Gospel Story Finder

Elder Graham W. Doxey, who once served in the Second Quorum of the Seventy, told me of an experience. His mother, who was later a counselor in the Primary general presidency, also told me of this experience.
During World War II, he was in the navy posted to China. He and several others went by train to the city of Tientsin to look around.
Later they boarded a train to return to their base, but after more than an hour, the train turned north. They were on the wrong train! They spoke no Chinese. They pulled the emergency cord and stopped the train. They were put off somewhere in the countryside with nothing to do but walk back to the city.
After walking for some time, they found a small pump-handle car, the kind that the railroad workers use. They set it in the rails and began to pump their way along the tracks. It would coast downhill, but it had to be pushed uphill.
As they came to one steep downhill slope, they scrambled aboard the car and began to coast. Graham was the last to get aboard. The only place left for him was in the front of the car. He ran alongside and finally climbed aboard. As he did so, he slipped and fell. He was bouncing on his back with his feet against the car to keep from being run over. As the car quickly gained speed, he heard his mother’s voice say, “Bud, you be careful!”
He wore heavy military boots. His foot slipped, and the thick sole of his boot caught in a gear of a wheel and stopped the car just one foot (30 cm) from his hand.
His parents, who were presiding over the East Central States Mission at the time, were sleeping in a hotel room. His mother sat up at about 2:00 in the morning and awakened her husband: “Bud’s in trouble!” They knelt by the bed and prayed for the safety of their boy.
The next letter he received said, “Bud, what’s wrong? What happened to you?”
He then wrote to tell them what had happened. When they compared times, at the very time he was bouncing along that track, his parents were on their knees in the hotel room half a world away, praying for his safety.

May I share with you another true story and example of this kind of love that I again witnessed at this university. A few years had passed since the previous story. I was now serving in my first year as the bishop of a campus singles ward. If I needed the Lord=s help before while our bishop regained his health, my need was now ten-fold. I felt so keenly the need for the Lord=s direction as I often struggled to know how to serve and teach and counsel the young people in my ward.

Brothers and sisters, may I once again bear my personal witness to you that our Heavenly Father sustains, leads and guides those imperfect and weak vessels He calls to serve in His kingdom. Something very real happens when priesthood hands are laid on an ordinary man=s head and the sacred mantle and keys of a bishop are bestowed.

We are each so blessed to always have close in our lives, our own bishop. Listen to his teachings. Follow his counsel. He has been given special keys designed to bring down the blessings of heaven upon those whom he serves, if they will sustain him. If you will, throughout your entire life, always follow the counsel of your bishop, no matter who the man happens to be at any given time, I know blessings will come into your life that you will otherwise miss. I know such blessings have come into my life in direct proportion to the measure in which I have sustained and followed my own bishop.

Well, the Lord certainly blessed and sustained me as a new bishop as I wrestled with knowing how to help and serve the members of my ward. In particular, I remember pleading with the Lord to help me know how to help one specific sister. I=ll call her Susan. Understand that Susan was not a bad person, but a history of family conflicts and interpersonal crises had resulted in some difficult challenges that often surfaced in Susan=s life. Susan often felt alone, and her actions and attitude did not always bring harmony into her apartment.

In fact, it was often just the opposite. It seemed that Susan would always test anyone=s offered care and concern by pushing back, and pushing back hard. As some of you will know, such apartment situations can be very challenging and difficult for everyone involved. Towards the end of the first semester, Susan=s roommates had reached the end of their patience. While I know they each loved Susan, things came to a head because of some unwise choices Susan had made which resulted in a trip for everyone to the Dean=s Office.

It seemed that a solution just could not be found to this difficult situation other than having Susan withdraw from school the next semester. Shortly thereafter I was visiting one day with another sister in the ward. I=ll call her Mandy. During the course of our interview, Mandy shared with me an experience of a few days earlier. In the middle of the afternoon, Mandy had come home from school to her apartment, something she rarely did.

While home, she did something even stranger for her, something she had never done before in the middle of the day. She decided to go to the commons area of her apartment complex and shoot some pool. Mandy was not the type of girl one would normally find shooting pool in the middle of the afternoon at the end of a semester with finals rapidly approaching. But something impressed her to do so on this day.

When she arrived, there was no one else in the area, except a girl she recognized from the ward but had never spoken with, Susan. At Mandy=s initiative, a conversation ensued during which Susan, for some reason, felt comfortable sharing much of what was happening in her life. This was unusual for Susan. She usually shared very little with anyone, including her bishop.

Something impressed Mandy to come home that afternoon, go to the Commons, and approach a stranger. Brothers and sisters, you and I know what that something was. It=s the same something I asked you to listen for today. Something that may impress you to be someplace or to do something for a Awayfaring@ brother or sister who Amay pass your way;@ more probable, one whom the Lord will put in your way.

Mandy had followed the impressions of the Spirit. A trust quickly developed in only a matter of days. She continued to follow impressions, including a challenging one that she volunteer to switch apartments with Susan=s current roommate. Due in large part to the effects of this selfless act of love, Susan was able to stay in the apartment complex and in school for the remainder of the year.

Mandy made this switch knowing that challenges would certainly follow, and much to the amazement of her many friends in the ward. Several knew something of the difficult situation she was entering. Was the next semester easy and trouble free? Certainly not. However, both Susan and Mandy=s lives were changed for the better. Both became more like the Savior whom they loved because Mandy lived what the Lord had taught when he said:

Love one another, as I have loved you. Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. (John 15:12-13)

The Taylors heard the restored gospel as a result of some unusual circumstances. In 1836, Parley P. Pratt was sent to Toronto by revelation to preach the gospel. Concerning Elder Pratt’s mission to Canada, Elder Heber C. Kimball had prophesied, “From the things growing out of this mission, shall the fullness of the gospel spread into England.” (See Roberts, page 35.) Elder Pratt received from a stranger a letter of introduction to a John Taylor in Toronto. But when he called at the Taylors’ home, his reception there was polite but not exactly cordial. Later, after presenting his message to the ministers in the city, Elder Pratt prepared to leave. Valise in hand, he was saying good-bye to John Taylor when a neighbor—a member of the Taylors’ religious study group—came in, offered her home for Elder Pratt to preach in, and proposed to lodge and feed him. As a result, John and Leonora Taylor heard Elder Pratt preach. This was John’s response to his group of friends:

“We are here, ostensibly in search of the truth. Hitherto we have fully investigated other creeds and doctrines and proven them false. Why should we fear to investigate Mormonism? This gentleman, Mr. Pratt, has brought to us many doctrines that correspond with our own views. … We have prayed to God to send us a messenger, if He has a true Church on earth. … I desire to investigate his doctrines and claims to authority, and shall be very glad if some of my friends will unite with me in this investigation. But if no one will unite with me, be assured I shall make the investigation alone. If I find his religion true, I shall accept it, no matter what the consequences may be; but if false, then I shall expose it.” (See Roberts, pages 38–39.)

For three weeks, John Taylor followed Elder Pratt from place to place, copying down sermons as Elder Pratt delivered them—and then privately comparing them with the scriptures. Satisfied that the missionary was teaching the truth, John and Leonora Taylor joined the Church. Twenty-eight-year-old John was ordained an elder and was placed in charge of the Church in Canada when the missionaries returned to their homes.

Throughout my life, I have been blessed by such women. My departed wife, Dantzel, was such a woman. I will always be grateful for the life-changing influence she had on me in all aspects of my life, including my pioneering efforts in open-heart surgery.

Fifty-eight years ago I was asked to operate upon a little girl, gravely ill from congenital heart disease. Her older brother had previously died of a similar condition. Her parents pleaded for help. I was not optimistic about the outcome but vowed to do all in my power to save her life. Despite my best efforts, the child died. Later, the same parents brought another daughter to me, then just 16 months old, also born with a malformed heart. Again, at their request, I performed an operation. This child also died. This third heartbreaking loss in one family literally undid me.

I went home grief stricken. I threw myself upon our living room floor and cried all night long. Dantzel stayed by my side, listening as I repeatedly declared that I would never perform another heart operation. Then, around 5:00 in the morning, Dantzel looked at me and lovingly asked, “Are you finished crying? Then get dressed. Go back to the lab. Go to work! You need to learn more. If you quit now, others will have to painfully learn what you already know.”

Oh, how I needed my wife’s vision, grit, and love! I went back to work and learned more. If it weren’t for Dantzel’s inspired prodding, I would not have pursued open-heart surgery and would not have been prepared to do the operation in 1972 that saved the life of President Spencer W. Kimball.9

As a young girl, my grandmother Chasty Olsen Harris was tending some children who were playing in a dry riverbed near their home in Castle Dale, Utah. Suddenly she heard a voice that called her by name and directed her to get the children out of the riverbed and up on the bank. It was a clear day, and there was no sign of rain. She saw no reason to heed the voice and continued to play. The voice spoke to her again, urgently. This time she heeded the warning. Quickly gathering the children, she made a run for the bank. Just as they reached the bank, an enormous wall of water, originating with a cloudburst in the mountains many miles away, swept down the canyon and roared across where the children had played.
...
Except for this type of impelling revelation, my grandmother and the children she was tending would have been lost in the river.

In a western city a young man had been preparing for 18 years to go on a mission. He was excited, his parents were excited, his girlfriend was also, and he was ready.
One evening at the city swimming pool, he and some friends were diving from the highboard. The second he hit the water, he knew his approach angle had not been good. He was in trouble. His head pierced the water and struck the bottom of the pool with a sickening thud. He was immediately knocked unconscious. He was brought carefully to the poolside and then rushed to the hospital. After weeks of medical attention, he was finally told that he would be paralyzed for the rest of his life from his neck down. He couldn’t move a finger or a toe, an arm or a leg. He would now lie in bed forever. His body would become a useless thing, and unless something unusual happened, so would his spirit.
A wise bishop recognized the problem. After talking with the boy’s parents and the doctor, the bishop gave him an assignment. It was unbelievable, unreal, impossible! The assignment: would he please write a letter each month to every missionary and serviceman from their ward? Was the bishop just not thinking or was he inspired? How could the boy write with no hands or fingers to assist? Some had learned to use their toes in such an emergency, but he couldn’t move his. Having faith in their bishop, the boy and his parents started to work on the assignment. It took days, weeks, and months of effort and discouragement. In time, it began to happen.
By putting a pencil between his teeth and moving his head, he learned to make a mark, then a word, next a sentence, and finally a page. He wrote and wrote.
For over 20 years he has been writing beautiful letters. He has inspired thousands. The side benefit is that his own spirit, simply stated, is magnificent. Is it worth the effort to follow our leaders’ counsel no matter how hard or how difficult? He thinks so. So do I.

A few weeks before I became eight years old, my father was killed in a trucking accident. A month later, we moved to a new home in St. George, Utah, across the street from the beautiful St. George Temple.
Mother was soon called to be the stake genealogy secretary. Whenever a group assigned could not make it, a member of the temple presidency would call mother to ask if her sons could come to the temple to do baptisms for the dead. Mother never turned the Lord down. My two older brothers and I often went to the temple to do baptisms.
One summer’s day, I had cut my hand severely on an empty tin can. I begged Mother not to take me to the doctor to have the wound stitched together, so she cleaned my hand, applied a bandage, covered that with adhesive tape, and then wrapped everything in gauze.
No sooner had she finished than the telephone rang. It was the brethren from the temple, wanting us boys to come over to do baptisms. Because my two older brothers had been very busy lately, I had been going to the temple on a regular basis. I had by now compiled a lengthy list of baptisms for the dead that ran into thousands. Once again, my older brothers were not around, so I hurriedly bathed, dressed, and ran over to the temple.
Several hours and four hundred names later, Brother Edwards and I stopped for the night. I remember him well, his right arm to the square revealing a hand missing most of the fingers because of an accident he had had in his youth. After every baptism, he would carefully help me up into the stainless steel chair for the confirmation. After every twenty or thirty baptisms, Brother Edwards would look down at me and say, “Brother Fish, can you do some more?” I would answer yes, and we would work our way through another batch of names.
As I returned home, exhausted, Mother spotted the dripping wet gauze on my hand and helped me into the bathroom to re-dress the wound. I was so tired and hungry I just wanted to eat and sleep. I wasn’t paying attention to my hand. I let her unwrap the bandage.
The gauze came off first, then the adhesive tape, and finally the bandage. My mother looked shocked. I looked down. Not a trace of a cut remained—no scar, no redness, nothing!
I remember my mother quietly hugging me. As we cried together, sharing that moment, the Spirit bore witness to me that I had been healed because of my service in the temple of the Lord.

In 1937, President Joseph Fielding Smith was adjusting to life without his beloved wife Ethel, who had recently died. Ethel had asked that Jessie Evans, a single woman with a beautiful singing voice, perform at her funeral. Through that encounter, Jessie Evans and Joseph Fielding Smith became better acquainted and their mutual attraction blossomed into love. She accepted his proposal of marriage shortly after Christmas. In contemplating the gifts he had received the Christmas of 1937, President Smith wrote, “I have received [Jessie] as a Christmas present, for which I am grateful.”6 They were married the following April.

In 1988, I went with other British teachers to teach at a school in Sudan. The children were delightful, and we quickly adjusted to the rigors of living in a developing country. Our employer, however, turned out to be an oppressive leader who persecuted anyone he perceived as opposing him in any way. He hated me from the day I stood up for someone he had abused.
One day he called me into his office. For over half an hour, he subjected me to all manner of verbal abuse and threats. I left the room in a state of shock. I have no memory of how I got through the rest of the school day. All evening I could not get his terrible words out of my mind.
At bedtime, I sat on my bed and read the scriptures. Then I knelt and fervently prayed for comfort and relief, but I felt none. I got into bed but couldn’t sleep. Twice more I got up, read, knelt, and prayed, but to no avail.
“Oh, well,” I thought, “Heavenly Father doesn’t always answer our prayers how and when we want.” I resigned myself to a wretched, sleepless night.
But as I lay down again, I thought, “There’s one more thing I can do.” I started to repeat the words of the temple ordinances to myself in my mind. As I did this, a wondrous miracle happened. All the misery and darkness flowed out of me, and the most wonderful peace and joy flowed in and filled my entire being.
I arose and prayed, giving tearful thanks to Heavenly Father. Then I got back into bed and slept. The next day, which should have been full of fear and misery, was the happiest day I have ever spent with a class of children.
I realized that the Lord had wanted me to ponder the temple ordinances. To the Saints crossing the plains after receiving their blessings in the Nauvoo Temple, President Brigham Young (1801–1877) said, “Let the fire of the covenant which you made in the House of the Lord, burn in your hearts, like flame unquenchable.” As our temple covenants burn in our hearts and minds, we also will find strength, peace, and comfort.

Even Elder Maxwell’s young grandchildren knew him for his emphasis on the scriptures. Many of you will probably remember that in his final general conference message he told about a time he visited his grandchildren late one evening. His grandson Robbie had already gone to bed. When Elder Maxwell arrived, his mother said, “Robbie, Grandpa Neal is here!” He heard a tired little voice from the bedroom saying, “Shall I bring my scriptures?” (CR, April 2004, 48; or “Remember How Merciful the Lord Hath Been,” Ensign, May 2004, 46). Like Josiah the boy-king and little grandson Robbie, we should learn early in our lives to love the scriptures, to feast upon them, and to learn from them.

I want to read you one more if I might. This is by Ed Bartley who is an English professor back east. He has written several articles in syndicated magazines.

He was working frantically trying to prepare a test on Melville for his English students the next day when his 22-month-old child, Meghan, came up with a pile of storybooks and a pleading look.

The Poky Little Puppy, The Magic Bus, The Cat in the Hat, even that ancient copy of National Geographic with the penguin on the cover . . . she had them all.

With her free hand, she tugs at my sleeve.

“No Meghan,” I snap irritably, “not now. Go away and leave me alone. And take your library with you.”

That does it; she leaves. She makes no further attempt to bother me. I can finish the test easily now without interference. No one trying to climb onto my lap, no extra fingers helping me type.

[Have you ever been typing along and a mystery key flied right in the middle of what you’re doing? You look down and there’s a very small finger on a typewriter key.]

I see her standing quietly with her back against the sofa, tears running down her cheeks. She has two fingers of her right hand in her mouth. She holds the tragic [doll] Dumpty in her left. She watches me type and slowly brushes the tip of Dumpty’s anemic arm across her nose to comfort her.

At this moment, only for a moment, I see things as God must—in perspective, with all the pieces fitting. I see a little girl cry because I haven’t time for her. Imagine ever being that important to another human being! I see the day when it won’t mean so much to a tiny soul to have me sit next to her and read a story, one that means little to either of us, realizing somehow that it is the sitting next to each other that means everything. [Have you ever had anybody badger you for half an hour to read a book, and, when you start to read, you make mistakes and they can correct you? They know it by heart, but they have got to have a book read.]

And I see the day when the frail, loyal, and lovable doll Dumpty will vanish from the life of a little girl who has outgrown him.

I resent Dumpty for an instant. He is consoling my girl, and that is my concern, not his. She and I have few enough days like this to share. So the paper slips gently into the top drawer, the hood slides over the typewriter. The test will get done somehow. Tests always get done.

“Meghan, I feel like taking a walk down to the park. I was wondering if you . . . would care to join me. I thought maybe you’d like to go on the swings for a while. Bring Dumpty—and your red sweater too. It might be windy down there.”

At the word “park” the fingers leave the mouth. She laughs excitedly and begins a frantic search for her shoes and socks. [Have you ever had anybody badger you for half an hour to go with you, and then, you say yes, you have to spend fifteen minutes looking for shoes? When that happens, you know everything is right on schedule. That’s the way it’s supposed to be.]

Melville will have to wait, but he won’t mind. He waited most of his life for someone to discover the miracle of Moby Dick—and died 30 years before anyone did. No, he won’t mind.

Besides, he’d understand why I must go right now, while [birds] still spark wonder and before dandelions become weeds, and while a little girl thinks that a leaf from her father is a gift beyond measure.

One thing that I learnt from my mission experience is, “one’s life cannot be both faith-filled and stress-free.”2 During my mission I was so happy to have so many families who love me. On the other hand, I was getting weak as I had health issues which affected me a lot. I was expecting the Lord to give me a stress-free and faith-filled life.
Elder Neal A. Maxwell said, “How can you and I really expect to glide naively through life, as if to say, ‘Lord give me experience, but not grief, not sorrow, not pain, not opposition, not betrayal, and certainly not to be forsaken. Keep from me, Lord, all those experiences which made Thee what Thou art!’”3
When I read this quote, I felt peace in my heart even when I’m suffering physically. It has given me a strong assurance that if we want to be Christ’s disciple, we need to go through challenges as He did. Challenges can appear to be things we can’t bear.
It was a great challenge for me to get a mission call, to serve, for only 14 months, not 18 months which made me sad. But through God’s grace I can still feel the peace and happiness.
Sometimes we choose good and expect God to bless us in a way we want. But a true disciple of Christ needs to accept the God’s will rather than our desires.
I know that as we serve Him in the time given to us, whether it’s 18 months or 2 years, with all our heart, might, mind and strength, we will be blessed according to His will and His timing. I know that Jesus is the Christ and He atoned for us. I know he loves us unconditionally. And all he asks us to do is to keep His commandments.

I recall reading a story written by John Burroughs, the famous American naturalist, containing a most touching experience. As I remember, the details went like this: His brother was rather timid, somewhat below the average in those powers and qualities that insure worldly success. He was the kind of man that is “so often crowded to the wall.”
This brother had his plans for going west. Somehow that land of the West would be different. There he might leave the causes of his failure behind. He kept his suitcase packed continuously, ready to go at a moment’s notice—whenever he really firmly made up his mind to go.
John Burroughs told how once he actually started and got as far as White Pigeon, Michigan. There his courage gave out and he came back. Still he kept his suitcase packed, but the end of his life’s journey came before he was ready to go west again.
It was not really the West on the map that he was longing to visit. What he longed for was the dream of a far greater freedom. The dusty suitcase he left behind him was evidence of what had consoled him through the years of his long defeat. It meant for him that his dream was waiting to become a reality somewhere. At any moment he could break away and find what he had never found before.

In the evening many of us had hoped to attend Moscow’s renowned Bolshoi Theatre, but no tickets were available. Our disappointment was acute. Our tour director suggested, instead, a short sacrament service in one of the hotel rooms. He had paper cups and bread; two or three others had pocket-size songbooks; another could direct music. So the meeting was planned.

Meanwhile, our prize member-missionary was planning also. She received permission from the director to invite Tanya to the service. Our guide refused at first, protesting that she would be out of place. But before long, at the loving encouragement of several tour members, Tanya acquiesced. Suddenly two fears formed inside me: that her presence would make us overly self-conscious and that she might report us to her superiors, who could force us to leave the Soviet Union early. Where did these heretofore hidden apprehensions come from? Tools of Satan or warnings from the Lord? I dismissed the fears, but still I was grateful to have no speaking part in the service.

At 9:00 P.M. we assembled in a hotel room overlooking the sluggish Moscow River. The city appeared—no doubt somewhat deceptively—to be slumbering. The humid room and the late hour seemed more conducive to yawns than to spiritual experiences. Then a sister eagerly spoke out in the warm room: “After the sacrament has been passed, may we hear the testimony of our most recent convert?” As adrenaline forced my heart to pound faster and faster, the Spirit tried to convince me of the excellent opportunity I—the recipient of the sister’s request—would have to bear testimony in Tanya’s presence. In my mind I hastily concluded, as I saw our director agree with the suggestion, that I should not, above all, become emotional or very personal. Tanya, if true to her communist heritage, would relate best to the things of the mind, not to those of the heart.

After we had partaken of the Lord’s Supper—a ceremony certainly foreign to Tanya’s upbringing—I felt quite calm and in complete control of my emotions. As I rose to speak, I felt prompted to read one of my favorite scriptures, Doctrine and Covenants 59:21 [D&C 59:21]: “And in nothing doth man offend God, or against none is his wrath kindled, save those who confess not his hand in all things, and obey not his commandments.” As I read in that hotel room in Moscow, my heart told my head what to do. I began to confess the Lord’s hand in various events in my life, even my father’s passing when I was only eight years old. Because of his death my mother and I moved from a small Arkansas town to a large city where I found and embraced the restored church. From that time, six years earlier, my life had been changed. I knew why I was here on the earth and where I was going.

The meeting took on a very personal tone; tears were shed. As I concluded I suddenly saw the Lord’s hand in our not being able to attend the Bolshoi Theatre that evening. The Lord wanted us to be in that meeting, remembering him and what he has done for us and sharing our spirits and his with Tanya. Perhaps that would be her only exposure to the restored gospel in this life.

A little over a year ago a couple came into my office carrying a little boy. The father said to me, “My wife and I have been fasting for two days, and we’ve brought our little boy up for a blessing. You are the one we’ve been sent to.” I said, “What’s the matter with him?” They said he was born blind, deaf and dumb, no coordination of his muscles, couldn’t even crawl at the age of five years. I said to myself, “This is it. ‘This kind cometh not out save by fasting and by prayer.’” I had implicit faith in the fasting and the prayers of those parents. I blessed that child, and a few weeks later I received a letter: “Brother Cowley, we wish you could see our little boy now. He’s crawling. When we throw a ball across the floor he races after it on his hands and knees. He can see. When we clap our hands over his head he jumps. He can hear.” Medical science had laid the burden down. God had taken over. The little boy was rapidly recovering or really getting what he’d never had.

A few years passed, and a pair of young missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints came to our home. With my wife and our five children (the other three lived with their mother), I began to hear the discussions, attend church, and get acquainted with the members and their beliefs. After several months we made the wise decision to join the Church, and 17 years have now gone by.

Sometimes the Lord works in other ways. Sister Sampson-Davis of Ghana was inspired to translate the Book of Mormon into her native language of Fante before the Translation Division was even assigned the task. While growing up, Sister Davis enjoyed associating with Christians. As a youth, she was so impressed with and grateful for Christ’s sacrifice that she felt a strong need to do something for him. Almost forty years later, after learning English in the Netherlands and returning home to Ghana, where she joined the Church, she found an opportunity to accomplish her girlhood desire.
One night after attending sacrament meeting, Sister Sampson-Davis realized that some of the people in the congregation did not sing from the hymnbook because they did not know English. She felt impressed to translate gospel materials for the benefit of her people, and that night she translated “I Am a Child of God.” The translation of other hymns followed.
Encouraged by accomplishing these small works of translation, Sister Sampson-Davis felt led to the enormous task for which she had been prepared over many years—translating the Book of Mormon into Fante. When the Church’s Translation Division reviewed Sister Sampson-Davis’s translation of the Book of Mormon, they were astonished that this schoolteacher, with little or no professional translation experience, had produced an excellent translation with a high degree of accuracy.
Sister Sampson-Davis is an example of the quality and dedication of translators the Lord has prepared, and is preparing for use by the Translation Division. Currently, the Division is working on translating doctrinal material in at least one major language for every nation of the world. This project, approved by the First Presidency in 1986 and called the Every Nation program, will result in reading material in many additional languages over the next few years.
The “every nation” title of the program is derived from a 1978 talk by President Spencer W. Kimball in which he said:
“If we only make a small beginning in every nation, soon the converts among each kindred and tongue could step forth as lights to their own people and the gospel would thus be preached in all the nations before the coming of the Lord.” (Regional Representatives seminar, October 1978.)
Eb Davis, director of the Translation Division, says of the program, “The Brethren are inspired in their direction of this work. Initially, we thought that many of the languages of the Every Nation program were so rare that we would have difficulties finding translators, but we discovered that the way was prepared for us. For example, we found twenty members of the Church from the Seychelles—islands between India and Africa—who could help us. We have forty members from Uganda that we can call upon, and we located four people in the Salt Lake Valley who speak Ethiopian.”
Lowell Bishop, who oversees the work in African languages, says that most of the translators for these languages have been members of the Church for only as long as the Every Nation program has been operating. He adds that for almost every language the Division has worked with so far, a member has indeed “stepped forth” to do the translation.
As an example, Brother Bishop describes the members the Division found to translate materials into two of the languages of Zaire—Lingala and Tshiluba. Church materials are translated into Lingala by Alfonse and Maguy Muanda, in addition to their being actively involved as stake missionaries and operating their own business.
Tshiluba is the native language of Ambrose and Louise Massala, but in their college days they lived in an area of Zaire where Swahili is spoken, and that became their daily language. Shortly after they were married, Ambrose suggested that they go back to speaking to one another in Tshiluba. Louise thought the suggestion strange because by then they had been speaking Swahili for a number of years. However, they began using Tshiluba again, and their children grew up speaking Tshiluba at home. Surprised when they were asked if they would translate material into Tshiluba, Louise said she finally realized why Ambrose was inspired to return to using a language they had almost forgotten.
But whether the language be Tshiluba, Hmong, or any of the many other languages that the Church Translation Division is directed to work with, the message must be “translated” into the daily lives of the individual Latter-day Saint. Like Brother Kua Lo, once we have the gospel, we need to share it with family members, neighbors, and friends, so that together we might all speak the eternal language of the gospel.
The importance of sharing the gospel has often been emphasized by President Ezra Taft Benson. On one occasion he said, “We are required to carry the gospel of Jesus Christ to every nation of the world … This commission to take the gospel to every nation, kindred, tongue, and people is one of the signs by which believers will recognize the nearness of the Savior’s return” (General Conference, April 1984.)

The elders’ first meeting with Chea was quite accidental. Looking for another family, they happened to knock on his door. Chea was the only family member who spoke English. In the course of their conversation, he told them that he loved Jesus, wanted to find a church, and made them promise to take him to church the next Sunday. Elder Gooch recalls, “I was very impressed with Chea. He was extremely mature and seemed like a 25-year-old in a 12-year-old body.” Chea’s parents told the elders that their son had visited several Christian churches on his own, but “didn’t feel right in any of them.”
After hearing the discussions and attending sacrament meeting, Chea knew he had found what he was looking for. “The people are so nice. I feel I belong. As I learn the scriptures and read the Book of Mormon, I can feel Heavenly Father’s love for me.” Chea loves to sing and adds, “The music makes me very happy.” Although his parents have taken the missionary lessons, attended church often, and fully support Chea, they have not joined the Church. (As a Buddhist monk, Chea’s father made certain commitments that he feels would be violated should he join another religion.)

“Mom, something happened at school today that’s really bothering me.” Angie dropped her backpack on the floor and flopped down on the couch.
Mom looked up from the book she was reading. “Oh? What happened?”
“Well, there’s a new boy named Musa in my class.”
“That’s great!” Mom said. “Did you talk to him?”
“No, and I don’t want to!” Angie said. “He’s mean.”
“What did he do?”
Angie scowled. “I saw him walking to school with his sister. He made her walk behind him the whole way! Every time she tried to walk next to him, he’d hurry and get in front of her. It made me so mad.”
Mom frowned. “That doesn’t sound very nice. Maybe he could use a friend like you to show him how to treat others with love.”
Just then, Angie’s younger sister, Meghan, rushed in. “Mom, guess what? There’s a new girl in my class! Her name is Dalia Kader. Isn’t that a beautiful name?”
“I think her brother is in my class,” Angie said.
“Really? You’re so lucky.”
Angie frowned. “Lucky? Why?”
“Dalia told me all about him!”
“I bet she did,” Angie muttered.
“She said she had to put some eye drops in this morning, and she was supposed to wear sunglasses to protect her eyes, but she forgot. So when they walked to school, Musa walked in front of her the whole way to shade her from the sun. Wasn’t that so nice?”
Angie blinked in surprised. Had she misjudged Musa?
“He sounds like a very thoughtful brother,” Mom said.
“He is!” Meghan said. “And when they got to school, he walked with her to the office so they could call home. And he stayed with her until her mom brought the sunglasses.”
Wow, Angie thought. I guess I didn’t see what was really happening.
Meghan sat down next to Angie on the couch. “Dalia’s sunglasses are really cool! They’re purple with jewels on them. Mom, can I invite her over this week? We could both wear our sunglasses and play dress-up!”
“Good idea,” Mom said. “Why don’t you invite Musa too? I’d like to meet both of them. What do you think, Angie?”
“I’d like to meet them too.” Angie smiled. “I think Musa would be a great friend.”

“In Primary Melissa and I aren’t in the same class, but sometimes our teachers let us sit together during opening exercises and Sharing Time. I like Primary. One of my favorite lessons that I learned in Primary was from a talk that one of our leaders gave. She said that once when she was little and had gone out trick-or-treating, some teenagers took her bag of candy away from her. Her brother saw how sad she was and gave her his bag of candy. I thought that was a good lesson.” And it’s a lesson that Marnie Payne lives by.