Gospel Story Finder

When my husband died in 2010, I bore my testimony that he was the one who trained me to be self-reliant. Looking back, I learned that he was preparing me, so I could do things on my own, because he would not always be around. He wanted me to be free. He helped prepare me to accept the gospel and to love the principles of self-reliance.
My mother and father were farmers. They sent me to different schools, and we moved around. When I was in 11th grade, I did not have anyone to support me. I was living in a tent.
One day, I was on my way to live at my auntie’s whose husband died. She was a pepper trader in the market and did not have much. That is when I met my husband for the first time. He would joke with me and soon he admired me. He was much older than me. He said, “I will help you and then you will achieve more.” He looked around and said, “Your garden is dead, and you do not have a job. I can help you.” And so, I went with him to live in another village.
He helped me to work with my hands. My husband was from Zimbabwe and was a professor. He said, “You will plant. You will plant okra and greens.” We raised ducks, chickens, and pigs.
We did it so we could be self-reliant and eat. “You can go to the garden when we need food. We do not need to buy,” he would say. He had his money from his job, but he taught me to plant, plant, plant everything that we would have bought at the market, so we could be as self-reliant as possible and not spend our money on things we could grow.
My family was critical of my new life with my husband. They thought he was working me too hard. “You are not treating her good,” they would say. “You are making her work too hard. Why aren’t you buying her clothes?” We resisted them until they got tired because I was happy.
When I was pregnant with my first daughter, I enrolled in night school. I worked hard and had another child and my husband sent me to college where I earned my associates degree in animal husbandry. This made a way for me to teach at the Booker T. Washington Institute. I taught there from 1986 to 1990. I was teaching students how to raise goats, chickens, and sheep. After the war years, I was chosen to teach agricultural skills to the ex-combatants to help reintegrate them into society. It was very hard and dangerous. But I was grateful for the job.
By then my parents realized I was doing the right thing for myself and for my family. I was working and earning my own money. They could see I was doing something better for the future.
My husband and I raised our children the hard way, but we taught them the value of education and work. During the war years in Liberia my husband protected us. He was wise, and through his fierce determination, we stayed in one place and miraculously we, and all of our children, survived.
Now our three children are all college graduates.
After my husband died, the missionaries came into my life. I resisted the gospel message at first. I had become very independent. But one day they said to me, “Sister Ncube, you know, we are not looking for members. What we are after is your soul. We are pursuing you for your soul.” That went deep in my heart. I sat down and said, “I agree. I will be baptized.” For the first time in my life, I learned what true freedom was. When I was baptized my soul was set free.
The gospel has taught me to be a strong Latter-day Saint woman. I am happy because the gospel and the Church give me the opportunity to live in a better way. I love teaching the women in my branch and community how to live the teachings of the gospel for the betterment of everybody.
I strive to live the Savior’s teachings when He said, “And I give unto you a commandment that you shall teach one another the doctrine of the kingdom.
“Teach ye diligently and my grace shall attend you, that you may be instructed more perfectly in theory, in principle, in doctrine, in the law of the gospel, in all things that pertain unto the kingdom of God, that are expedient for you to understand” (Doctrine and Covenants 88:77–78).
I was baptized on Liberia’s Independence Day, but for me it was the day I would declare, “Now, I know the truth. I know I am free. I am free indeed.”

I was born in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. As the eldest of eight children, I left school when I was twelve years old to help support my family. After I grew up and married, my wife, Ruda, encouraged me to go back to school, and I earned my high school diploma and a bachelor’s degree in accounting.
But even when I was the financial management comptroller for Petrobras, the biggest oil company in Brazil, and I had the respect of my colleagues, I was not satisfied. I did not feel happy; I felt confused. I thought that the solution would be religion. I had a wonderful wife and two children, Marcus and Marisa. (Later, another son and daughter, Raphael and Aline, were born.) We were not involved in a church at that time, and I told my wife that it would be best for us and for our children to find one. Many of my friends at work were members of different religions, so my family and I went to five or six different churches.
One day we found on our door a card with a picture of Jesus Christ on one side and the name The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on the other. I had never heard of this Church, and I asked my assistant at work, “What is this church?”
He said, “Boss, don’t go there.”
But Heavenly Father had heard my family’s prayers. A few days later, in April 1972, the missionaries knocked at our door. That changed our lives. We received all the discussions in one night. I asked and asked and asked questions. The missionaries answered my questions about the Church and about God and Jesus Christ and about the standing of black people in the Church. Elder Thomas McIntire and Elder Steve Richards were two very special missionaries, and they were prepared for that moment. All my questions were answered. The Holy Ghost testified all the time that these things were true.
When they left my house, I was completely changed. With respect and reverence, my family attended the meetings and activities, but we postponed baptism because of fear of negative reactions from our extended families.
Then we attended a district conference in Rio de Janeiro. The inspired messages from the pulpit prepared our hearts for an unforgettable moment. The counselor in the mission presidency bore his testimony about Jesus Christ, after which the congregation sang “I Need Thee Every Hour.” In that moment, the Holy Ghost reconfirmed the truthfulness of the things we already knew: The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the Lord’s kingdom on earth, the road back to the celestial mansion of our Eternal Father.
My wife and I and Marcus—Marisa wasn’t old enough yet—were baptized July 2, 1972, the most important date in our lives. All the members of our branch attended our baptisms.
I had respect for all the doctrine and for the priesthood. Because I couldn’t hold the priesthood at that time, people often asked me, “What about the priesthood?” I told them that I had complete acceptance of it.
During the cornerstone laying of the São Paulo Temple, President Spencer W. Kimball motioned for me to come to him. I looked around to see whom he was looking at. He repeated the gesture. I did not understand. Elder James E. Faust looked at me and mouthed the words, “Come here. He wants to talk to you.” I went. President Kimball shook my hand and took hold of my arm and said, “Brother, what is necessary for you is faithfulness. Remain faithful, and you will enjoy all the blessings of the Church.”
A little more than a year later, in June 1978, we received a telephone call from a friend in Salt Lake City, Utah, telling us that President Kimball had announced the revelation* that all worthy males could hold the priesthood. I shall not forget that day. My wife cried. I cried. We kneeled to thank our Heavenly Father. After that, the phone rang many, many times. Friends from the United States and Brazil called us.
The hand of the Lord is resting upon Brazil. It is a special country. We have many challenges, but we have a very special people who are friendly and accepting of the missionaries’ message.

An example of true love and inspired teaching was found in the life of the late James Collier, who had, through his personal efforts, reactivated a large number of brethren in the Bountiful, Utah, area. I was invited by Brother Collier to address those who had now been ordained elders and who, with their wives and families, had been to the Salt Lake Temple to receive those eternal covenants and blessings for which they had so earnestly strived.
At the banquet honoring this achievement, I could see and I could feel the love that Jim had for those whom he had taught and rescued. Unfortunately, Jim Collier at that time was afflicted with a terminal illness and had to persuade the doctors to allow him to leave the hospital to attend this final night of recognition. As he stood at the pulpit, a large smile came over his face. With tear-filled eyes, he expressed his love to the group. There wasn’t a dry eye to be found. Brother Collier quipped, “Everyone wants to go to the celestial kingdom, but no one wants to die to get there.” Lowering his voice, he continued, “I’m prepared to go, but I will be there waiting on the other side to greet each of you, my beloved friends.”
He returned to the hospital. His funeral service was held just a few weeks later.

Several years ago, I was serving as an institute instructor here in Hawaii. At that time, I was teaching a class about Church history and focused much of my preparation on that topic. This was also a time when the Joseph Smith papers were starting publication and there was a great deal of excitement about all of the new discoveries that were coming to light. During that time, I came across a story about a “seer stone.” The thing that first attracted my attention was the picture at the top of the article. The picture was of a small chocolate brown rock about three by five inches with lighter brown veining through it. It was smooth and rounded and was for all intents and purposes – unremarkable. I then read the article. It identified the rock as one of the items that Joseph had used to translate the Book of Mormon. Per the article, Joseph placed the stone in a hat to exclude exterior light and then placed his face into the hat. He could then make out words that were dictated to the scribe. I stopped reading and I must admit to being more than a little surprised. A river rock dropped into a hat? No stinking way. How could this be? This information did conform in any way with what I knew about the translation. After all, didn’t he use the Urim and Thummim? While I was not entirely clear what that looked like to my mind the Urim and Thummim was some sort of elegant instrument consisting of “two stones in silver bows.” The Book of Mormon itself referred to them as “interpreters” that were kept with the plates. Joseph himself referred to them as “spectacles,” and I had always imagined a highly elegant piece of equipment worthy of the translation of the word of God. The article went on to say that after a time Joseph did not use any aid at all in the translation. My mind raced. I was shocked. I was incredulous. Joseph was running around staring at a rock in a hat instead of looking through the super cool glasses designed specifically for the task? It didn’t fit with anything that I knew about the story and did not make any sense to me at all. I couldn’t believe it—and I didn’t.

The whole thing bugged me. If this were so, why had no one ever revealed this detail? My mind reeled and I began to look for a way to fit this into the box I had constructed in my mind to hold this information. I reasoned that they did not share this detail because it made a difficult story even more difficult. I mean, “magic spectacles” was stretching reason a bit, but “rock in the hat” was a bridge too far. I was also surprised by the general tone of the article. The whole thing was so matter of fact. I became suspicious of the trustworthiness of the story. I felt like a person who had stepped into mental quicksand, and I began reaching out feverishly for something to cling to. I was hoping for an article, a talk, a scripture, anything that could fill the gap between what I believed to be true and the new information that I had uncovered.

Now this whole process did not happen immediately. I still had a life to live, and this question occupied the space between my other commitments. Slowly, however, my thoughts began to become less frantic and more focused. I then came to the crossroads that each person having a crisis of faith must negotiate. This new information was either true or it was not. If it was true, I would need to rebuild my understanding of the events associated with a foundational piece of my testimony. If it was false, I could go back to my old paradigm, except I would have to deal with the idea that the Church had been tricked or simply mistaken.

I have learned that this sort of spinning, over-reaching thought pattern is not unusual during such an episode. However, we need to be careful not to expand the issue. After all, this new knowledge didn’t change everything that I believed, it only affected one thing. A thing that other things leaned on, to be sure, but each question ultimately needs to be dealt with on its own terms. Simply stated, we do not need to destroy the entire tapestry for one offending thread.

As I pondered about this issue, I had a thought that started the ball spinning in a different direction. I began to focus on what I already knew. I have been blessed with a knowledge reinforced by many experiences that Joseph is a prophet, that the Book of Mormon is true and that this is the true Church. The challenge was that I could not stuff the old information into the new box. So, staring squarely at this inconsistency I was forced to decide. I told myself – my former experiences have shown me what is true, and so somehow this information fits into that pattern. And even though I don’t know what that is right now, I am going to move forward with what I do know until I do.

Elder Holland reinforced this concept when he taught:
“When those moments come and issues surface, the resolution of which is not immediately forthcoming, hold fast to what you already know and stand strong until additional knowledge comes.” [4]

I did not think about it at the time, but I had another option. I could have said to myself – this doesn’t make sense to me, so I am going to overlook all of those other spiritual experiences and reject them because this piece does not seem to fit. I could have chosen to doubt all of those other witnesses that this new information seemed to disrupt as a means to bypass my inner conflict. That is a choice that does not make sense to me and I am saddened when others make that choice. The key to focus on if you arrive at this crossroads is to “remember.”

I wish that I could tell you that making the decision to remember brought me immediate peace, but it did not. I was frustrated with what felt like the side door of my testimony being left ajar. I continued to look for answers and to ponder and pray. Then, many days later, I had a thought – what is the point of the rock anyway? What role did it serve? I thought about the various ways that Christ healed people. He had them bathe, he smeared them with clay, they touched the hem of his garment, he laid hands on them, he simply told them to rise. Why all of the differences and drama? Was there a process in play? As these ideas swirled around in my head together, I began to see something. Jesus selected a specific manner to perform each miracle not because it was something that He needed but because it produced in each receiver something that they needed. Jesus created the environment so that each person could focus their faith in a way that allowed them to be healed. The next thought was the one that I did not see coming – why was it any different for Joseph? The Lord selected elements in Joseph’s world to allow him a means to focus his faith so that the Lord could accomplish his work. And if that required fancy eyeglasses, or a rock, or eventually nothing at all, what was the problem? It also started to make sense that as Joseph’s trust and confidence grew the need for the specific item to focus his faith diminished. With that thought the Spirit witnessed to me the truth of that concept, and the opening on the side door of my testimony closed. I was at peace about the idea and while I did not know everything about the story, I knew enough to know that it did fit within the framework of the gospel, and it taught me something new about how the Savior succors his people.

When I was a young boy growing up in South Africa, I was not a member of the Church. But I read the Bible and said my prayers often, like my parents had taught me to. Because of that, I always felt that the Lord was close to me. I especially liked reading stories about Jesus’s life. I tried to be honest, hardworking, trustworthy, and kind, like Jesus. That’s what the scriptures and Jesus’s example taught me.
revelation: messages or direction from Heavenly Father
From reading the Bible, I also learned what the Church was like when Jesus was alive. And it made me wonder why none of the churches I knew about looked like Jesus’s Church had. Why don’t they have prophets and apostles? I wondered. Why isn’t there revelation in our day?
One day when I was older, two missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints knocked on our door. “We have a message for you,” they said.
My mother, who was a very friendly person, said, “We’d like to hear it. Will you come back this evening?” When the missionaries came that evening, the room was full—my mother and father, my four siblings, and me. My parents had even invited our neighbors over to listen to the missionaries.
My family was amazed by what they taught. We were thrilled that Jesus’s Church had been restored. It was a church with prophets and apostles! Over time, the missionaries answered all the questions that I had from prayerfully reading the scriptures. Because my family and I were already familiar with the Bible, we were ready to hear the missionaries’ message. We were excited about the gospel. Our neighbors didn’t feel the same excitement.
What truly converted me to the gospel was the Book of Mormon. I read some verses from it. Then one day I decided to follow Moroni’s promise to “ask God … if these things are not true; and … he will manifest the truth of it unto you” (Moroni 10:4). So I said a prayer and started reading the very first verse in the Book of Mormon. When I read it, the Holy Ghost witnessed to me in a wonderful way that the Book of Mormon truly is the word of God.
You’re never too young to start reading the scriptures and praying every day. Doing those things will help you know what is true. It will give you faith and the courage to make right decisions.
God doesn’t expect us to rely on anyone else’s testimony of the gospel. He will tell us Himself that the gospel and the Book of Mormon are true. If we are sincere and pray with faith, He will answer our prayers to know the truth.

My wife and I tried to think of ways to help our four children remember who they are. We had a Family Home Evening lesson on obedience when they were young, I think ages 6 to 12. In that lesson we talked about the temple and how much we wanted our family to be together forever. I wrote up a contract which said, "I promise to remain worthy so that I can go to the temple with my whole family on the day that the last child gets married." Each of us signed our name to the contract. Over the years, that promise became a regular part of our family conversation. When someone would leave the house on a school trip or a sleepover, or later when they went to college or on their mission, we would say, "Remember who you are. We'll see you in the temple."

About 15 years later, in our last Family Home Evening before we left on our mission to Brazil, our children surprised us by redoing the contract. Two of the children had been married in the temple by then, and the third was engaged. We talked about it again, how we all wanted to be together in the temple on that important day, and then we renewed our promise by signing our names again. I'm happy to report that we were able to keep our contract. Our youngest daughter was married on January 12, 2007. On that day all of our children and all of their spouses were gathered in the sealing room of the Salt Lake Temple. As we looked in each other's eyes we saw tears and we saw commitment and we caught a glimpse of the Celestial Kingdom.

The log cabin was small and homey, a chimney rising from one end and two windows and a door on the front. Around it the fertile fields of Fayette, New York, were turning green. Nearby trees were awakening to spring, shading the fresh, new blossoms struggling to lift their heads to the sun. Parked around the cabin were the horses, buggies, and wagons that had carried the many men and women who were gathered there on that Tuesday morning. It was April 6, 1830, the day chosen by the Lord for the official organization of His church in the last days. (See D&C 20:1–2.)
Inside the main room of the cabin, the Prophet Joseph Smith, only twenty-four years old, asked five of the men present to join him in legally organizing the new church so that the requirements of the law could be met. Then, after all those present had knelt together in solemn prayer, Joseph asked them if they would accept him and Oliver Cowdery as their teachers and leaders. They agreed. Joseph turned to Oliver, laid his hands on his head, and ordained him an elder in the Church. Oliver then ordained Joseph. In a confirming revelation, the Lord called Joseph “a seer, a translator, a prophet, an apostle of Jesus Christ, an elder of the church” (D&C 21:1).
The sacrament was blessed and passed. Others were ordained and confirmed. The gift of the Holy Ghost was given to many, and its presence filled hearts of all. The small cabin overflowed with gladness and hope.
Among those who accepted baptism into the Church that day were Joseph’s parents, Joseph Smith, Sr., and Lucy Mack Smith. The young prophet was so overcome by the joy of the occasion that he went alone into the woods and wept.
The Church of Jesus Christ was again upon the earth. Its members were few and humble, some with little formal education. But that Tuesday they faced the future with great courage, and they were eager to learn the things of God and to serve Him and His church.
Mistakes would be made and some would stumble, but the work would go forward, for the Lord promised them, and us, “I will bless all those who labor in my vineyard with a mighty blessing” (D&C 21:9).

Home teaching requires energy. I remember times when I was so exhausted from the demands of difficult days in the surgical operating room (in addition to duties relating to family needs and to Church responsibilities) that the prospects of spending evening hours in home teaching were not always anticipated eagerly. Almost without exception, however, I can say that I returned home more invigorated and happy than when I left. I often told Sister Nelson that rewards for a home teacher were not remote; they were immediate, at least for me.

My parents were hardworking. They made every penny stretch as far as possible. That was probably the reason everything they gave me was always two or three sizes too large.
When I was thirteen years old, I wanted football shoulder pads and a helmet more than anything else. On Christmas morning, I opened my packages and there they were: shoulder pads and a helmet—sized to fit Goliath!
“Mother, they’re too big,” I complained.
“Be grateful for what you have, Joseph,” she said. “Don’t worry—you’ll grow into them.”
When I put on the new equipment, the shoulder pads hung so far over my shoulders that about the only things they protected were my elbows.
Even though I stuffed cotton and newspapers into the helmet, it jostled every time I took a step. When I ran, it would turn and turn until I was looking out through an ear hole. One time I rambled for a long gain right into a tree. Each time I was tackled, the helmet would spin 180 degrees and I’d get up looking like my head had spun with it. How I yearned to grow into that helmet!
I had even more important growing to do. My father was truly a great man. I remember one day putting my feet in my father’s shoes. I was amazed at the size. Will I ever be big enough to fill his shoes? I wondered. Can I ever grow into the man my father is?
I look back with tenderness to my dear mother’s encouraging words, “Don’t worry, Joseph—you’ll grow into them.”
In a similar way, we all need to learn how to grow into our duties as members of the Lord’s Church. Heavenly Father loves you. He is the Father of your spirit. That makes you His literal child. As such, you have inherited the potential to become like Him. His greatest desire is that you grow in this life, becoming more like Him so that one day you can return to His presence.
It is my prayer that we may all grow into the kind of people our Heavenly Father wants us to be.

“Robert Wood.” Robby frowned as he read his name aloud. All his friends called him Robby. His whole name looked strange and uncomfortable on the bright yellow Primary birthday calendar. It didn’t seem to belong with the names of the church kids. He wasn’t like them. He had only been to church about three times in his whole life. He wouldn’t have come today except that his new teacher, Sister Jensen, had sent him a special invitation and offered him a ride.
Robby liked singing the songs. Sharing Time was interesting, too. When his class was excused, he followed the other children to their classroom. They were way ahead of Sister Jensen. She was pretty old for a Primary teacher, and she stopped to talk with most of the class in the hallway.
Robby chose a seat at the very back of the room, but when he started to sit down, a boy kicked his chair out from under him. An ugly word popped out of Robby’s mouth. He was immediately sorry and blushed a deep red when he saw Sister Jensen standing in the doorway. She must have seen the whole thing.
The girls raised their hands and pointed at Robby. The boys snickered, and Robby wanted to run home. Sister Jensen closed the door and smiled at him. Then, turning to the girls, she said, “Oh, I just love to see so many volunteers for the prayer.”
The girls snatched back their hands, but Sister Jensen still assigned two of them to give prayers. During class, Robby watched Sister Jensen. She smiled a lot. She made Robby feel like he was just as important as the other children.
After class, Sister Jensen hugged each of the children as they left. When it was Robby’s turn, she quietly shut the door. Robby was alone with Sister Jensen, and he knew why. She was going to bawl him out for saying that angry word. Well, at least she hadn’t embarrassed him by doing it in front of everybody.
“I’m so glad you came today, Robert,” Sister Jensen said with a smile.
Robby looked down and traced a big X on the floor with his shoe.
When he didn’t answer, Sister Jensen continued, “I know that you’re embarrassed about what you said. If someone kicked a chair and made me fall, I would be pretty upset, too.”
“They wouldn’t do it to you,” Robby said. “They just do it to me because I’m not a church kid.”
Sister Jensen looked thoughtful as she bent to gather some of her things. When she straightened up, she was wearing her big smile again. “Sit down a minute, Robert,” she said, pointing to a chair.
Robby sat quietly while Sister Jensen pulled a chair up beside him.
“Do you like our bishop?”
Robby thought for a minute. He remembered the time the bishop came to his house when his mother was very sick and couldn’t care for the family. After that, some church ladies came by to help take care of them and his sick mother. The bishop seemed really nice. “Yeah, I think he’s OK.”
“Well, believe it or not, I used to be his Primary teacher.”
“Oh.” Robby nodded. “I guess you could have been; you are pretty old.” Robby blushed when he realized what he’d said.
Sister Jensen laughed heartily. “That’s true! He was a sweet little boy, just like you. You and he have a lot in common—his parents never brought him to church, either. I used to pick him up all the time. He even sat with me in sacrament meeting.
“When he was about your age,” Sister Jensen continued, “he decided to make choices that would help him the rest of his life. He had a little problem with angry words, and he decided that every time he became upset, he’d say ‘How exasperating!’ I told him that that was a good start, but that he also needed to fill his mind with good things. That way only good things would come out of his mouth.”
Robby traced another X on the floor with his other shoe. “Well, maybe when I’m a grown-up, I can do that, too,” he told her.
“But now’s the time to start to make important choices that will bless you throughout your life, including your choice of words.”
“How can words bless me?”
“When you are careful with the words you choose to say, you show others that you care enough about them not to offend them. It helps you gain more friends, and you’re also not offending your Heavenly Father. Besides, when you have good words inside, good actions often follow.”
Robby nodded that he understood, and he helped Sister Jensen gather up the rest of her materials.
The next Sunday, Sister Jensen picked Robby up in time for sacrament meeting. The bishop was conducting and seemed to be having a difficult time with some of the announcements. Finally he put down the paper he was reading, smiled at the ward members, and exclaimed, “How exasperating!”
Robby giggled as Sister Jensen nudged his arm. He leaned over and whispered, “That’s what I’m going to say when I’m mad, too.”
“Good for you, Robby,” Sister Jensen said with a wink.
In the Primary room, Robby again noticed his name on the yellow birthday board. “That’s funny,” he said.
“What’s that?” Sister Jensen asked.
“Last week my name seemed different.”
Sister Jensen looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“Well, last week my name looked out of place up there by the names of the church kids. But today it looks like it belongs.”
Sister Jensen put her arm around Robby, and he noticed tears starting in her eyes. “That’s because you do belong here,” she said.

In 1841 the Walker family consisting of father, John Walker, the mother, Lydia Adams Holmes Walker, and their ten children, moved to Nauvoo. This faithful family had survived the Haun’s Mill Massacre and the persecution of the Missourians in those terrible days of 1838 and 1839. Now very poor, they arrived in the Mormon capital filled with hope and expectation. Staying with their father’s brother they were introduced to Joseph Smith that first evening. Summer brought chills and fever into the Walker home and left Sister Walker in a helpless condition. Joseph, upon hearing of her delicate health, came with Emma and took this good sister into his own home believing that the change might lead to an improvement in her health. Not content to be away from her children for very long, the still ill Lydia persuaded the Smiths to return her to her home. Placing the bed in a sleigh, covering her with blankets, because now winter had come, she was carefully taken there; and calling her children together, exhorted them never to depart from the truth and to so live that she might meet them “in the world where there will be no more suffering, no more tears of anguish.” Closing her eyes, she died leaving a heavenly smile on her dear face.
Sister Walker’s death left ten motherless children, the youngest not quite two years old. The weight of sorrow seemed to break the health of Brother Walker and soon the family feared that he would die.
Learning of their great distress, Joseph again came to help. He told Brother Walker that unless he went away for a rest he would join his wife and then said, “You have just such a family as I could love. My house shall be their home, for the present, I would advise you to sell your home, place your children with kind friends, and the four eldest shall come to my house and be treated as my own children. And if I find the little ones not content, or not treated right I will bring them home and keep them until you return.”
This was done and Lucy records that frequently the Prophet would loan them his carriage so that they could go visit their brothers and sisters now living in other parts of the city. Then Lydia, just eight years old, got brain fever. Fearing for her life and true to his promise, the Prophet took her into his home where he prayed for her recovery, nursed her as one of his own, only to see her linger a few days and then join her mother in the spirit world. Emma and Joseph accompanied the children as the body of little Lydia was taken to its final resting place. One by one all the remaining children found their way into the Prophet’s home where they remained until he, too, was taken by death. Then their father returned in good health and in due time they accompanied him across the plains. They would never forget the kindness, love and genuine concern Joseph and Emma had shown their family.

Sister Soares: My father and the rest of us in my home were not religious. But my dad always said prayers, every night, kneeling, and I would watch him from when I was very little. He did not teach me with words, but he taught me by action. And when I was little, I also remember that sometimes I said the name of God in vain. I did not know that I was doing something wrong, and my mother taught me that I should not speak in that way. She wasn’t religious but knew what was right and wrong. When I was nine years old, a girl in my neighborhood, who was also nine, invited me to go to Primary for the first time.
Elder Soares: You grew up in the Church without your parents in the Church and still you built your faith in the gospel, and now you have decided to dedicate your life to teaching our children that same faith.

The memory of Dr. David Chen is indelible in the minds of all who knew him. David grew up in northern China, attended a military academy and served in Chiang Kai Chek's army. When the army collapsed and were scattered by the communist forces, David suffered immense privation as he fled south, living from hand to mouth, and scrambling for his life. He was helped along the way by kind peasants.
At great risk to his life he swam across the bay and found his way through fortifications into Hong Kong. At first, he lived on the streets, but met Mormon missionaries, was converted, served a mission in Hong Kong, then came to BYU-Hawaii on a work study scholarship. He studied under Dr. Jerry Loveland, went on and got his Ph. D. at the University of Utah, and came back to teach.
David married his wife Nallie, served as mission president in Hong Kong. He later became a traveling elder for the Church to accompany general authorities back to China. Before he passed away he was a highly regarded and frequent lecturer back in universities in northern China and in Beijing.
I had the privilege of standing with some of you here at the baptism of Wong Yue in which David, dying then of cancer, bore a powerful testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel. He truly was one of the remarkable Chinese pioneers in the Church. At his funeral David was likened unto the apostle Nathaniel in whom Jesus said was no guile. He was greatness unaware of itself. As the great Pharaoh of Egypt said unto his servants about Joseph Can we find such an one as this is, a man in whom the spirit of God is. Such was David Chen.

Many years ago my twin brother and I left our home in Göteborg, Sweden, to serve the Lord as full-time missionaries in England. During our flight to London, numerous thoughts ran through my head. For one thing, my brother and I would have to separate in London, and for the first time in our lives we would not be together every day. But the thing that worried me most was that I didn’t know the English language well. At that time missionaries from Sweden did not receive language instruction or any other training; they were sent straight from home to the mission field. I thought of my twin brother, who was gifted in languages. My interests leaned more toward technical subjects, and for this reason I had not spent much time studying languages in school.
After I arrived in London and then finally in Birmingham, the headquarters of the England Central Mission, the mission president and his wife greeted me with huge smiles and all possible warmth. Everyone I met at the mission office was happy and enthusiastic and spoke with me about things such as study guides, tracting, companions, and so forth. But I could not understand much because their language was new and foreign.
Despite the kindness of the people around me, I felt overwhelmed. How could I ever testify of the gospel in this strange language? I spent much of that first night on my knees, asking Heavenly Father why He had sent me here and if there had possibly been a mistake.
The following day an assistant to the mission president showed me a scripture—Ether 12:27. I got out my Swedish Book of Mormon and read: “If men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them” (Ether 12:27).
If anyone had a weakness, I did. Questions arose in my mind: Do you believe what is written in this verse? If so, do you have the courage to exercise the faith required? And can you humble yourself before the Lord so that your weakness can become your strength?
As a struggling young missionary, I thought back on this experience and realized that because I had received a confirmation from the Lord that the Book of Mormon is true, then what I read in the book of Ether was also true. I knelt in humble prayer before my Heavenly Father and expressed my inner feelings about my mission call and my language weakness. I promised Him that I would get up early every morning to study and memorize the 70 pages of lessons and scriptures we were to use to teach the people. I told Him I had faith that He, in return, would help me learn the language so that I could testify of Him and of His Son.
Early every morning thereafter, I prayed to Heavenly Father and said, “Here I am; let us start.” In a relatively short time I was able to testify that the scripture in Ether is true. My ability to speak English—a weakness when I first started serving my mission—became a strength to me.
This experience has been a blessing to me all of my life. Many times I have thought new Church callings were beyond my abilities. Then the Spirit has testified to me and reminded me of the experience I had as a young missionary in England. With great gratitude these many years I have felt strength radiating from those words that are recorded in the book of Ether. Through the power of the Spirit, they can give each of us strength, guidance, and hope.

In October 2021 the Book of Mormon musical began its performances in The Millenium Centre in Cardiff. On the opening evening, I had the privilege of going to the Millennium Centre, along with Stake President Jason Spragg and Bishop Stefan Liassides of Cardiff Ward. We had all attended training in preparation for questions from the media or audience members.

We waited as the audience made their way out after seeing the show, where they were met by 40 missionaries in bright white shirts and missionary tags clearly in view. These young men and women stood firm in their beliefs and were a shining example to us who stood by. They were polite, friendly, and answered all questions. Some people stopped to listen and then while walking away would exclaim, “They are the real ones”. I remember seeing one young missionary run to his mission president in excitement proclaiming, “We need more, we need more!” He was referring to the pass-along cards, and leaflets with more information about the Church.

Due to COVID restrictions these missionaries had spent most of their mission working with social media to share the gospel and to contact people. Now they had the opportunity to meet face-to-face and to share their beliefs.

These young men and women were wonderful examples. Even though some people rushed past, or said they weren’t interested, the missionaries were not disheartened and carried on sharing what they knew to be true. How lucky we are to have real missionaries in each of our wards and stakes.

Soon afterward I was called to be Laurel class president. I felt very inadequate; there were several Laurels in the ward who were far more qualified. When my new calling was announced, one of the girls in the ward expressed her dissatisfaction. “How could they call you?” she said. “You hardly attend church. What do you know?”
She was right; I didn’t know anything. I felt sure my calling would drive many of the Laurels to inactivity—including me. The whole situation seemed too much to bear. If anyone was at the end of her rope, I was.
When I met with my class adviser, Marlene Evans, I told her that someone had made a huge error. However, she assured me that I had been called for a reason. She began to work tirelessly with me, and I went to her home on a regular basis to learn my responsibilities. With her encouragement, I could eventually conduct a meeting without my knees knocking together.
Once Sister Evans gave me a card that read, “When you get to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on.” She indicated that the rope represented life, and that by not taking righteous actions, we let life slip through our fingers. The knot represented the decision to hang on to the gospel and the security it brings.
I remembered that lesson throughout the coming months. I was attending high school full-time in addition to taking correspondence courses. I was working evenings and Saturdays. I paid for my own tuition, fees, books, clothes, and room and board. There were many times I felt I was at the end of my rope. Was I a super kid, doing it all and by myself? No, but I tied a knot and held on.
Today, I am a university graduate, working as a social worker. I married in the temple and have four children. They have been to the temple and have served missions. And I have served in leadership positions in the Young Women organization. Each time I do, I take every opportunity I can to share Sister Evans’s message with the youth. Her caring and her message changed my life.
I wouldn’t have the abundant blessings I enjoy today if I hadn’t learned to tie a knot and hang on.

The last day of hiking was a forced march as we pushed hard to make our train reservations at Bennett. Stopping for a brief rest, Colleen, with tears in her eyes, called for her counselor.
“I just can’t go on. I can’t make it. My ankle hurts so bad.” “Would you like a blessing?”
“Brother Otte, we need your priesthood.”
After the blessing the pain persisted, but Colleen was blessed with strength and a new determination and was able to continue hiking.

On 18 September 1989, Marc Modersitzki and Bradley Saunderson entered Lesotho, the first young missionaries assigned to teach the gospel in this small mountainous kingdom. Three member families excitedly awaited their arrival: the Masseys, the Scotts, and the Daffendols. These three families formed a group with Brother Massey as the group leader. All were anxious to begin doing missionary work with the new elders. By the end of the first two weeks, the missionaries had 18 families in their teaching pool.
Elder Saunderson recorded in his journal, “I am impressed with the incredible potential that the area has: its fields are very white.” In the first month of tracting, they were refused only four times.
Sister Scott, the mother of one of the families who met the elders on their arrival, was so excited about the first convert baptism that she wanted it to take place at her home. However, the Scotts did not have a pool, so Brother Scott bought a lattice wall pool. The next problem was that there was no level spot on their property big enough to put the pool. That did not dampen their enthusiasm. With the help of Brother Lawrence Van Tonder, one of the first two to be baptized, they dug up the Scotts’ backyard to accommodate the pool.
Thanks to the many efforts of members and missionaries, there are now more than 1,300 members in Lesotho.

A doctor named Rachel Remen tells a true story about a handsome, young football player who loses the feeling of love that light brings. His life had been good, with friends and an athletic body. Then he got cancer in his leg. His leg had to be cut off above the knee. Playing football and receiving fame were now things of the past. He grew angry, making his life dark and confusing. It was hard for him to know who he was.
Doctor Remen asked this young man to draw what his body looked like. He drew a simple sketch of a vase. Then he took a thick, black crayon and drew a deep crack down the vase. It was clear that he believed his body was like a broken vase that could never be useful again. This was not really true. They made him an artificial leg so he could walk. But his heart felt so dark that his body wouldn’t heal.
Then he talked to some people who had problems like his own. He understood their feelings. He started to help other people feel better. A light came into his own heart, and he started to heal.
He met a young lady with similar problems. Her heart was filled with shadows. When he entered her hospital room for the first time, she refused to look at him and lay in bed with her eyes closed. He tried everything he knew to reach her. He played the radio, he told jokes, and finally he took off his artificial leg and let it drop to the floor. Startled, she opened her eyes and saw him for the first time as he began to hop around the room, snapping his fingers in time to the music. She burst out laughing and said, “If you can dance, maybe I can sing.” They became friends. They shared their fears and helped each other feel hopeful.
In the young man’s last visit with the doctor, he looked at his old drawing of the vase with the crack in it and said, “That picture of me is not finished.” Taking a yellow crayon, he drew lines going from the crack to the edges of the paper. He put his finger on the ugly black crack and said, “This is where the light comes through.” (See Kitchen Table Wisdom [1996], 114–18.) I believe he meant that dark and difficult experiences help us to feel the light from Heavenly Father’s love.

Some young men march to the beat of a different drum. Because they may not enjoy physical activity, as most do, they are often isolated from the group. I remember one young man, not much of an athlete, who excelled on the stage. In our ward plays and roadshows, we could always count on a stellar performance from Mike.

Later in his youth he directed a theater-in-the-round production in the ward. Today he teaches drama in a great university and is a faithful member of the Church. How easily we could have lost him without that opportunity to be someone and to excel at something. Our cultural arts have been neglected in recent years, not intentionally, but when stakes and wards were given the liberty to choose their activities instead of being dictated to from Church headquarters—something made necessary by the worldwide growth of the Church—some took this as a signal that cultural arts were no longer to be promoted. The ward and stake activity committees are there to help our bishoprics, quorums, and Young Women classes carry out those cultural activities planned by the Bishopric Youth Committee: music, drama, speech, dance. These again are as broad as the interests of the youth and a valuable resource in promoting activity and brotherhood in the Aaronic Priesthood quorums.