Gospel Story Finder

From 1856 to 1860, thousands of Latter-day Saint pioneers pulled their belongings in handcarts for over 1,000 miles (1,600 km) as they traveled to the Salt Lake Valley. One hundred sixty-seven years ago this very week, on October 4, 1856, President Brigham Young was surprised to learn that two handcart companies, led by Edward Martin and James Willie, were still hundreds of miles from Salt Lake, with winter fast approaching. The very next day, not far from where we meet today, President Young stood before the Saints and declared: “Many of our brethren and sisters are on the plains with hand-carts, and they must be brought here. … Go and bring in those people now on the plains.”
Just two days later, the first rescue parties departed in search of the handcart pioneers.
A member of the Willie company described the desperate situation prior to the arrival of the main rescue team. He shared: “[Just] when it seemed all would be lost, … and there seemed little left to live for, like a thunderbolt out of the clear sky, God answered our prayers. A rescue party, bringing food and supplies … , came into sight. … How we thanked God for our rescue.”
These rescuers were heroes to the pioneers, putting their own lives at risk in extreme weather conditions to bring as many as possible safely home. One such hero was Ephraim Hanks.
In mid-October, and unaware of the handcart predicament, Hanks was returning to his home in Salt Lake following a trip when, during the night, he was awakened by a voice saying, “The hand-cart people are in trouble and you are wanted; will you go and help them?”
With that question ringing in his mind, he hurried back to Salt Lake City. And upon hearing President Heber C. Kimball call for additional volunteers, Hanks set out the very next day, on his own, to the rescue. Moving quickly, he overtook other rescuers en route, and upon reaching the Martin company, Hanks recalled, “The sight that met my gaze as I entered their camp can never be erased from my memory … [and] was enough to touch the stoutest heart.”
Ephraim Hanks spent days moving from tent to tent blessing the sick. He related that “in scores of instances, when we administered to the sick, and rebuked the diseases in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, the sufferers would rally at once; they were healed almost instantly.” Ephraim Hanks will forever be a hero to those handcart pioneers.

Marilu Ramirez of Zacatecas, Mexico, was only eight years old when she made her startling discovery: There on the street vendor’s magazine stand—somewhere between the newspapers and the television magazines—was a book with a blue cover and a golden angel blowing a trumpet.
Who knows how the book came to be there that day. It seemed out of place there on the rack, and it seemed to cry out to her to be picked up and read. The child paid for it and took it home.
As far as her mother was concerned, this was just another in a long line of strange religious books her daughter had brought home—and she punished the child for buying and reading it. The whole family thought Marilu was odd—too introverted, too obsessed by thoughts about God and religion. How could anyone explain the child’s dissatisfaction with the family’s traditional church? Why would she choose to waste her few extra pesos on religious books and pamphlets and then waste time reading them? But no amount of ridicule or pressure from family or friends made any difference.
To Marilu, this new blue book with the golden angel on the cover was different from all her other books. Something about it made her feel strangely wonderful inside, and she was crying before she had finished even the first page. Every page added to that feeling. “It was like filling a cup drop by drop,” she says.
Where was this peculiar book from? “I though it may have been from some obscure Oriental religion, or maybe from India,” she says. “I didn’t know how to find out which church it belonged to. But I prayed that I would someday find out. I already knew it was true.”
For the next nine years Marilu remained devoted to the book and studied it thoroughly. Then one day when she was seventeen, she saw two men in white shirts riding her bus. When she saw they were carrying books, she wondered if they knew anything about her book. But before she had worked up enough courage to ask, they got off the bus.
A month later, when she saw a similar pair of young men, she seized the opportunity. “Do you preach the gospel?” she asked them. The said they did.
“Do you know about a lot of different religions?” she asked. “I’m trying to locate one that isn’t very common.” And she told them about her Book of Mormon.
They elders eyed each other and then grinned. “We’re missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and we’d love to teach you and your family.”
“No,” she insisted. “I just want to know if you can tell me which church uses the Book of Mormon.”
Was she joking? The elders wondered. “Do you know what we are called?” one of them asked. “Mormons!”
When they showed her their own copies of the Book of Mormon, she believed them—and she insisted on hearing more that very day.
During their first visit that evening, Marilu interrupted the discussion many times—not with questions, but with Book of Mormon verses she already knew by heart, verses that strengthened the concepts they were teaching. The elders were amazed at her knowledge of her well-worn Book of Mormon—at how easily she could find the very verses she was looking for.
This happened again and again during the next evening’s discussion. When they asked Marilu if she wanted to be baptized, she responded, “Yes, tomorrow!” With her parents’ permission, she was baptized the next day, 22 August 1984. And then she began her quest to serve a mission.
“I had wanted to tell others about the Book of Mormon since the day I found it when I was eight years old,” she says. “Now I felt I had to become a missionary.”
But she was only seventeen. Every year thereafter on her birthday, she asked her bishop if she was old enough yet to be called on a mission, but each year he told her she must wait until she was twenty-one. In the meantime, she taught Primary and Sunday School and continued to grow in her knowledge of the gospel.
Then—on the very day she turned twenty-one—her call came.
Sister Marilu Ramirez was prepared. A bright student, she was teaching elementary school even before finishing her university degree, and she carefully saved her earnings. By the time she received her call, she had saved up enough money to pay for her entire mission. At that point she gave up her job, with no assurance of finding one when she returned.
Her family was sure she was insane. The child who had wasted time and money on religious books was now throwing away a good job, all her savings, and eighteen months of her life. But once again, no amount of pressure made any difference.
Now on her mission, she prays for her family and writes them weekly.
On 24 January 1988, as her group is about to leave the Mexico City Missionary Training Center and enter their fields of labor, Sister Marilu Ramirez stands during a meeting to bear her testimony. Her jet black hair, pulled back and held in place with two blue hair clips, almost reaches her waist.
At the pulpit, she stands on a short stool in order to speak into the microphone. Her petite frame suggests that she might speak timidly, but her voice is powerful and her testimony is that of a mature disciple. “I have had to fight to get here,” she says with emotion, “and I have learned that without the Lord, I am nothing. But I have felt his infinite love for me, and I know in whom I have confided.”
The next day, as she meets her new mission president and his assistants, she again bears powerful witness of the Father’s love. “When I entered the temple for the first time a few days ago, I felt his Spirit and was overwhelmed by his love,” she says. “As I prayed to him, I asked, ‘Why do you love me so much?’ And I seemed to hear an answer: ‘Don’t you know I love all the world—all my children? I don’t want anyone to be lost.’ And I began to comprehend the great love he has for each one of us.” Her voice again fills with emotion. “I know that our Heavenly Father and his son Jesus Christ live and love us. I feel very honored to be a daughter of God and to serve him as a missionary.”
Sister Ramirez is currently teaching the gospel to non-members who come to the Mexico City Temple visitors’ center. In the evenings, she and her companion go out into the surrounding neighborhoods to teach families the gospel in their homes.
Like that eight-year-old child, the twenty-one year old missionary is still consumed with thoughts about God. And her cup, filled drop by drop when she read the pages of the Book of Mormon as a child, is now overflowing.

Growing up, I was raised in a non-denominational Christian home, which I loved. I was, and always will be, incredibly grateful for my family and the things they taught me about God and Jesus Christ. But when I graduated high school, Southern Virginia University reached out to me to play lacrosse on a scholarship. I was hesitant because this school was affiliated with the “Mormon” Church, which I had always been told was crazy.
But for some reason, I knew this was the school I needed to attend.
The first thing I noticed about my classmates who were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was that they had genuine intentions to do good. I knew from the Bible that I could assess others’ character by their fruits (see Matthew 7:15–20). And the only “fruit” I saw from these Church members was goodness.
Curious, I started asking questions, particularly to a classmate named Coleman, who talked with me for hours about the gospel. When he began preparing to serve a mission, I joined him in reading scriptures every morning. At first, I was cynical about The Book of Mormon. But I started pondering what we read, and I could see the light in the words. I knew I needed to seek the truth for myself.
That April, I watched general conference for the first time and heard President Russell M. Nelson give a talk on faith. He spoke about tiny mustard seeds, saying:
“The mustard seed represents a small but growing faith.
“The Lord does not require perfect faith for us to have access to His perfect power. But He does ask us to believe.”1
With my growing and curious faith in mind, I developed a desire to deepen the roots of my faith in the true gospel. So, I started going to church with my roommates. I fasted and prayed to really know if the Book of Mormon is true.
When I prayed, I felt the Spirit so strongly. It felt like the Savior and Heavenly Father were sitting with me, Their hands on my shoulders. I knew I had found the truth. And I believe They were comforting me because They knew I had a hard decision to make.
I called my mom and told her I had something important to tell her. She jokingly asked if I was joining the “Mormon cult.” When I told her I was indeed going to be baptized and confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we both cried. It was a difficult conversation, but I knew I couldn’t deny the truth I had received.
Coleman was able to baptize and confirm me. His family and all my friends from school came to support me. I felt so much love, especially from Heavenly Father.
But my decision to be baptized really strained my relationship with my family. My parents believe I worship a different God now and am bound to go to hell. My 12 siblings all have their own opinions about me joining another Church too. Sometimes it feels like I’m walking on eggshells in our relationships, so I continue to pray their hearts will be softened. I feel the support of the Holy Ghost, and while my family is still adjusting, we make sure we know that we love each other.
Coleman is serving a mission now, but he, his family, and my other ward friends still support me daily. I don’t think I could have made it through this past year without them. And I recently received my temple endowment. The temple has been so helpful to me when I need peace and guidance.
Though not having support from my family has been incredibly hard, God has blessed me beyond what I expected and has given me many mercies as I move forward with faith.
Like Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles described, “The Lord’s tender mercies are the very personal and individualized blessings, strength, protection, assurances, guidance, loving-kindnesses, consolation, support, and spiritual gifts which we receive from and because of and through the Lord Jesus Christ.”2
It’s been a long journey, but through my struggles, I’ve turned to Jesus Christ and strengthened my foundation of faith in Him. If you are in a situation where your family doesn’t support your faith in the gospel, you can still have peace and hope in the Savior. I know that as we focus on the daily blessings and tender mercies of the Lord, we will continually become more confident in our testimonies and in His grace. He will always lead us to wonderful blessings like good friends and peace and joy in our hearts. Even in difficult trials, He will always provide us with goodness!

I was born in Cambodia, where most people are Buddhists. After the Khmer Rouge regime killed so many people, many of the survivors didn’t understand why, if there was a God, He would let this happen to our people. At 14 years old, I wondered the same thing.
After the regime ended, several religions began taking hold in Cambodia. I was confused because the churches taught so many different things. My family remained Buddhists, but I wanted answers to the questions of my soul: where did we come from, why are we here, and where are we going after this life?
One day as I returned from school, my aunt told me that two young men wearing white shirts and ties had come to her home talking about Jesus Christ. She was surprised because they spoke good Cambodian. I wanted to learn about Christ. I wanted to know who created us. I wondered, “Who is God? Is it Buddha, Jesus Christ, or some other god?”
My aunt and I accepted the missionaries. During the first discussion, we felt the Spirit telling us that what they said was true. They gave us a Book of Mormon and promised that if we read it, pondered it, and asked God with a sincere heart, having faith in Him, He would manifest the truth unto us. It made a lot of sense to me. I accepted the gospel, along with my aunt and her children. About a month later, we were all baptized and confirmed.

President George Albert Smith’s mother knew the Lord’s will; he told this touching incident of being taught to pray: “I was trained at the knee of a Latter-day Saint mother. One of the first things I remember was when she took me by the hand and led me upstairs to the bedroom. In the room there were two beds, the bed in which my parents slept, and a little trundle bed over on the other side. I can remember it as if it were yesterday. When we got upstairs she sat down by my little trundle bed. She had me kneel in front of her. She folded my hands and took them in hers and taught me my first prayers. I shall never forget it. I do not want to forget it. It is one of the loveliest memories that I have in life: an angelic mother sitting down by my bedside and teaching me to pray … That prayer opened for me the window of heaven. That prayer extended to me the hand of my Father in Heaven, for she had explained to me what it all meant, as far as a little child could understand …” (Sharing the Gospel with Others (Deseret Book Co., 1950) pp. 147–48.)

Howard Long was a World War II vet, and he wasn’t in the best of health. Of course, he and his wife, Stella, managed all right. They were pretty independent and really active in the Church. They didn’t need much more than a short home teaching visit to keep their spirits up.

While walking home from school that Tuesday afternoon, I was mulling over in my mind how to out-campaign Tony Toronto, Jill’s opponent. I was piecing together terse, catchy campaign slogans when I spotted Howard Long a half-block down the street. He was on his front lawn, trying to start his mower. My first inclination was to move to the opposite side of the street and pass by as inconspicuously as possible.

Just as I started across the street, Sister Long opened the front door and called out, “Howard, just leave it alone.” There was genuine worry in her voice. “Get one of the neighbors to give you a hand. You’re going to have a heart attack if you’re not careful.”

“It’s always hard to start,” Brother Long huffed.

Generally I was on the shy side, especially around adults. But for some reason I cut back to the sidewalk running past the Longs’ front yard. “Hi, Brother Long,” I called out awkwardly. He looked in my direction, nodded and smiled. “Could you use a hand?”

Howard took a breath and shook his head. “Oh, I think I can get it, Kyle. But I appreciate your asking. I just …”

“Howard,” Sister Long cut him short, stepping out the door and onto the front step. “Don’t be so bullheaded. Let the boy help you.”

Brother Long glanced over his shoulder toward his wife and then looked back at me, winking. “Well, if you don’t mind,” he conceded, stepping back. “I better not rile the boss. I wanted to get the lawn mowed before the garbage truck comes tomorrow.”

I didn’t say anything. I just grabbed the pull rope and worked on starting the motor. It wasn’t long before I was wiping at my brow with the back of my hand. “Doesn’t look like it’s going to start, Brother Long,” I concluded.

“It was getting a little sluggish last fall,” he admitted. I could see the worry in his eyes.

“Look, my friend Joel Manning knows a bunch about engines,” I offered. “If it takes gas, he can fix it. I’ll give him a call.”

“Oh, we don’t need to bother you anymore,” Sister Long said. “You’ve got plenty to do without worrying about us. We’ll make out.”

“It’s no problem. Can I use your phone?” I asked, moving toward the house.

A moment later I jabbered into the phone. “I need your help, Joel, old buddy. I told the Longs you could fix anything that guzzles gas.”

“Huh?”

“Get over here. Their lawn mower’s dead and I’ve been bragging about you so long and hard that they insist you come over or they’ll call me a liar.”

“That sounds like your problem.”

“Come on, Joel. You’ll be helping me make my home teaching visit,” I joked.

Fifteen minutes later Joel and I were hunched over the mower. Joel figured out the problem right away: a loose spark plug connection. He was magic. It wasn’t long before that mower was just humming. The Longs didn’t have a huge yard so while Joel mowed, I grabbed a leaf rake and cleaned up the dead grass. There were also some leaves and branches in the backyard, so we hauled those out to the curb for the garbage truck to pick up the following morning.

It was pushing 6:30 when we finally finished, and both Brother and Sister Long were shaking their heads and apologizing for taking our whole afternoon. “I just didn’t know how Howard was going to get all of this done,” Sister Long commented in amazement.

Brother Long pulled out his wallet and started digging for a few dollar bills. “How much do I owe you?” he asked.

Joel turned to me with a quizzical expression and asked seriously, “Does your bishop let you take money for home teaching? Mine doesn’t.” He winked and grinned.

I coughed and shook my head, trying to appear serious myself. “I don’t think we accept pay for home teaching unless we get it done the first part of the month. Maybe next time.”

Turning to Brother Long, Joel said, “I guess you got the famous end-of-the-month home teaching bonus package. It’s a special deal for families that have to wait to the end of the month for the home teachers to show up,” he joked. “I figure that Kyle’s families probably qualify for this bonus package every month.”

I felt good leaving the Longs’ place that afternoon, but I didn’t think any more about further home teaching. After all, it wasn’t something that preyed on my mind often. I had lots of other things to worry about.

When fast Sunday came again, Mark was prepared. His family sat close to the front of the chapel so that he could be first to the podium when it was time for bearing testimonies. During the meeting, he offered a prayer in his heart that he would know what to say.
When it was time, he stood and walked up to the microphone. At first, he was nervous at seeing all the people looking back at him, but most of them were smiling, and he knew that they were his friends.
“I have a testimony of the law of tithing,” he began, “and of the Word of Wisdom. I know we have a living prophet today, and I know Heavenly Father answers our prayers.” Mark ended his testimony and sat down. His mom patted him on the knee.
He still felt a bit shaky, but mostly he had a really good feeling, like he was glowing from head to toe. He was glad that he had a testimony and that he could bear it every single day.

A stake president in Logan, Utah, kept a guest book, and after he passed away that book was given to his son. When the son thumbed through the pages, he was impressed with the signatures that were there. Most of the General Authorities had signed the book. One entry he saw was:

Name: Elder Spencer W. Kimball
Date: 1954
Position or title: Apostle
Hobby: “I love people.”

He thumbed through many more pages, and then he saw an almost identical entry ten years later:

Name: Elder Spencer W. Kimball
Date: 1964
Position or title: Apostle
Hobby: “I love people.”

We all knew President Spencer W. Kimball as a man of love. He thought of love as a way to overcome even unknown offenses. Such an incident occurred with one of his neighbors who would go out and talk to President Kimball whenever he saw him in the yard. Until one day the neighbor’s wife said, “You mustn’t do that. The only time President Kimball is alone is when he is in the yard, and then you go over and impose yourself upon him.” After that the neighbor stayed in and just watched President Kimball through the window. A few weeks passed before President Kimball rang the neighbor’s doorbell and handed him a casserole. “What’s this for?” the neighbor asked. “I don’t know,” replied President Kimball. “I’ve come to make amends for whatever I’ve done to offend you. You never come and talk to me anymore, so I decided I must have done something wrong.”
It was President Kimball who so lovingly explained to us that the Lord whispers to our hearts to go and do and in this way he answers the fervent prayers of others. President Kimball said the Lord has chosen this method of answering prayers because he knows it is the way we will learn most effectively to give love.

You probably have not seen too many photos of General Authorities in their young adult years with facial hair that would disqualify them from enrolling at BYU. Well, I was not then a member of the Church. I was a university student working part-time at McDonald’s, where I met a young woman who was sufficiently alert to see some potential in me and to encourage our relationship, for which I am most grateful. She would often arrange with the manager—unbeknownst to me—for us to be assigned the closing shift together. As she had no transport home, I would give her a lift, and we quickly fell in love. It was she who introduced me to the true gospel of Jesus Christ.
So I recommend McDonald’s! And I recommend finding an eternal companion who will always love the Lord first.

Just four months after moving into this new ward, Dad fell and broke his hip while visiting a family member in St. George in southern Utah. This accident required surgery and an extended stay in a care facility 250 miles (400 km) from his new home. When we told his ministering brother about the incident, he immediately contacted the Primary president, who started a letter-writing and picture-coloring campaign with the Primary children and other ward members. They sent him mail and coloring pages almost every day. The abundance of attention led the workers at the St. George nursing home to ask if he was some sort of celebrity, as they had never had a patient receive so much mail. Since this was during the height of COVID, he couldn’t have visitors, so this daily written interaction was a gift of service beyond description.

I live in the central African nation of Zaire with my wife, Nambwa Mbo, and our two sons, Kabamba and Kamulete. We are all members of the Church. Our third son, Vumbi, died in December 1996.
From time to time, we read articles in the Church magazines about members who make great sacrifices to go to the temple. I am always amazed by the incredible things that happen to help them on their way. I never imagined that something similar would happen to me.
Our home in the city of Kinsuka is far from South Africa, where the nearest temple is. I had often thought, Why should I bother to get a temple recommend? I can’t afford to go. But in 1994, President Howard W. Hunter advised all worthy Latter-day Saints to get a temple recommend, even if they lived far from a temple (see Tambuli, November 1994, 6). His words touched my heart, and I asked my branch president for an interview. I did not realize then that my Father in Heaven had a great blessing in store for me.
I work for a man who serves in the parliament of Zaire. Late in 1995, he received an invitation to go to North Korea. He filled out all the necessary papers to have this official assignment approved and included my name on the list of those who were to go with him. However, our government did not approve the plans. This refusal began a lengthy period of negotiations as my supervisor continued to try to get approval.
I asked my priesthood leaders to pray with me that the plans would be approved and that my name would remain on the list. Four months later, approval was given. Only two names remained on the list—my supervisor’s and mine.
I was elated. But knowing that there is no temple in North Korea, I still didn’t know how significant my trip would be. When I received the news that the trip had been approved, I heard these words whispered quietly in my heart: “Do not delay! Make sure Switzerland is included on your travel route.” I realized that perhaps I would be able to go to the Swiss Temple!
I immediately went to my supervisor and suggested that we fly to and from North Korea through Switzerland. He had no objection, so I arranged for the tickets and for visas for all the countries we were to travel through. Incredibly, when the visas arrived, I discovered that all of the countries had sent us only short-term, transit visas—except Switzerland, which had sent us tourist visas good for a month!
We left Zaire and arrived safely in North Korea. Heavenly Father was with me at all times. He gave me strength to live according to his word and to be a good example of the restored gospel. It was wintertime, and we were often offered a hot cup of tea. But I was always obedient to the Word of Wisdom. When we sat down at a table with the North Korean officials, they would all raise teacups, coffee cups, or wine glasses while proposing a toast. I would drink a glass of water or a cup of milk.
At the conclusion of our assignment in North Korea, we flew to China and then on to Switzerland, landing in Geneva. My Church leader in Zaire had suggested that I contact a member of the Church named Brother Rimli as soon as I arrived in Geneva. I planned to meet Brother Rimli the following day and go to the Swiss Temple with him. However, my supervisor told me he wanted me to accompany him to Lausanne, another city in Switzerland. I explained that I had a very important appointment the next day and would not be able to accompany him. But he insisted that I go to Lausanne with him instead.
I retired to my room and offered a secret prayer. Not long after, my supervisor told me he had changed his mind—I need not go with him after all.
When I traveled to Bern the next day and met Brother Rimli at the Swiss Temple, how humble and grateful I felt! I was impressed by the beauty and stateliness of the building. All of the temple workers were expecting me and made me feel welcome. I felt at home there. I will never forget the love the temple president and his wife, President and Sister Mario V. Vaira, expressed for me. I received my endowment that day, and it has been the greatest gift in my life. I pray for the day when I can take my wife and our two sons to the temple. We desire with all our hearts to have our deceased third son sealed to us as well.
This is God’s true Church. We have a living prophet on the earth today. May we always hearken to his counsel. I did not think I would ever be able to go to the temple, but I obtained a recommend as the prophet had counseled. And my Father in Heaven prepared a very special way for me to receive temple blessings.

Paul ran down the school steps and got into Mom’s car.
“How was school?” Mom asked.
“Great!” Paul exclaimed. “We have a new girl in our class named Cristina. She is from another country, and she is just learning to speak English.”
“I hope you will help her feel welcome,” Mom said.
“I’d like to, but how can I do that if she can’t understand me?” Paul asked.
“That’s easy,” Mom said. “Just smile.”
“Smile? What do you mean?”
“A smile can mean hello, how are you, or have a nice day. It is an international sign,” Mom said.
“I never thought of it that way before,” Paul said.
A few days later, Paul was excited to tell Mom about his day.
“Mom, remember when you told me that if I couldn’t talk to Cristina, I should just smile?” Paul asked. “Well, it worked!”
“That’s great!” Mom said. “What happened?”
“During recess I noticed that Cristina was standing by herself. She had a jump rope in her hand, but she wasn’t jumping. I wanted to be nice, but I didn’t know what to say. Then I remembered what you said and I smiled at her. She smiled back. Then she started jumping rope, and for the rest of recess she looked happy.”
“That’s wonderful!” Mom said. “I’m proud of you for being nice to Cristina.”
About a month later, Paul went to a school party at the roller-skating rink. As he skated around, he noticed that Cristina was standing alone at the side of the rink. Then there was an announcement over the loudspeaker: “Find a buddy to skate with for the next song.”
Paul skated over to Cristina. She looked surprised. He gave her a big smile and motioned for her to join him. Just like that day on the playground, she smiled brightly. As they skated with their classmates, Paul realized Mom was right. A smile means friendship in any language.

While serving as mission president, I had the pleasure of meeting personally with each of our young missionaries every six weeks. During the one-on-one meeting, it was common for missionaries to seek guidance on how to improve the effectiveness of their companionships.

On one occasion, a missionary came into his personal interview and sat down. I could tell from his body language that something was weighing heavily on his mind. I asked, “Elder, what would you like to discuss today?” He went on to describe some of the challenges he was having with his companion and how it was affecting their ability to do missionary work. With tears in his eyes, he looked at me and asked, “President, what should I do?”

In that instance, I honestly didn’t know how to respond. After a brief moment, I asked him if it was OK for us to kneel together in prayer for guidance from the Spirit. He agreed, and we knelt together and prayed for inspiration.

After the prayer, we continued kneeling for a short time and then sat in our chairs facing each other. I asked if we could read a scripture together. As we opened our scriptures, I paused and told him, “Elder, as we read this scripture, please ask yourself the following question: If I live these attributes, will it improve my companionship and our missionary work?”

Then we opened Moroni 7:45 and read out loud: “And charity suffereth long, and is kind, and envieth not, and is not puffed up, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil, and rejoiceth not in iniquity but rejoiceth in the truth, beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.”

The elder then looked at me with tears in his eyes and said, “Yes, President, but that is hard to do.” I agreed and reminded him that he is a son of God with divine potential to do it together with the Lord.

Then we briefly discussed the parable of the slope taught by Elder Clark G. Gilbert of the Seventy, which reminded us that we need to start where we are and, together with the Lord, move forward and upward in a positive direction. I could tell that he was still feeling a bit overwhelmed with the next steps, so I asked him to describe his understanding of the scripture “by small and simple things are great things brought to pass.” He went on to describe the concept that by doing small and simple things, great things can happen. I asked him to take a minute and identify two small and simple things he could do to be kind to his companion.

After a few moments, he shared his thoughts. Then I asked him to take a minute and identify two small and simple things he could do to be patient with his companion. He almost immediately shared his two thoughts. It was clear that he had already been pondering this before our meeting. I invited him to take those few items to God in prayer and to ask for confirmation, direction, and inspiration on how to execute his plan with real intent. He agreed. As we concluded, I asked him to provide a brief update in his weekly letter.

As the next few weeks went by, I could see in his weekly letters that things were improving. Not only could I see that improvement in his weekly letters, but I could also see it in the weekly letters of his companion. During our next in-person interview, I saw a night-and-day difference in his countenance and spirit. I asked him, “So, Elder, is it true that ‘charity never faileth?’” He responded with a big smile, “Yes, and by small and simple things are great things brought to pass.”

Many years ago, as a bishop, I worried about any members of the ward who were inactive. Such was my thought one day as I drove down the street where Ben and Emily lived. The aches and pains of advancing years had caused them to withdraw from activity to the shelter of their home. Isolated, detached, shut out from the mainstream of daily life and association, Ben and Emily had not been in our sacrament meeting for many years.

Ben, who had many years before served as a bishop in another ward, loved to sit in his front room reading the New Testament. I was en route from my uptown sales office to our plant. For some reason, I had driven down First West, a street I never had traveled before to reach the destination of our plant. Then I felt the unmistakable prompting to park my car and visit Ben and Emily, even though I was on my way to a meeting. I did not heed the impression at first but drove on for two more blocks; however, when the impression came again, I returned to their home. I approached the door to their home and knocked. Emily opened the door and, upon seeing me—her bishop—she exclaimed, “All day long I have waited for my phone to ring. It has been silent. I hoped that the postman would deliver a letter. He brought only bills. Bishop, how did you know today is my birthday?”

I answered, “Our Heavenly Father knows, Emily, for He loves you. I don’t know why I was directed here today, but He knows. Let’s kneel in prayer and ask Him.” Ben came into the room, and the three of us knelt in prayer. The reason for my visit was made clear as I felt impressed to invite both Ben and Emily to join us in our Church meetings, asking each of them to respond to a particular assignment. Each accepted and began regular attendance once again at Church, remaining active for the rest of their lives. That day of my visit with Ben and Emily, hearts were touched and souls saved.

In another area, my companion and I had just finished teaching and had ten minutes before a dinner appointment. Rather than wasting time we knocked on some doors, and one family let us right in. They had just returned from visiting a ranch in Arizona that was run by an LDS family. They had been impressed by how clean and well run it was.
We started the lessons and ended up baptizing the whole family, mom and dad and two kids. They got right in and became involved with the ward. They brought several of their friends into the Church, and both of the children are now at BYU. One’s leaving on a mission soon.
They’ve come and visited our home a couple of times, and now I know why my father felt so good when people from his mission came to see him.

In the midst of all the suffering of the pioneer handcart companies are numerous examples of Saints who, through their actions, showed great love for the Savior. One of these was a young English girl named Emily Wall, who had come across the plains with her brother, Joseph. They had been promised that they would live to come to the Salt Lake Valley. That faith sustained them through all the terrible sufferings they endured. Their mother had given each of them extra pairs of shoes to wear during the journey, and they gave most of those away to Saints who had no shoes at all.
Partway across the plains, Joseph, who was then eighteen, fell sick. The leaders of the group felt that they would have to leave him behind—not because they were cruel but because they simply could not stop and wait for him to get better. To do so would endanger the lives of everyone in the group. They said that if Joseph got well, he could catch up to the company. Emily said, “I can’t leave him. We have both been promised that we will live to get across the plains, so I’ll put him in the handcart and I will push it myself.” So fifteen-year-old Emily, with the help of another girl, pulled the heavy handcart for three days while Joseph recovered. Soon he was able to get back on his feet, and the two of them proceeded as part of the Martin Company.
Emily later married a man she met at Devil’s Gate after the handcart company was rescued. The couple had twelve children who followed the example of their mother’s faith and obedience to the Lord’s commandments.

Some years ago, Sister Jana Taylor, one of our faithful sister missionaries who committed to be totally obedient and strive to have the Spirit with her always, had some very difficult, discouraging, and challenging times—not unlike a typical mission. If one is committed to really make a difference, it seems the adversary is right there to increase the swiftness of the current, to increase the opposition that would, if possible, carry us downstream away from our goal. The last day before Sister Taylor was to return home from her mission, she stood before her peers to testify. She had a glow about her, a confidence different than when she arrived. “I’m thankful,” she said, “for the challenges and the trials. I’m thankful for every single hard day.” She paused, then added, “And every day was hard. If it hadn’t been, I wouldn’t be who I am now. I am not the same person I was when I came out.” And because of those hard times she will never be the same person again. She had, as the scripture says, grown up in the Lord (see D&C 109:15). And her growth will continue.

I always look forward to the priesthood blessings my dad gives us before the school year because they give me strength and peace for the year ahead. I remember being scared when I was going into middle school for the first time because we had just moved. In my blessing I was promised that if I chose the right and was kind to everyone around me, the Lord would watch over me and bless me.
That year I tried to reach out to others and choose the right. I began reading the Book of Mormon, and throughout the year I was filled with peace. I knew the Lord was keeping His promise because I was doing what I was supposed to be doing. At the end of the school year I knew it had been a hard year, but I had tried my best, and the Lord had kept his promise.
I am so thankful I have a dad who can give me priesthood blessings. Those blessings have strengthened my testimony because I have been able to feel and see them working in my life. Knowing that the Lord is able to work through my dad to speak and help me has strengthened my relationship with my Heavenly Father and my earthly father.

Christmas was almost here. Amalie was excited. Soon she could unwrap the presents under the tree!
At family home evening it was Mom’s turn to give the lesson.
“Why do we give presents at Christmas?” Mom asked.
“Because it’s Jesus’s birthday!” Amalie said.
“Then shouldn’t we give a present to Him?” Mom said.
Dad helped Amalie’s brother Noah read a scripture. It said that when we serve other people, we are serving God (see Mosiah 2:17).
“Is serving others giving a gift to Jesus?” Mom said.
Noah nodded.
“What else is a gift for Jesus?”
“Keeping the commandments,” Amalie said.
“Being nice,” Noah said.
“Great ideas!” Mom said. “Now let’s play a game. I’ll say a gift someone gave to Jesus. Tell me if you know who it was. Here we go. This person gave out Christmas cards at the care center.”
Noah raised his hand. “Amalie did that!”
“This person went home teaching.”
“That’s Daddy,” Amalie said.
Soon they had named lots of gifts they had already given to the Savior.
“We can give gifts every day,” Mom said.
The next morning it was time to clean the house. “Oh no,” Amalie groaned. But then she remembered. Serving others is a gift! If she helped Mom, it was the same as helping Jesus. She found a cloth and wiped the counters until they sparkled.
The next day Amalie earned some money.
“Your tithing is eight cents,” Mom said.
Amalie remembered again. Tithing is a commandment, so paying it is a gift. She put eight cents in her tithing jar.
Later that week Amalie helped pick up pillows. Her baby brother had thrown them off the couch. “Another present for Jesus,” she said.
On Christmas Eve, Mom and Dad told Amalie they were proud of her. “You’ve been giving gifts to Jesus all week long,” Dad said. “That’s like having a little bit of Christmas every day.”

A young friend of mine, whom I will call Alan, recently ran his first marathon—a distance of 26.2 miles. He had set his goal several months in advance, learned what preparation was required, and disciplined himself to follow a rigorous training schedule. He sought the advice of experienced runners and read articles on running a marathon. He practiced running the marathon route and planned a strategy for traversing the hilly course.
Finally, the day of the marathon arrived; it would be the culmination of months of training, discipline, and sacrifice. He got off to a good start in a large crowd of runners. He felt strong and confident, following his predetermined strategy. About eight miles into the race, on a downhill part of the course, he caught up with an experienced runner, Brent by name, who had given him sound advice during his training. Alan decided to match his stride to Brent’s disciplined and experienced pace.
As they passed the eighteen-mile mark, Alan struggled to stay with Brent so someone he knew would be by his side if he began “hitting the wall.” Hitting the wall means feeling a sudden urge to quit, encountering an almost tangible barrier that requires a tremendous effort to overcome. It often comes at about the twenty-mile mark.
For the next two miles, Alan kept pace with Brent. Then it hit him. He felt a sudden loss of energy, an almost overwhelming desire to stop or walk. “Stay with me,” Brent said. “We all feel it at some point. You can get through it. I’ll help pull you through.”
Somehow, Alan continued. He and Brent began to pass spectators. He knew his wife, children, and other family members would be watching about one mile ahead. Drawing on the strength provided by thoughts of his family, he was able to hang on until the desire to quit left him.
As they finally neared the finish, Alan found the last mile to be the hardest of all. Alan and Brent crossed the finish line just five seconds apart. Alan was more exhausted than he ever had been but was elated because he had beaten his goal by more than fifteen minutes and had finished among the top twenty-five runners.