Gospel Story Finder

In my high school, my sister and I were the only members of the Church, and often our beliefs were ridiculed or misunderstood. When I realized that trying to explain my convictions wasn’t effective with most people, I decided to speak by living my standards. When they noticed I was living differently, some of them approached me to inquire about the Church.Elder Daniele Bressan, 22, Italy Catania Mission

President Brigham Young recalled:
“Over [the] kitchen was situated the room in which the Prophet received revelations and in which he instructed his brethren [the School of the Prophets]. The brethren came to that place for hundreds of miles to attend school in a little room probably no larger than eleven by fourteen [feet—about 3.3 by 4.2 meters]. When they assembled together in this room after breakfast, the first thing they did was to light their pipes, and, while smoking, talk about the great things of the kingdom, and spit all over the room, and as soon as the pipe was out of their mouths a large chew of tobacco would then be taken. Often when the Prophet entered the room to give the school instructions he would find himself in a cloud of tobacco smoke. This, and the complaints of his wife at having to clean so filthy a floor, made the Prophet think upon the matter, and he inquired of the Lord relating to the conduct of the Elders in using tobacco, and the revelation known as the Word of Wisdom was the result of his inquiry” (Brigham Young, in Journal of Discourses, 12:158).
Brother Zebedee Coltrin adds the following information to this story: “When the Word of Wisdom [D&C 89] was first presented by the Prophet Joseph … there were twenty out of the twenty-one who used tobacco and they all immediately threw their tobacco and pipes into the fire” (minutes, Salt Lake City School of Prophets, 3 October 1883, page 56).

Sue didn’t start out as a leader. She learned by trial and error. Growing up, Sue was just part of the crowd until the crowd started going a direction she did not care to follow. Her upbringing in the Church gave her a perspective different than that of her friends.

“In my second year of high school, my friends started doing awful things that would make me cry for them. I just wanted to shake them and ask, ‘What are you doing?’ but I couldn’t. It was frustrating. I started saying to myself, ‘Hey, Sue, you don’t need to do those things.’ “

That’s when she decided to make her own choices and possibly lead her friends in the right direction as well. Her bishop, Allen Dance of the Snoqualmie Valley Ward, noticed her ability to be a positive influence on her friends. “Sue has always sought the good. She has strengthened the weak in our ward and in the school. She goes out of her way to be friends to people who need a friend. As a result of her example, others have been blessed.”

I was a 13-year-old Latter-day Saint young woman living in Gilbert, Arizona, and each year our stake held its yearly girls’ camp in the mountains of Prescott, Arizona.
That year, at the beginning of camp, our leaders gave us each a small spiral notebook. On the inside cover of each was written our name, the name of the camp, and “Summer of ’76.” On the first page of the notebook was the heading, “I hope, I wish, I dream.”
We were instructed to write in this notebook our hopes, our wishes, and our dreams for the future. We were also told to put our notebooks somewhere safe. Our leaders hoped that when we were grown up, we would take our notebooks out and see what our dreams had been and if we had achieved them.
I took our leaders’ words to heart. I filled page after page with my hopes for the future. When I came home from camp that year, I unpacked my suitcase and took out the little spiral notebook and set it carefully inside my hope chest.
Years went by, and I gave little thought to the notebook. Over the next 20 years, I went through many moves. I transferred the contents of my hope chest to a cardboard box, which I labeled “Mementos,” and that box followed me wherever I went.
One day, 20 years from the day that I wrote in that notebook at camp, I walked into my garage and saw the box labeled “Mementos.” I decided to get it down and see what was inside. I began pulling out items. Then I came across the little spiral notebook. I opened it to the first page and read, “I hope, I wish, I dream.”
I began to read and ponder what I had written—of my desire to be married to a good man in the temple and my desire to have a big family and a happy home. I had written of my desire to keep the commandments. I continued reading about how important it was for me to not compromise my principles and to keep the light of the gospel in my life.
I paused for a moment from my reading and thought about how my life had turned out. I had not compromised my principles. I had married a good man in the temple. We had three children at that time. We were a happy family, and we taught our children the gospel. All that I had read had come true or was coming true.
I then went on to read of a more specific dream I had. The last sentence I had written was, “I want to write a book.”
After reading this, I found myself standing perfectly still, in awe. Then my heart began pounding, and I smiled as my entire being was filled with a warm tingly feeling. I closed the little notebook and held it close to me. A publishing company had just accepted my manuscript for publication.
I received a strong testimony that day of the power of goal setting. I received a testimony that our Heavenly Father loves us and will help us in achieving our hopes, our wishes, and our dreams. I believe that when I was 13, I knew what I wanted to do in my life, and I knew what Heavenly Father wanted me to do. I believe in the importance of setting righteous goals now and not compromising your principles. If you do set righteous goals, they will become reality.

Recently her grandfather was chosen to represent the Northern Ute tribe in the Salt Lake City 2002 Olympic torch relay. When officials asked Frank, Stephanie’s grandpa, to suggest someone for him to pass the torch on to, Stephanie was the first to come to his mind. “She’s really involved in sports,” her grandpa told them, “and I know she’s in good shape. I know she can do it.”

Stephanie smiles. “He’s always taught me that girls can do anything guys can do.”

Stephanie is a soccer player for her high school, so she was in great shape to run the torch. She credits her grandfather with helping her succeed there too: “My grandpa has the best work ethic of anyone I know. This work ethic has helped me in my commitment to sports, to my religion, and to my personal goals.”

When Stephanie received the Olympic torch from her grandfather under the picturesque Delicate Arch in southern Utah’s Arches National Park, it seemed more symbolic than real. More important than giving her the torch is the legacy of love her grandfather and family have passed on. She wants to continue that legacy in her own family.

One day, a lady came to our class at school to teach about Colonial times. She said that the water they had to drink then wasn’t very healthy, so instead they drank tea. The whole class pitched in to make tea and cakes. When the time came to eat, she noticed that I ate my cake but did not drink the tea.
She asked me, “Aren’t you going to drink your tea?”
“No, thank you.”
“Everyone must drink the tea!” she said.
“I’m not allowed to drink tea,” I responded.
“Well,” she said, “tell your parents that you’re a big girl now and then drink the tea.”
My teacher overheard our conversation. She knows that I am LDS, so she came over and said, “She doesn’t have to drink the tea.”
I’m glad I stood up for what I know is right, and I know that my Heavenly Father is too.
Aubrey Potter, age 11Darien, Connecticut

I went to my bishop to make things right, and we met regularly to prepare me to serve a mission. My papers were almost finished when I was prompted to make sure that he understood some of the choices I had made. That conversation wasn’t easy, but even more than I wanted to go on a mission, I wanted to be right before God. I was willing to own what I had done wrong and lay it all out before Him so I could be clean.

Soon after, I came before a disciplinary council. It was scary in some ways to admit what I had done in front of people who had been my leaders and mentors for years, but as I looked around the room, I felt peace. I could see that they were there to understand and help me. As I left, I felt the Spirit assure me that no matter what the decision was, I was doing my part and I was going to be OK. God and leaders who loved me would work with me to get me where I needed to be. I walked away feeling the love of the Savior and knowing that I wasn’t beyond His redemption.

Despite the peace I had felt, it was hard to face the questions from people about why I wasn’t on a mission. As I continued working through the repentance process with the help of my bishop, it became less and less likely that serving a mission was in my future. I had to figure out how to move forward with my life. At 21, because I didn’t fall into the pre-missionary, returned missionary, or married groups of young adults, it was hard to feel like I belonged anywhere.

Dating was tough. Sometimes girls would treat me differently after I would tell them I didn’t serve a mission and that I was inactive for a period of time. For one reason or another, most interactions never made it past the first date.

I was happy that I eventually did get married in the temple, but sometimes I still felt like I didn’t fit in. I had a testimony, but I couldn’t figure out how to share it, and church classrooms felt like tests where my peers would see me fail. I thought that because most of them had the lives I wanted, they hadn’t stumbled as much as I had.

One day the bishop called me in and extended the call to teach elders quorum. I was surprised, since I had only been to elders quorum twice in the last year. Despite feeling incredibly anxious, I accepted the calling. On my first Sunday teaching, I found myself starting out with probably the strangest introduction they had ever heard:
“Hi, brothers, I’m Richard Monson. I never served a mission and I’ve been inactive most of my adult life. I haven’t attended elders quorum pretty much ever because I don’t feel like I belong or fit in. I won’t be able to answer all your questions, but I’m hoping that you will participate so we can learn together. If you’re OK with where I’m coming from, then we’ll get started.”
I realized that day that I could admit to others—and to myself—that even though I didn’t consider myself a “straight arrow” (someone who served a mission, was active all their lives, and hadn’t made serious mistakes), I was pointed in the same direction as they were, and that was what mattered. To my amazement, I found that more than one of these men whom I thought led perfect lives had made mistakes too. I think it reinforced the idea to all of us that perfection isn’t a requirement to bring value to the class or the Church as a whole.
Unfortunately, my activity in the Church didn’t last. My marriage was difficult, and I turned to old vices to escape my pain. Hobbies began to replace church attendance.

Three years passed, and I reached rock bottom. I had to make a choice. Could I live the gospel for myself regardless of what was happening in my life? Or would I just give in to the darkness? I knew that committing to the strait and narrow path meant getting rid of negative influences in my life. Also, my desires to go back to church highlighted that my spouse and I were on different paths. With the state of our marriage at that point, we were headed toward divorce already.

I was scared. There was no guarantee that my efforts would grant me the good things I wanted in this life. But my decision came back to what I had learned years before—that I was happiest living the gospel. I decided to commit fully and put myself in God’s hands, come what may. From here on out, it was me and Him.

Once again, I started going back to church and getting my life on track. One of the happiest days of my life was when I received a temple recommend again. I found solace in the temple as my marriage continued to fracture and ultimately came to an end.

As scary as that decision felt, through that experience I learned to appreciate God’s hand in my path. Even though I had stumbled, the race wasn’t lost. I wasn’t competing with anyone else. When I relied on the Savior for my self-worth, I could stop spending all my efforts trying to change others’ perspective of me.

I found myself at church being OK sitting alone or amidst members who were in different stages of life. I made an effort not to hide and made myself available to talk with people in my ward. I was able to enjoy attending my meetings for their intended purpose.

Having that peace also helped as I got back into dating. I still didn’t get a lot of second dates, but I now knew I didn’t have to compromise my standards just because I had slipped up in the past. I was living the gospel to the best of my ability, and I was good enough to date those who were living the gospel to the best of theirs too.

I ultimately found a worthy daughter of God who I married in the temple. Her path was very different than mine, but when it came to a love of the Savior and an understanding of His Atonement, we were on the same page.

Over the years, I have learned not to let my past or other people’s approval define my current self-worth. I’ve let go of the idea that success looks like one set of life experiences. Not everyone has appreciated where I am now because of how I’ve gotten here, and that’s OK. It’s not my goal to convince them. It is my goal to keep repenting and coming closer to the Savior. It’s because of Him that, like Alma the Younger after his repentance, I can be “harrowed up by the memory of my sins no more” (Alma 36:19). I can be at peace knowing that it’s where I’m headed—toward the Savior—that counts.

I chose another hero in that little branch of the Church. He was a United States Marine who came to our meetings wearing his green marine uniform. It was wartime, so that alone made him my hero. He had been sent to Princeton University by the marines to further his education. But far more than admiring his military uniform, I watched him play in Palmer Stadium as captain of the Princeton University football team. I saw him play on the university basketball team and also watched him play as the star catcher on their baseball team.
But even more, he came to my home during the week to show me how to shoot a basketball with both my left and my right hand. He told me that I would need that skill because I would someday play basketball on good teams. I did not realize it then, but for years he was, for me, a model of a true priesthood man.
The same is true for the marine who was my childhood hero. He never spoke to me of his priesthood service or of his accomplishments. He just gave service. I learned about his faithfulness from others. If he even saw the characteristics in himself that I admired, I could not tell.

I want to thank you for the Q&A in the March 1996 issue. It was about a girl who didn’t think she was pretty. All through grade school, my classmates and peers told me I was ugly, so I believed it. No one else told me anything different, except my parents. And I thought that was just their “job.” As I got older, people at church and some girls at school told me they thought I was pretty. Then I moved and had a fresh start. Now when a guy is interested in me, I wonder why. I have learned to not judge others by their looks because I know what it feels like. This article really boosted me and helped me feel important and better about myself.
Name WithheldOregon

No one knows when emergencies will strike. I am somewhat familiar with the case of a man who was highly successful in his profession. He lived in comfort. He built a large home. Then one day he was suddenly involved in a serious accident. Instantly, without warning, he almost lost his life. He was left a cripple. Destroyed was his earning power. He faced huge medical bills. He had other payments to make. He was helpless before his creditors. One moment he was rich, the next he was broke.

Since the beginnings of the Church, the Lord has spoken on this matter of debt. To Martin Harris through revelation He said: “Pay the debt thou hast contracted with the printer. Release thyself from bondage” (D&C 19:35).
President Heber J. Grant spoke repeatedly on this matter from this pulpit. He said: “If there is any one thing that will bring peace and contentment into the human heart, and into the family, it is to live within our means. And if there is any one thing that is grinding and discouraging and disheartening, it is to have debts and obligations that one cannot meet” (Gospel Standards, comp. G. Homer Durham [1941], 111).
We are carrying a message of self-reliance throughout the Church. Self-reliance cannot obtain when there is serious debt hanging over a household. One has neither independence nor freedom from bondage when he is obligated to others.
In managing the affairs of the Church, we have tried to set an example. We have, as a matter of policy, stringently followed the practice of setting aside each year a percentage of the income of the Church against a possible day of need.
I am grateful to be able to say that the Church in all its operations, in all its undertakings, in all of its departments, is able to function without borrowed money. If we cannot get along, we will curtail our programs. We will shrink expenditures to fit the income. We will not borrow.
One of the happiest days in the life of President Joseph F. Smith was the day the Church paid off its long-standing indebtedness.
What a wonderful feeling it is to be free of debt, to have a little money against a day of emergency put away where it can be retrieved when necessary.
President Faust would not tell you this himself. Perhaps I can tell it, and he can take it out on me afterward. He had a mortgage on his home drawing 4 percent interest. Many people would have told him he was foolish to pay off that mortgage when it carried so low a rate of interest. But the first opportunity he had to acquire some means, he and his wife determined they would pay off their mortgage. He has been free of debt since that day. That’s why he wears a smile on his face, and that’s why he whistles while he works.
I urge you, brethren, to look to the condition of your finances. I urge you to be modest in your expenditures; discipline yourselves in your purchases to avoid debt to the extent possible. Pay off debt as quickly as you can, and free yourselves from bondage.
This is a part of the temporal gospel in which we believe. May the Lord bless you, my beloved brethren, to set your houses in order. If you have paid your debts, if you have a reserve, even though it be small, then should storms howl about your head, you will have shelter for your wives and children and peace in your hearts. That’s all I have to say about it, but I wish to say it with all the emphasis of which I am capable.

Hans let his light shine brightly, even through hard times.
When he was six years old, he fell and broke his arm. That accident became a great blessing. His mom was planning to move to the United States and leave Hans in Ecuador with her sister for a time. “But when he broke his arm,” she says, “I realized Heavenly Father was telling me not to leave my son. If I did, he wouldn’t be able to go to church.”
That’s when Hans’s mother, Antonia Yolanda Nieto, was baptized. Since that time, her testimony has continued to grow and she has received her endowment in the Guayaquil Ecuador Temple. Hans was the missionary who brought his mother to the light of the gospel.

I considered it the better part of valor not to probe too deeply into just where the boys got the watermelon for our picnic. After all boys would be boys, I told myself. And when they offered, what could I say? They ought to be involved somehow in the preparations. In any case, stealing a watermelon was a minor infraction. Why, we had all been involved in such things at some time or other.
I soothed my conscience with these rationalizations until I learned where they had gotten the watermelon. And then there was no help for it. Obviously it was a sin to steal a watermelon, and that would have to be the topic of our next priesthood lesson.
Not only was it a sin to steal a watermelon, but it was a greater sin to lie about it. And that was the thing that really rankled in my brain after our visit to Sister Wagner’s house.
My young companion, Tom Learner, had made the appointment. And he seemed perfectly at ease as he rang the doorbell.
“Good evening, Sister Wagner,” Tom’s voice was sincere and friendly.
“My home teachers. Come in. I’ve been waiting for you.”
“And how are you, Sister Wagner?” I asked.
Her answer was noncommittal. I sensed there was something she was not saying.
I discussed the message we had prepared on chastity—not a subject that Sister Wagner needed to be greatly concerned about. Tom offered a beautiful prayer.
Then as we were preparing to leave, I said: “And how are you really, Sister Wagner? Is there something we should know about?”
With a quick glance at Tom, she said: “Come with me out back. There’s something you should see.”
Sister Wagner, widowed now 15 years, was proud of her garden. Many times as we visited in her home she had taken us to look at the tomatoes and carrots and peas. And, oh yes, the one watermelon plant.
You could almost see the hunger in her eyes as she talked about eating the two large green watermelons that were growing on that vine. Tom and I had joked about them, saying that they were almost like children to her and that she probably would not have the heart to eat them when they did get ripe.
Now as we came into her backyard she pointed at the garden. She was very near to tears. “If they had just taken the watermelons, I could have accepted that. But look at my tomatoes. It looks like a herd of elephants had been running through them. All that lovely fruit spoiled! And the watermelon! Do you know what they did with the watermelon? They threw it in the street out front—smashed to pieces.”
Weeping now in earnest she fled from us to the sanctuary of her house.
“Who could have done such a thing?” Tom fumed as I drove him to his house. “I’m gonna find out who it was and make him pay.”
He was putting on a good act. There were real tears in his eyes, and he almost convinced me. But the circumstantial evidence was just too great. Tom was the one who had suggested that he knew where they could get a watermelon for the picnic. I felt sure that he had involved the other members of the teachers quorum in the theft.
Sick at heart, I began to prepare the lesson I would give the following Sunday. I had enjoyed working with these boys. They were good boys basically.
Where had I failed them? It was difficult for me to believe that they—Tom especially—would steal Sister Wagner’s watermelons, knowing what they meant to her. Both of the melons had been taken, though only one made it to the picnic. The other one, as Sister Wagner pointed out, was dropped in the street in front of her house. Insult added to injury.
“Well, guys?”
They knew before I opened my mouth that this was not going to be the usual lesson.
“You want to tell me about it, guys?”
“What’s he driving at?” Mark Fenton asked. Tom’s face was a blank.
“Hey, fellows, when you offered to get a watermelon for the picnic I assumed …”
Slowly the light began to dawn in Tom’s eyes. I could see it expand and grow from a vague suspicion to certain knowledge.
“You, you think we took Sister Wagner’s watermelon?”
“What am I supposed to think, Tom?”
Suddenly the boys were all talking at once, each one pleading innocence. I had obviously taken them by surprise. Had I really misjudged them? Or had they simply not expected to be found out?
“Okay. Okay, guys!” I raised my arms for silence. “Perhaps I did jump to conclusions. If so, I’m sorry, and I beg your forgiveness. But would you just tell me one thing? Where did you get that watermelon?”
There followed a silence as profound as the outburst of protest that had preceded it. Tom looked at Mark Fenton. Mark squirmed in his seat and glanced at Billy Chavez. Eduardo, Billy’s younger brother, seemed to be profoundly interested in the pattern of the floor tiles. He studied those tiles as if he were hypnotized. The attention of the class focused finally on Eduardo, the shyest and quietest member of the group. They had chosen Eduardo as their spokesman, whether he liked it or not.
“You know something you’d like to tell me, Eduardo?”
He looked at me with something like panic in his eyes. I wanted to let him off the hook. But if the answer did not come from him, there would be no answer.
“Tell me about it, Eduardo. Where did you get the watermelon?”
Soft, like the southern breeze in September, came his voice.
“From old m-m-m-. …”
“Would you repeat that, please, Eduardo?”
“From Old Man Peters.” He seemed relieved after it was out.
Relief washed over me like a mountain wind in summer. They had not stolen Sister Wagner’s watermelon. They had taken one from Old Ma … Mr. Peters’ big field. He had so many. Surely he would not miss one. Still, I had set out to make a point.
“Hey, guys. I do apologize for thinking you would do something like that to Sister Wagner, a widow with only one small plant. But you know stealing is stealing. Were you all involved in this?”
They nodded their heads affirmatively.
My plan would require only minor alteration, a change of characters. “Well, fellows, you know what I think we had better do?”
They knew all right but were hoping I would not say it.
Each agreed that, since I insisted, he would go with me to visit Mr. Peters later that afternoon. At the appointed time I picked each of them up and we drove out to the Peters’ farm at the edge of town.
I had not talked to Bill Peters in a long time, though we went to school together some years back. He was not a member of the Church but had married into a prominent Latter-day Saint family. His children were totally inactive. I must confess that I felt somewhat ill at ease going to see him. I wondered if it was worth it for one small watermelon. But we were already committed.
He was tinkering with his tractor when we pulled into the yard. I got out of the car and approached with some trepidation.
“Hi Bill.”
“Walt? Been a while.” He extended his arm to shake hands and then drew it back. “Hand’s covered with grease. You won’t want to shake with me.”
The boys were still keeping to the security of the car. I motioned them to join me.
“Looks like a delegation,” Bill Peters said.
“Oh … uh … how are things going, Bill?”
“Been better. Tractor won’t run. Cow got into the lucerne the other night and bloated. Still might lose her.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Bill. You have a nice looking watermelon patch.”
“Hmph! Had is more like it. Kids got into the field and knocked the best melons off the vine. What they didn’t ruin the cow did, on her way to the alfalfa field. Whoever got into the melon patch left her gate open.”
The boys were beginning to squirm noticeably.
“Well, Bill, that … that was what we came to see you about.”
“Figured it was when I saw you coming.”
“We’d like to pay for the damage, if we could.”
“Walt, I wouldn’t know what to charge. Probably a couple hundred dollars all told. But, kids! They don’t know what they’re doing. Did you ever steal a watermelon? They think it’s fun. Isn’t when you’re on the other side. I donno. I wouldn’t feel good about taking their money. I will accept an apology.”
Each of the boys in turn expressed his regret to Mr. Peters. They were deeply penitent. And none of us felt like we had really solved the problem. I did not know what more we could do.
Two weeks later I learned what kind of stuff that teachers quorum was really made of when I got a call from Bill Peters.
“Walt?”
“Yes.”
“Bill Peters. I just had to tell you how much it has meant to me …”
My pause must have suggested to him that I did not know what he was talking about.
“Your boys,” he said. “That Learner kid’s a great mechanic. Got my tractor going like a charm. Brought his big brother with him, who works at the garage. And the other boys have been working around the place.”
I was speechless.
We talked about it during priesthood meeting the following Sunday.
“Don’t you guys know it’s a sin to lie?” My voice was quavery as I said this.
“Lie?” Tom Learher’s voice was indignant. “We didn’t lie.”
“No,” Mark Fenton broke in. “We just didn’t tell you everything.”
“We wanted to surprise you,” Eduardo spoke shyly.
Suddenly I needed a tissue. After wiping my nose, I asked: “Did you learn anything else from this experience?”
“It’s a sin to steal a watermelon,” Billy Chavez spoke for the group.

It must be difficult living in a place where one of life’s greatest temptations is going to the beach on Sunday. “Sunday always has the perfect beach weather,” says Tami Ting Mei Lim of Honolulu, Hawaii, “but I want to be in church.”
Tami loves her home state and takes advantage of every opportunity to spread the gospel across it. She once spent two hours driving through the busy streets of Honolulu telling her captive driving instructor about the gospel. “I was surprised about the interest he took in hearing about Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon,” she said.
Tami also takes advantage of opportunities to keep her state beautiful. She’s constantly involved in community cleanup projects. Her experience in church and school leadership positions helps her with this. All this, and an avid interest in violin and piano music? No wonder it’s tempting to think of relaxing at the beach.

Once we reached Poland after an early start, our first stop was a retreat house, Dobre Miejsce, attached to the University of Cardinal Wyszynski in Warsaw. We stopped to buy sweets, colouring books, and pens for the 50 children we were about to meet. Dobre Miejsce looks after 95 women and children. The absence of men at the university refuge was noticeable and reinforced the awful concern of the women and children, not knowing if the men in their lives are alive or not.
We managed to spend a little time with the children for whom we had brought the packs. I will treasure the drawing that one little child gave us of the Union flag and the Ukrainian flag with a heart drawn around it; their little faces shining at such a simple gift is something I will remember for years to come.

Editor’s note: President Heber J. Grant’s life is a lesson in the power of practice and persistence. As an ungifted athlete, he worked so hard that he became the pitcher for a championship baseball team. While he was a bookkeeping student, classmates made fun of his writing. “Hentracks!” one boy said. “Lightning has struck the ink bottle,” jeered another. Heber vowed that someday he would teach penmanship, a prediction that came true. His calligraphy eventually won awards for excellence and gained national attention. In 1901, Elder Heber J. Grant, then serving as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, was called by the First Presidency to initiate missionary work in Japan.

The three other elders and I were excited to visit Nikko shrine, one of the best-known tourist attractions in Japan. We thrilled at the sculptured gardens, waterfalls, gently arched bridges, and carved stone monuments.
In the town near the shrine, we entered a curio shop which was set back from the road. The shop had apparently seen better days and was now overlooked by most tourists who favored the modern shops along the thoroughfare.
As we chatted with the owner, we found that the shop had been operated by his family for more than three generations. Many interesting objects attracted our attention. As we browsed, the owner brought over a guest book and asked us to sign it. He said that his grandfather had started the “sign-in” tradition almost a hundred years ago and that there were now several large volumes of signatures from foreigners who had visited the shop.
After we signed our names, he proudly showed us some of the signatures of royalty and of other famous personalities. He added that he wanted to share with us the most prized signature he possessed. Our new-found friend excitedly opened one of the older volumes and pointed to a signature: Heber J. Grant!
The signature was beautiful, with full, exact strokes. President Grant had given his address as simply “Salt Lake City, Utah,” and had written the date alongside. I don’t remember the date he wrote (our visit to the shop took place in 1974), but it was sometime during the period when President Grant presided over the Japanese Mission, probably around 1903.
From the experience, I learned of President Grant’s desire to become an accomplished penman and of the pursuit for excellence which he incorporated into every facet of his life. It was an unusual testimony to me of the importance of striving for perfection, and the lesson is one I will never forget.
Even though the shop owner (at that point) knew nothing about President Heber J. Grant or about missionaries and their mission, among the thousands of signatures included in his guest register, the most prized was the signature of a president of the Church!

Reflecting on my own journey, my mother said that my birth father deserted me because I was a girl, and he wanted a boy. One day, while hanging out the washing, I felt a strong prompting to complete his family’s temple work, to soften my heart towards him and release decades of the burden of rejection. I soon found my birth father’s uncle and hundreds of family names that I was able to take to the temple. When this uncle passed away, his daughter gave me permission to complete his temple work as well as that of her deceased brother, pleased that he would have a pillow to lie his head on in heaven. My patriarchal blessing promised success if I completed my family history, and I can testify that we have found much success in this sacred work.

Some time ago Elder Paul V. Johnson of the Seventy, with his wife, was serving in an Area Presidency in Chile. One Friday he needed to travel 900 miles (1,450 km) from their home in Santiago to reorganize a stake presidency.
After he arrived at his destination on Friday night, he received a call telling him that his wife was in the hospital. When he spoke with Sister Johnson, she explained that she had fallen down some stairs and shattered her kneecap. Assuring him that she was being well cared for and wouldn’t be in surgery until Monday or Tuesday, she encouraged him to finish his assignment to reorganize the stake and preside at the stake conference.
Calmed by her words, Elder Johnson immediately sent an email to his quorum leader in Salt Lake City to report the situation. Then he made plans to continue his assignment. There is a lesson to be learned in his response: first, he reported the situation to his quorum leader, and then he went ahead with his assignment.
The Quorums of the Seventy are organized in such a way that each member has specific stewardship over others, including tender watchcare for emeritus members of the quorum. Because of assignments around the world, quorum members normally cannot visit in person; however, they keep in contact through telephone calls, emails, texts, and other electronic means. Each member is asked to advise his quorum leader immediately of any significant changes in personal or family situations, which is exactly what Elder Johnson did.
In Elder Johnson’s case, his priesthood leader was Elder Claudio R. M. Costa, who was then serving as a member of the Presidency of the Seventy. Elder Costa called Elder Johnson the next morning while Elder Johnson was in the middle of interviewing local leaders. Elder Costa felt that Elder Johnson should return home but listened carefully as Elder Johnson explained why he felt his wife was all right and he could finish the stake reorganization. Elder Costa told Elder Johnson to continue while he did some checking.
About two hours later Elder Costa called Elder Johnson and told him that he had talked with quorum leaders about the situation and that they felt he needed to be with Sister Johnson. Elder Johnson was advised that a ticket was waiting for him at the airport and that Elder Carlos H. Amado was on his way to finish the reorganization of the stake presidency.
When Elder Johnson arrived at the hospital, he found his wife in a great deal of pain. Adding to her distress was the fact that she didn’t speak the language of the medical staff that surrounded her. She needed her husband. The inspired, brotherly concern of his quorum leaders had brought Elder Johnson to her side.
“I feel cared for in this quorum,” said Elder Johnson, “and there is a lot of faith and energy behind that care. I truly feel part of a quorum. I think that if I were ever called into the presidency of an elders quorum, I would be a better president because of my experience in this one.”

Years ago, in search of adventure, my two sons and I accompanied a Young Men group to the Moaning Cavern, so named for a sound that at one time echoed out of its mouth. The cavern is a chimney cave which opens into a 180-foot-deep (55 m) vertical chamber, the largest single-cave chamber in California.
There are only two ways down: the safe circular staircase or rappelling to the cavern’s floor; my sons and I chose to rappel. My older son went first, while my younger son and I purposely went last so that we would descend together.
After our guides instructed and secured us with harness and belay gear to a strong rope, we inched backward until we stood on a small ledge and gathered our confidence, as this was the last place to turn around and the last place we could see any sunlight from the mouth of the cave.
Our next step backwards plunged us into a cathedral cavern so tall and wide that it could swallow the Statue of Liberty. There we dangled in a slow spin as our eyes adjusted to the relative darkness. As we continued our descent, the glow of electric lights illuminated an amazing wall of glistening stalagmites and stalactites.
Without warning, the lights suddenly went completely out. Suspended above the abyss, we were engulfed in a darkness so profound that we could not even see our hands on the ropes in front of us. A voice instantly called out, “Dad, Dad, are you there?”
“I’m here, Son; I’m right here,” I responded.
The unexpected loss of light was designed to show that without electricity, the darkness of the cavern was impenetrable. It succeeded; we “felt” the darkness. When the lights did return, the darkness instantly surrendered, as darkness must always surrender, to even the faintest light. My sons and I have been left with a memory of a darkness we had never known, a greater appreciation for light we will never forget, and the assurance that we are never all alone in the dark.

Ghana is a country with great potential for development, yet it is struggling to find the needed financial resources. Although there are too few jobs to go around, the abundance of small businesses shows that Ghanaians are willing to work hard at any available opportunity.
Latter-day Saint businessman Kweku Anno of Accra gestures toward the men working under the metal sheds of his manufacturing enterprise. “Every one of them has a cousin or a brother who needs to be trained.” If he sent out word that he wanted 10 workers, Brother Anno says, there would be 100 outside his gate before the day ended.
A mechanical engineer, he designed the simple, sturdy concrete block- and brick-making machines built in his shop. Brother Anno estimates that each machine will provide jobs for four people. His own business enterprises support 52 people.
Bishop Holbrook Christian MacArthur of the Cape Coast First Ward estimates that 80 percent of the members in his ward are either unemployed or under-employed. Some 30 percent of the men are out of work—mostly younger men who have not yet established themselves in vocations or careers. Like Latter-day Saints elsewhere in Ghana, members of his ward have banded together to organize cooperative businesses ranging from construction work to selling food products made of cassava, an important Ghanaian crop.
Their perseverance in spite of setbacks is a manifestation of the faith of Ghanaian Latter-day Saints, the bishop says. Sometimes in interviewing members, he learns of problems that would be daunting to others. “But just give them a little encouragement, and they will ignite. They will look up to their God. They have a faith that God works in his own due time.”
This kind of faith gives Ghanaian members confidence that their Father in Heaven watches over them. One day, Beatrice Ashon withdrew five million Ghanaian cedis (about US $4,500) from her bank in Accra for use in her business enterprises. Apparently, someone was watching. That night, a gang burst into her home, fired several shots, tied up a relative, and locked a group of visiting children in another room. The gang demanded Sister Ashon’s money and also stole some household goods. But no one was hurt. Police learned later that this same gang had killed victims in other incidents. Sister Ashon believes everyone in the home was protected by the power of God.
After the robbery, her businesses failed because of the loss of the money. “That was a very big test,” she says, “but we are happy.” She is persevering in the gospel and looking for ways to begin again financially.

Brother McConkie tells the story of Reed Smoot, who was the first Latter-day Saint to represent Utah in the United States Senate. During his service he became highly respected by his colleagues and was one of the men selected to help decide who would be nominated as a candidate for president of the United States.
“His party had won the presidency the last several elections, and most observers thought the trend would continue. It was almost conceded that this convention would name the next president of the United States. … During this convention the leaders assembled there said to Senator Smoot, ‘Senator, you may have the nomination if you want it. There is one stipulation: You will have to soft-peddle the fact that you are a Mormon.’ Senator Smoot is reported to have replied, ‘I would rather be a deacon in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints than be president of the United States.’” (P. 33.)