocked at our door. They said they were representatives of Jesus Christ and would like to leave a message with us. Mother said. ‘No, thank you, we really aren’t interested.’ Then for some reason she asked, ‘What church are you from?’ And they said, ‘We belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, sometimes called the Mormon church.’ She looked at me, and we both said, ‘That’s Eric’s church.’ We weren’t interested, of course, but we would be courteous to someone from Eric’s church. Well, you know how that goes! We were baptized after the fourth lesson.”
“Jena! That’s wonderful! Hey, it’s my birthday. We’re celebrating! Where are you living? Can we come over?
Eric ended his story. I wiped a tear off my chin and nose. He paused a long time. “Well,” I demanded, “Did you go over? How is she doing?”
“She’s beautiful!” Eric replied enthusiastically.
“And her leg? Has it improved?”
“Her leg? What was the matter with her leg?”

Otto leaped out of bed. “It’s St. Leonhardi’s Day!” he shouted to his sister. But Martha had already gone downstairs.
The kitchen stove provided a comforting warmth as Otto ran into the room. Martha was brushing her hair.
“When can we leave for the village?” he asked.
“Very soon,” answered his mother.
This was Otto’s favorite holiday. All week long he and his family had been busy preparing for this autumn festival held each November 6 in many villages of southern Germany. As patron saint of the peasants, St. Leonhardi is said to have once bestowed his blessings on the farmers, stables, and animals, especially the workhorses.
In Otto’s village a long procession of men on horseback or in horse-drawn carriages or wagons would wind its way up a long hill to an old church. There the horses and carriages would be blessed and sprinkled with holy water. This part of the celebration was called St. Leonhardi’s Ride.
As long as he could remember, Otto had ridden with his family in their farm wagon. Everyone took great pride in decorating their horses, carriages, or wagons. Garlands of flowers adorned the carriages and also hung around the necks of the groomed horses. The braided manes and tails of the animals were trimmed with ribbons. Otto had stood on a bench to brush their two large workhorses. He then helped Father polish the harnesses and scrub the wagon. Martha and her mother had woven beautiful Alpine meadow flowers into garlands.
At last it was almost time to go. Otto’s father brought the wagon out from the barn, but only Hans was hitched to it.
“Father, are you leaving Greta home?” Otto asked in surprise. Of the two horses, Greta was Otto’s favorite. She was so gentle that Otto often rode her bareback in the fields.
“Go see,” laughed his father.
Otto ran into the barn and saw Greta still tied to a stall. A garland of flowers was around her neck and a new saddle blanket was across her back.
“Greta looks beautiful,” said Otto. “But why are you going to ride her?”
“I’m not,” answered his father. “But I thought you might like to!”
Otto was stunned. His dream of riding alone in the St. Leonhardi procession was finally coming true!
“Thank you, Father,” said Otto proudly. “May I go by Karl’s house and see if he is ready? We’ll catch up with you.”
“Yes,” answered Father, “but hurry.”
Karl had his own small horse with a beautiful saddle, and he was starting to leave his yard when Otto rode up.
“You’re not riding that old thing are you?” Karl asked derisively.
“Of course I am,” snapped Otto. “This festival honors workhorses, not fancy riding horses.”
“Ha! But my horse can work too,” bragged Karl.
The boys had ridden only a short distance when they came upon a wagon that had slipped off the road. Two wheels were lodged in a ditch that was muddy from recent rains. A young man was trying to get his old horse to pull the wagon back onto the road, and an elderly priest was behind the wagon trying to push.
“Can you help us?” asked the young man.
“I’m afraid not,” answered Karl quickly. “Our horses have been groomed and we don’t want to get them muddy.” With that he rode off swiftly toward the village.
Otto could see a beautiful garland of flowers inside the wagon. They must also be going to the festival, he thought. “My horse can get you out,” he offered.
With the help of the young man and some rope from his wagon, Greta started to pull. Slowly she dug in with her strong forefeet and then her hindquarters gave her the power to move forward. As she lowered her head, the garland of flowers around her neck slipped off. Otto watched as the wagon wheels rolled over it. Another pull and the wagon was back on the road.
The old priest patted Greta. “You were kind to help us, and I’m sorry about the flowers and the mud all over your horse,” he said gently.
“That’s OK,” said Otto, trying hard not to sound disappointed.
By the time Otto reached the village, the narrow streets were crowded with horses, carriages, and farm wagons. The master of ceremonies and the burgermeister (mayor) were directing everyone into a parade-like formation. Otto and Greta were pushed in behind a beautiful carriage. The driver was handsomely dressed and wore a felt top hat trimmed with a green ribbon.
“Hey, Otto,” whispered Karl. “Greta’s a mess! You can’t be in the procession.”
Otto turned to see Karl riding up behind him. “Well, I’m in it and I’m not taking Greta out,” said Otto.
Just then the church bells chimed. It was nine o’clock and the procession began.
The master of ceremonies and the burgermeister led, followed by the town band stepping along smartly to its own music. The clopping of all the horse hooves harmonized with the music. Behind the band came the many festively decorated horses, carriages, and wagons. The women looked beautiful in their holiday costumes and their big braided buns clasped by silver hairpins. Many of the men wore rich brown dress coats and felt hats.
The procession marched over the bridge and up the steep slope to the small chapel high above the Isar River. At the top of the hill Otto could see the flower-decorated platform where several priests stood. He stared in amazement, for the guest of honor was the old priest whose wagon had been in the ditch!
As the procession slowly passed the platform, all were blessed and sprinkled with holy water. But as Otto and Greta approached the platform, the old priest held up his hand in a halting motion. The entire procession stopped! Everyone wondered why, since this had never happened before.
The old priest leaned over and picked up a beautiful garland of flowers that had been draped over his chair. Otto recognized it as the same wreath that had been in the young man’s wagon. Then the priest stepped off the platform and walked directly to Otto and Greta. Otto could feel his heart pounding. And all around him he could hear voices whispering.
The priest reached up and slipped the garland of flowers over Greta’s neck. “Bless you both,” he said gently and walked back to the platform.
The procession continued and then slowly started back down the steep hill leading to the market center, where the people all were to gather to eat and visit with one another. Later the young men would stage a contest in whipcracking, an ancient and highly respected art in Bavaria.
This year, however, the attention did not center on the whipcracking contest, for the people crowded around Otto and Greta to ask questions:
“Why did the priest come to you?”
“What did he say?”
“Why did he give your horse the flowers from his chair?”
“Why is your horse spattered with mud?”
Otto tried to answer all the questions and at the same time look around. But there was one person he could not find. Karl was nowhere to be seen!

I will start out with a little experience that I encountered just a few years ago while I was supervising the missions along the West Coast. I was up in the Alaskan-Canadian Mission when I heard this story.
While attending high school, the daughter of the mission president was successful in bringing one of her friends into the Church. When the summer vacation came along, she said, “Daddy, I want to spend my summer months in the mission field.” So he called her as a summer missionary and sent her up to Anchorage. He and I were there when the elders held a baptismal service. Eleven people were baptized, and nine of them were the converts of this girl and her companion. One was a man who looked as if he could grace any position in the Church. After the baptism the daughter of the mission president came up to me and, with the tears rolling down her cheeks, said, “Oh, President Richards, I have never been so happy in all my life.” Wasn’t it a wonderful ambition for that girl to want to spend her summer months in missionary work? And what a compensation if you want to lay away treasures in heaven!

Elsa Jacobsen had a problem. After years of working hard in school and excelling in the classroom, on the student council, and in the ballet studio, she had created a situation for herself that she didn’t quite know how to handle. Several top universities, including Stanford University located near Palo Alto, California, were vying to have Elsa as a student. All were great schools, some were offering attractive scholarship packages, and any of them would provide lots of great learning opportunities.
“I finally narrowed it down,” says 18-year-old Elsa, “and after a lot of fasting and prayer I received a peaceful confirmation about coming to Stanford. From the time I arrived here, I knew why. I love it here.”
Everyone should be so lucky to have problems like that, right? But whether you’re an ace student or you’re praying that the local junior college will look past your grade point average and concentrate on your potential, the decisions you make about your education will affect the rest of your life.
Once you arrive there will be even more decisions to make: What will you major in? Whom will you be friends with? Whom will you date? It’s a huge change, and it can be a little overwhelming. But Elsa and her Stanford classmates have come up with several great ideas for establishing a great after-high-school life that will work whether you’re headed for the Ivy League or Hometown U. Here are some of their stories:
Dustin Matsumori, a Stanford freshman from Murray, Utah, faced a dilemma similar to Elsa’s. He knew he was going to go to college, but where? And why? So Dustin started doing what any good student would do—his homework. He considered cost, class sizes, majors offered, and the student population at each school on his list.
“I came to visit Stanford with my parents and was really impressed with the beautiful campus and the great weather,” says Dustin. “Then the tour guide started giving us the stats about Supreme Court justices and Nobel laureates and other impressive people who have graduated from Stanford.”
Dustin was excited by the prospect of being able to go to a school that had such an awesome reputation. But he wasn’t ready to sign on the dotted line just yet. Something was still missing.
“When I was getting information about Stanford, I found out that the Latter-day Saint Student Association [LDSSA] hosted a seminar each Friday at lunchtime. When I walked into that room with the other LDS students, I felt right at home. It was then that I knew I could go away from home and have wonderful educational experiences and still strengthen my testimony.”
Andy Walburger is a returned missionary who plays on the Stanford water polo team. Being able to play for the team was a big factor in his decision to go to Stanford, but it wasn’t the only one.
“I love the LDS community here at Stanford,” he says. “I think relationships are a very important part of a college education. In fact, a big part of what you learn at college happens outside the classroom, so you want to make sure that it will be a good atmosphere. Having LDS friends here has made all the difference for me. After all, staying at home by yourself every Friday night isn’t a lot of fun.”
Holly Goodliffe, a freshman from Salt Lake City, says that although she was thrilled to be at college, there was some uncertainty as she faced her first days in a world where her parents weren’t nearby.
“I think that being away from home for the first time has really helped me appreciate the gospel more than ever before,” says Holly. “I feel like I have a solid foundation. Also, I know I can rely on my other LDS friends. We sort of look out for each other. If someone’s not at church, we let them know we missed them.”
Mark Madsen led the Stanford basketball team to the NCAA Final Four last year. He is a tenacious and aggressive player, and it would be easy to assume that basketball is the only thing that matters to such an impressive athlete. But Mark, who served a mission in Spain, says that it’s church, not sports, that gives him the anchor he needs in his life.
“Going to church at the student ward is a huge relief for me, especially after a road trip with the team,” says Mark. “After a few days in a strange city playing against tough guys, it’s nice to come and sing the opening hymn and be with my ward family. I love Sundays.”
Even though LDSSA is just one of several religious, academic, and professional groups on campus, the LDS students say they think it is one of Stanford’s most noticed groups. Their numbers may be small—less than 100 of the 7,000 undergraduate students are LDS—but their impact is felt in almost every dorm, classroom, and organization. These guys are involved with a capital “I.”
In addition to the athletic pursuits of Mark and Andy and their LDS teammates, there are LDS athletes in gymnastics, synchronized swimming, and crew just to name a few. Emily Andrus, an LDS student from Salt Lake City, just finished a year in office as student body president. This year another LDS student, Maren Norton, took her place. One LDS student leads daily campus tours. Several are in musical, dance, and performing groups. And at nearly every rally, game, performance, or debate, there is a small but vocal cheering section of LDS students.
“I’m always running in several different directions at once,” says Emily. “But my LDS friends watch out for me. I’m well taken care of.”
That involvement and the support network that comes along with it make it easy for all the LDS students to let their gospel light shine. In every group and on every team, people notice that the Mormon kids seem to have their own fan club, which leads to questions about the gospel. Lisa Arrington, a recent convert to the Church, became interested in the gospel because she was friends with Mark. She wanted to know more about the friends that seemed to always surround him and why they always seemed so happy. Now Mark isn’t just her friend; he’s also her home teacher.
But it isn’t just high-profile activities that bring missionary opportunities. Dustin’s friends noticed he didn’t drink. They asked questions, and soon Dustin was sharing the Book of Mormon and For the Strength of Youth pamphlets with the guys on his floor. Holly’s roommate, a Christian, noticed that Holly read her scriptures daily just as she did. She wanted to know more about Holly’s beliefs, and now they occasionally study the Bible together.
Meghann Evershed, a sophomore, jogs a few times a week with her friend Matt Blythe. While they jog, they often talk about the gospel.
“I really enjoy discussing religion with Meghann because she’s very clear,” says Matt. “She seems to have all the answers. It’s cool to understand her beliefs.”
Four years seems like a long time, but time flies when you’re having fun, and these students are definitely doing that. It’s the kind of fun that comes from working hard, playing hard, and loving and living the gospel. It’s the kind of fun that anyone, no matter where they go to school, can have if they want to.
So maybe you didn’t get a perfect score on the SAT, and the thought of college algebra makes you break out into a cold sweat. Just remember that whether you’re trying to decide between several schools or just hoping that one will take pity and let you in, every problem has a solution. Especially when you have the gospel to guide you and good LDS friends to help you find your way.
It’s a simple concept—one that will make you look very smart no matter where you go to school.
Here are some things that make the Stanford LDSSA great. Keep them in mind when you’re choosing a college—your bishop can tell you if there’s an institute program at the school you choose. Or if you choose a school without an LDSSA, maybe you could team up with other LDS students or young adults in the area and help implement some of the following ideas when you arrive:
All incoming freshmen receive a welcome letter and a packet of information about where the student ward meets, where institute classes are held, and how to get involved.
Stanford students stay connected via e-mail. If there’s an activity or an event, it’s easy to let everyone know.
Helping the community is a great way to build friendships. Stanford students have developed a tutoring program that allows them to help struggling elementary, junior high, and high school students succeed.
Stanford students use the buddy system. Each incoming freshman is assigned a “big brother” or “big sister,” an upperclassman who can show them the ropes.
Institute classes not only provide a spiritual dimension to education; it’s also a great break from other studies and a good way to see friends. Stanford students make every effort to schedule their other classes so they can attend.

One young man, Michael, fulfilled this duty by helping his friend Jose.
One day, Jose asked him, “Michael, why are you always happy?”
Michael said, “It’s because I serve.”
“Why do you serve?”
“Because I hold the priesthood and it’s my duty,” came the reply.
Jose said, “I would like to know more about the priesthood.”
Michael invited Jose to Church activities and later to Church meetings. Eventually Jose and his family were taught by the missionaries and were baptized. Jose said, “Missionary work is the base of our Church. If we will be just and righteous in our daily dealings, then those around us will take notice and inquire of us like I did. Michael is a vessel in God’s great plan.”

For several months I didn’t attend seminary. It was hard for me to get up early, and I thought it was all right not to go because it didn’t help me much in school.
One day my friend told me that the teacher had taken my name off the attendance roll. I thought about the valuable things I had missed in seminary. So the next day at 5:45 a.m., I made myself get up to go to seminary.
For the next couple of mornings it was hard for me to get up, but I put the effort into making it there. After that, I noticed I felt rested and alert, had a better attention span, and was able to absorb more information at school and actually remember it when it counted.
Seminary has been a good experience for me because it has made my days at school go more smoothly. Seminary has also given me a better understanding of the gospel and the Church, which will help me when I serve a mission.

A picture forms on my monitor involving a father aboard an airplane on a short business trip. He has with him his five-year-old son and is almost wishing his son were not there because it is a very rough trip. There are downdrafts and updrafts and head winds alternating with tail winds, and some passengers are feeling a bit queasy. Apprehensively, the father glances at his son and finds him grinning from ear to ear. “Dad,” he says, “do they do this just to make it fun for the kids?”
Good parents and family and leaders and friends do go to great lengths to make it fun for the kids, but the fun they are thinking of is wholesome fun; it hurts no one, and it lifts the spirit and is good to remember tomorrow and through a lifetime and forever. It never detracts from the real, long-term joy we came into this world to experience.

A depressing spirit pervaded the funeral congregation as the services for a young mother who had died in childbirth drew to a close. The eulogies had been eloquent, but many gathered there that day felt some bitterness. How could a loving Father in Heaven allow such a lovely mother to be taken, leaving behind a family of four little ones to be cared for alone by a grieving father?

At the conclusion of the formal program the young father calmly rose from his seat and walked to the pulpit. "I sense your grief and concern," he said quietly, "but there is something I should tell you to comfort you. The first hour after my wife’s death I didn’t know how I could possibly endure it—how I could possibly go on without her. But then a sweet, peaceful spirit filled my soul, and since then I have had the assurance that everything will be all right. Don’t worry about us, we’re going to be just fine."

This same comforting spirit spread throughout the congregation. Everyone went home comforted.

In mid-July 1984, just weeks after my wife, Carol, and I were married in the Los Angeles California Temple, we were on our way to Utah, where I would begin my career and Carol would finish her college education. We were driving in separate cars. Between the two vehicles, we were transporting everything we owned.

About halfway to our destination, Carol pulled up alongside my car and began to motion to me. This was in the days before cell phones and smartphones, texting and Twitter. Seeing the expression on her face through her car window, I could tell she was not feeling well. She communicated that she could continue driving, but I was worried for my new bride.

As we approached the small town of Beaver, Utah, she again pulled alongside, and I could tell she needed to stop. She was ill and could not continue. We had two cars full of clothes and wedding gifts, but unfortunately we had little money. A hotel room was out of our budget. I was not sure what to do.

Neither of us had ever been to Beaver, and not really knowing what I was looking for, we drove around for a few minutes until I saw a park. We pulled into the parking lot and found a tree with some shade, where I laid out a blanket so Carol could rest.

A few minutes later another car drove into the nearly empty parking lot and parked next to our two cars. A woman, about the age of our mothers, got out of her car and asked if anything was wrong and if she could help. She mentioned that she had noticed us as she drove by and felt she should stop. When we explained our situation, she immediately invited us to follow her home, where we could rest as long as we needed to.

We soon found ourselves on a comfortable bed in a cool basement bedroom of her home. Just as we had settled, this wonderful sister mentioned that she had a number of errands to run and that we would be left alone for a few hours. She told us that if we were hungry, we were welcome to anything we could find in the kitchen, and that if we left before she returned home, to please close the front door.

After getting some much-needed sleep, Carol felt better and we continued our trip without stopping by the kitchen. When we left, the kind woman had not yet returned home. To our chagrin, we didn’t make note of the address and have never properly thanked our own good Samaritan, who stopped along the way and opened her home to strangers in need.

Sincerely seeking to be more like the Savior will allow us to see what we may not otherwise see. Our good Samaritan lived close enough to the Spirit to respond to a prompting and approach a stranger in need.

Only those who had seen with spiritual eyes, recognizing the need, acted and blessed those who suffered. Our good Samaritan recognized the need as she saw with spiritual eyes.

We may act by giving our time and talents, a kind word, or a strong back. As we seek and see, we will be placed in circumstances and situations where we can act and bless. Our good Samaritan acted. She took us to her home and provided us with what she had. In essence she said, “Such as I have give I thee.” It was exactly what we needed.

Although Olivia is a fictional character, Lettice Rushton was a real person. Mother of ten children, and blind from cataracts five years before she was baptized, she was one of thousands of British converts who listened eagerly to the missionaries and immigrated with their families to join the Saints in Nauvoo from 1840–1843.
The Prophet Joseph Smith recorded that on December 25, 1843, Lettice Rushton, a recent widow, along with her family and neighbors, appeared under his window at one o’clock on Christmas morning and began singing, “which caused a thrill of pleasure to run through my soul.” The music so moved him that he thanked Heavenly Father for their visit and blessed them in the name of the Lord.
(See History of the Church, volume VI, page 134.)