Gospel Story Finder

I received my New Era subscription last year from a roommate at a dance camp. Each issue served to prod me to learn more about the LDS church and was also a reminder of a friend who had such strong faith in herself and her religion. In every issue of the New Era I have found either an answer to a question or else some other fact I didn’t know about the Church. I was baptized into the Church at the end of last summer and want to thank you for a publication that helped me so much. After being a member of two other faiths, I have found great joy in belonging to His Church and knowing the true and full gospel.
Cindy OvermanAlbuquerque, New Mexico

When I was younger, I attended a private university in my home state in Mexico. I always got along very well with the teachers and university director. I was a great student and got good grades, and the director and I stayed in touch after I finished my degree.
One day in 2010, I was talking with the director. She told me that the university was short a few teachers, and she offered me a job because of my skills and experience.
It felt like such a blessing to me. I was out of work at the time, and we were struggling just to eat. It would be a dream for me to teach so I could provide for my wife and children.
I said, “Of course. It would be my pleasure.”
She said, “Great! The next semester starts in 15 days. We need you to fill out this paperwork and come to the orientation so that you can start working.”
When I went to fill out the paperwork, another teacher saw me and asked what I was going to put where it asked about my religion.
I said, “I’m a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
He said, “I recommend that you don’t put that down. If you do, they are going to reject your paperwork immediately.”
I asked myself, How could this be? It’s the twenty-first century. How could religion be an issue? Besides, I felt that I needed to be honest, so I was. I finished the paperwork and emailed it. The next day, I waited to receive information on my teaching schedule. Nothing happened.
The day after that, I contacted the director and asked her about it. She said, “You know what, it’s not going to work out.”
I asked, “Why, what happened?”
She told me, “Your class curriculum doesn’t satisfy the academic requirements.”
This made no sense because she was the one who had offered me the job in the first place. The administrators later told me the truth: I lost the job due to my religion.
Because the university had no written rule or policy regarding the beliefs or religion of the faculty, I had been unfairly discriminated against. It was very hard for me personally, but especially because I didn’t know how I would provide for my family.
One of the things that helped me was thinking about how Nephi was able to build a boat without knowing how to do it before he started (see 1 Nephi 17:7–55; 18:1–4). Knowing that God can guide me and provide the things my family needs helped me make it through this challenging time. As I considered my situation, Heavenly Father helped me so that I never felt angry, and I decided I should let it go. He helped me focus on my family and find a different job as a reporter, and that was a great blessing.

The woodland was under a heavy shroud of cloud cover that weekend. Rain filtered through the air, and the cameramen waited patiently to expose their film. It rained, and they prayed. And it rained some more. If the filmmakers were unable to complete filming in that one week during the spring of 1975, the project would have to wait a year until the surroundings were right again. The season would soon change, and to add to the problems, the lead actor had to leave the following Friday. On Monday morning the crew awoke before dawn and began to set up all their equipment, thinking somehow they could compensate for the weather. But suddenly it stopped raining. When the sun came up, they beheld the loveliest mist they had ever seen. The tall, wet grasses sparkled, and the birds burst forth in song, and they knew they had been blessed with a beauty they could never have produced themselves.
That morning the Brigham Young University Department of Film Production began filming scenes for the First Vision. Stewart Petersen, who played the Prophet Joseph, walked through those tall grasses with thoughts of that other “beautiful, clear day, early in the spring of eighteen hundred and twenty” (JS—H 1:14) when Joseph Smith humbly prayed for an answer to his question, “Which of all the churches should I join?”
The First Vision is a historical film commissioned by the Church for release as a teaching aid and missionary tool. The script follows Joseph Smith’s own account of the spring of 1820 in Palmyra, New York, when, after reading and pondering James 1:5, he decided to ask of God which church was true.
The singular beauty of that first morning was followed by a week of busy filming. By Thursday renewed bad weather set in—more clouds and more rain. By the end of the day there was still one important scene that needed to be put on film—and that scene had to be filmed in bright sunlight. It was the scene where Joseph runs toward his home on a bright sunny day. So Friday morning they set up an 18-foot scaffold for their cameras in the center of the field that lay between the grove and Joseph’s home. They offered another special prayer and waited. After what seemed like hours the clouds parted. The cameras rolled. Just before the scene ended, the clouds closed in again, and darkness prevailed. “That’s all we got,” said David Jacobs, producer-director, “but that was all we needed—it’s the scene that opens the film.”
In Joseph’s own account of the First Vision he tells of entering the grove and kneeling to supplicate the Lord. Suddenly he felt a literal darkness—“some power which entirely overcame me … the power of some actual being from the unseen world.” (JS—H 1:15–16.) How to handle the feeling of such an evil influence was hard to conceptualize and then transfer onto film. On the plane to New York the week before, David Jacobs had been studying some research material on a recently discovered account of the vision written by Joseph.
A couple of sentences jumped out at him as he read: Joseph said, “I heard a noise behind me like some one walking toward me. I strove again to pray, but could not; the noise of walking seemed to draw nearer. I sprang upon my feet and looked around, but saw no person or thing that was calculated to produce the noise of walking.” (As quoted in Dean Jesse, “Early Accounts of the First Vision,” BYU Studies, Spring 1969, p. 284.) “I knew instantly,” Dave said, “that this was how I wanted to get into the darkness scene. It was dramatic. It was true.”
But the most difficult scene was that portraying the Father and the Son. Whether to even show the divine vision was a major decision because of its sacred nature. Then one of the General Authorities mentioned to Jesse Stay (director of the Department of Film Production) that he felt that one of the most important messages of the First Vision was the fact that the Father and the Son were separate and distinct beings—contrary to the universal approach of the three-in-one Godhead. The decision was made: the Father and the Son are represented in the film.
Making a Church film such as the First Vision is different from any other filmmaking. Each of the workers involved—sound men, cameramen, actors, director, costume and makeup crew—all are devotedly intent on its success for unique and unselfish reasons. They know of the potential missionary impact and they know of the testimonies it could strengthen if the job is done right. Brother Jacobs said, “They’d laugh at me in ‘the industry’ for saying it, but I believe if a person is moved spiritually by the film, it’s because the Lord has blessed our efforts.”

One Sunday, Brother James H. Moyle shared with us a singular [remarkable] experience. As a young man he went to the University of Michigan to study law. As he was finishing his studies, his father told him that David Whitmer, one of the witnesses of the Book of Mormon, was still alive. The father suggested to his son that he stop on his way back to Salt Lake City to visit with David Whitmer face-to-face. Brother Moyle’s purpose was to ask him about his testimony concerning the golden plates and the Book of Mormon.
During that visit, Brother Moyle said to David Whitmer: “Sir, you are an old man, and I’m a young man. I have been studying about witnesses and testimonies. Please tell me the truth concerning your testimony as one of the witnesses of the Book of Mormon.” David Whitmer then told this young man: “Yes, I held the golden plates in my hands, and they were shown to us by an angel. My testimony concerning the Book of Mormon is true.” David Whitmer was out of the Church, but he never denied his testimony of the angel’s visitation, of handling the golden plates, or of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. Hearing with my own ears this remarkable experience directly from Brother Moyle’s lips had a powerful, confirming effect upon my growing testimony. Having heard it, I felt it was binding upon me.

Julie B. Beck, Relief Society general president, explains that “providing for ourselves and others is evidence that we are disciples of the Lord Jesus Christ. … When [my mother-in-law] passed away suddenly last year, she left evidence of her self-reliant life. She had a current temple recommend and well-used scriptures and gospel study manuals. We lovingly divided up the pots, pans, and dishes with which she had prepared thousands of meals. She left us quilts she had made from old clothing. She believed in the old adage ‘Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without.’ We saw the supply of food she had grown, preserved, and stored. Particularly touching were her little account books in which she faithfully recorded her expenditures over many years. Because she lived providently, she left some money she had saved for emergencies, and she left no debts! Most importantly, she had taught and inspired many others with the skills she had acquired during her faithful life.”2

As a child, I woke up early during the week, and Sunday was the only day my mother would let me sleep in—that is, until the Christian congregation next door woke me up with their loud singing, preaching, and even crying at times. It’s silly, but because of my annoyance at being woken up every week, I thought Christians were a bit obnoxious.
I later learned that many members of Christian congregations donated their time and even money to their church. I just couldn’t understand why.
Because of these two observations about the Christian churches in my town in India—combined with the fact that my family and I were not Christian—I had little interest in learning more about Christianity.
During my final year of university, my friend invited me to attend his church with him. I was hesitant but eventually agreed.
As I sat in the meeting, singing hymns and listening to messages about Jesus Christ, I felt something different—I felt peace. I attended for a few more weeks and felt the same way each time. But of course, I was just visiting; I wasn’t interested in actually joining.
Some time after I stopped attending church with my friend, I began feeling like I was lacking something in my life. I missed the peace that I’d felt at church with my friend. I had a strong feeling that I should learn more about Jesus Christ, so I decided to meet with the missionaries from my friend’s church. I didn’t even consider what my family might think.
When I met with the missionaries, my life began to change. I learned about the Restoration and the Book of Mormon, and the missionaries helped answer my many questions.
One day I encountered a scripture that said, “Whatsoever thing ye shall ask in faith, … ye shall receive it” (Enos 1:15), and I knew that I wasn’t alone. I felt like God understood my situation and wanted to comfort me. As I came to recognize God’s love for me, I wanted to become a better person. I wanted to become like the Savior and become a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
But as my testimony grew, I also encountered obstacles. When my mother found out I was considering baptism, she told me that I would need to leave the house and cut off contact with her. And when I shared truths about the Savior on social media, many friends and members of my extended family blocked my messages and stopped talking to me.
I felt like I was being asked to choose between my family and the gospel—a decision that felt impossible. I was sacrificing so much of what I loved to join the Church. But I knew that if anyone understood sacrifice, it was Jesus Christ (see Alma 34:8–16).
And so I kept trying to draw closer to the Savior. I would even leave home in the middle of the night to pray and read the Book of Mormon so I could avoid my family’s disapproval. Through prayer and faith, I eventually decided that no matter what happened, I would choose the gospel. The joy and purpose I found in the gospel was worth everything to me.
Joining the Church has been a huge sacrifice for me. Serving in my callings, paying tithing, and trying to maintain relationships have been challenging at times. But like those Christian congregations in my town who freely gave to their faith, I know that my sacrifices are about so much more than what I give up.
Bishop L. Todd Budge, Second Counselor in the Presiding Bishopric, explained: “When our sacrifices on behalf of others are viewed from the perspective of ‘giving up,’ we may see them as a burden and become discouraged when our sacrifices are not recognized or rewarded. However, when viewed from the perspective of ‘giving to’ the Lord, our sacrifices on behalf of others become gifts, and the joy of generously giving becomes its own reward.”1
Heavenly Father recognizes and blesses us for the sacrifices we make for Him. I have seen this in my life as I’ve gained the love and support of my ward members, felt peace and comfort from the Spirit, and experienced miracles in my life. One miracle is how my parents’ hearts have softened toward me and we have been able to maintain a good relationship.
I now know who Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ are and how much They love each of us. I can feel myself becoming more like the Savior, who is our ultimate example, as I make sacrifices to keep my covenants. As we strive to serve Them in whatever capacity we can, I know we will be guided and experience the many beautiful blessings They have in store for us.

Sister Melbourne was mean and grouchy. There was no other way to describe her. Just the other day I heard her telling the bishop that children took too much time in testimony meeting. She even said that most of us didn’t understand what we were saying; we just wanted attention. I walked out of the chapel feeling very angry.
My anger didn’t last, however. It was December, and Christmas was in the air. Excitement filled me right up to the top of my head. I had to smile and laugh, or I think I would have burst. We began singing “Jingle Bells” as we rode home from church, just to let some of the excitement out.
After dinner, Mom and Dad called us into the family room. We all knew what we were going to discuss. Every year for as long as I could remember, we had chosen a family in our ward who needed some extra help at Christmastime, and we had secretly taken gifts and food to their house. It was one of our family’s favorite traditions.
When we were all together, Dad said, “It’s time we decide which family to help this year. Do any of you children have a suggestion?”
Some years it had been really easy to decide because of a particular family’s needs, but this year we couldn’t think of anyone. When none of us said anything, Dad looked at Mom. “Maybe Mom has a suggestion. Sometimes she notices things the rest of us miss.”
Mom smiled. “As a matter of fact, I do know of someone who needs our help. Before, we have always chosen a family with children, but this year I think we should help Sister Melbourne.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing! “But, Mom,” I protested, “she’s not poor or sick, and she’s really grouchy. She doesn’t even like kids. I think we should choose someone else.”
“I agree with April,” said my older sister, Beth. “She really is grouchy. It wouldn’t be any fun doing something for her. She might even kick our gifts off her porch. Besides, she seems to have plenty of money. She dresses in nice clothes.”
I looked at Beth gratefully. It was comforting to have someone older agree with me. Peter spoke up. “She’s always telling me to shush, even when I’m quiet.”
Lynn and Josh didn’t say anything. They were too small to know who Sister Melbourne was.
“I know that Sister Melbourne has enough money to take care of herself,” Mom said. “And I know that she isn’t very pleasant to be around. But that’s exactly why I think she needs our help.”
I wasn’t convinced, but I listened as Mom continued: “Sister Melbourne has had an unhappy life. She was divorced before she moved here. She has three children who are married. They have children of their own but never come to see her or let her get to know her grandchildren. Perhaps she has done something to make them want to stay away. I don’t know about that, but I do know that she is very lonely and unhappy. I think she needs someone to let her know that she is loved. You see, April, you weren’t quite right when you said that she wasn’t poor.”
“You mean she’s poor in love?” I asked.
“Yes, and sometimes it’s much more painful to be poor in love than it is to be poor in money.”
We were all quiet for a few minutes. Then Dad said, “Let’s take a vote. How many of you would like Sister Melbourne to be our special family this year?”
Slowly Beth’s hand went up. Lynn and Josh raised theirs. Then Peter raised his. Looking around at everyone, I reluctantly raised mine.
Mom said that instead of buying all our gifts for Sister Melbourne from the store, we should make most of them. All the next week we cut out snowflakes, strung popcorn and cranberries, pasted together red and green chains from paper strips, and made cookies and candy. We bought apples and oranges to go with all the things we had made.
It was Dad’s job to get a box just the right size for our gifts and to decorate it. We carefully arranged everything inside the box and put on the lid. Dad added a huge red and green plaid bow on the top.
We gathered around the dining room table to have a prayer and make our final plans before we delivered the box. In the prayer, Dad asked Heavenly Father to please soften Sister Melbourne’s heart and help her to receive our gift in the spirit of love with which we were giving it. I was comforted by those words, because I remembered what Beth had said about Sister Melbourne kicking our gift off the porch, and I had visions of cookies, candy, paper snowflakes, apples, oranges, strings of popcorn and cranberries, and red and green chains strewn all over the ground.
We all put on our coats and piled into the car. Since the box was pretty big, we decided Dad would carry it to the porch. After he returned to the car, it would be my job to ring the doorbell and run back to them before Sister Melbourne opened her door.
I could feel my heart pounding with excitement as Dad parked far down the street from her house. “April and I will walk to Sister Melbourne’s house,” he said. “The rest of you must be very quiet so that you don’t attract attention.” He lifted the box out of the car and motioned for me to follow him.
“Dad,” I said, “I’m afraid Sister Melbourne will catch me and get mad.”
“She’ll never catch you!” He grinned at me. “You’re the fastest runner in our family. But if you’re really worried, I’ll wait for you behind those bushes over there on the far side of her yard. When she’s inside again, we’ll go back to the car together.”
“I’d like that,” I said, smiling gratefully up at him.
Dad carefully set the box on the porch. I waited until he was hidden behind the bushes, and then I ran up the steps, rang the doorbell, and flew down the steps and across the yard to the bushes, where I crouched down next to Dad. “Good work,” Dad whispered, putting his arm around me.
The door opened, sending a ray of light out across the snow. Sister Melbourne didn’t see the box at first, but as she was about to close the door, she saw it and stopped. She just stood there for a second. Then she bent down and read her name on the top. She lifted the lid, and once again she was very still. Finally she picked the box up and looked around the yard. She was smiling, but there were tears running down her cheeks. “Thank you,” she called out. “Thank you, whoever you are.”
Dad and I were both quiet for a few moments after she went inside and closed the door. I whispered, “I think she really liked our presents, don’t you?”
“Yes, I think she really did.”
The next Sunday as we were driving home from Church, we looked at everyone’s Christmas decorations and we began singing “Jingle Bells” again. When we passed Sister Melbourne’s house, I saw our snowflakes in her big front window, and the popcorn and cranberry strings and red and green chains on a Christmas tree that hadn’t been there the week before. “I think Sister Melbourne’s getting richer,” I said.
Mom stopped singing long enough to give me a hug. “So are we.”

While I served as bishop, one of the Mia Maids in my ward came in for her annual interview. It was a bright summer day, and the rays of the afternoon sun reflected off the dust floating in the air. She and I talked about the significance of the small things in life versus the highly visible parts of what we are doing.
Without any warning she suddenly burst into tears and wept and wept. I left the chair behind my desk and walked around to where she was seated and sat down next to her. I attempted to comfort her.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“I am so awful!” she cried out.
“What have you done that you think is so awful?” I asked.
“I am so cruel to my best friend. I deliberately play jokes on her to embarrass her in front of other people. I am just awful.” Then she cried some more.
“Could you give me an example of how you treat her?” I asked cautiously.
She described several situations that really were vicious, well-planned attacks on this other young woman that she claimed was her best friend.
“What am I going to do, bishop?” I remember her asking me.
As kindly and gently as possible, I explained to her that she must repent.
“How?” she asked.
“Well,” I said, “you have recognized that you are doing wrong toward your friend. That is the first step. Now you have to decide if you really want to repent. Do you really want to go all the way with this decision?” She nodded her head that she did.
Through the following days and weeks, this fine young woman worked hard at learning how to stop being quietly vicious. She changed her plans to hurt into plans that would help and lift.
She confessed her sins to me, as her bishop. Then kneeling together in prayer I listened while she confessed them to God. Finally, she went to her friend and made peace. In an attempt to make restitution, my young friend went out of her way to make life easier and less complicated for her true, understanding friend. I learned firsthand how it is equally as important to forgive as it is to seek forgiveness. Fortunately, these were two special young women.
Within a few months my young Mia Maid friend had forgiven herself—her friend had forgiven her weeks earlier—and she had been forgiven in heaven.
Her heart and mind are now at peace. I am certain that she still remembers how she treated her friend. That will help her remember not to ever do it again. However, she feels no heartache or torture of mind because she has fully repented.

The black clouds hung heavily against the peaks of the faraway Santa Clara Mountains. Ben shuddered as he heard the faint sounds of thunder after each lighting flash.
“I’ll bet there’ll be a big storm,” he told himself, as he tucked his math book more firmly under his arm.
After getting off the school bus, Ben walked up the road watching the threatening streaks of light in the distance. It had rained lightly on and off for two weeks, and now more rain. A friendly “Woof” took his mind off the storm.
“Hi, Lady Belle!” he called to the big white dog who was running back and forth inside the fenced yard. Three fluffy balls were tagging right behind her. Ben reached a hand inside the wire fence to rub and scratch each of the dogs who wiggled all over with pleasure.
“Even with your new pups you came down to meet me just the way you did before they were born,” Ben said with a wide grin. Lady Belle had been his first friend when the family moved from the city.
The dogs ran along the fence on the other side, each one barking happily. When they came to the gate at the end of the long yard, Ben reached in and gave each dog another good scratching.
“You get that family back to the kennel before it rains, Lady,” Ben said as he hurried up the road toward home.
“Hello, Ben!” called Mrs. Haycock, their closest neighbor. “Mr. Larsen just took his wife to the hospital. She fell on the porch steps.”
“That’s too bad,” Ben said as he kept looking at the lightning. “Do you think there will be a storm as bad as the one two years ago?” he asked.
“Maybe even worse,” Mrs. Haycock replied. “There was one about five years ago that washed out everything. Horses, furniture, even some orange trees went down the arroyo and into the river. Mr. Larsen’s yard was filled with water and looked like a big pond just the way it was when my husband and I came here 50 years ago.”
Ben shuddered. He remembered some of the storms in the city. The lightning and thunder always frightened him a little. When the lightning crashed against the tall buildings and the water swirled down into the storm sewers, he’d run home as fast as he could.
“So you’d better hurry home,” Mrs. Haycock continued. “Will your mother be on the next bus?”
“No, she’s working late,” Ben answered.
Mrs. Haycock thought she sensed worry in his voice. “Want to keep me company?” she offered.
“No, thanks. I’m fine,” he said, turning to leave.
Ben unlocked the door and went inside. He put on some storm clothes and a pair of rubber boots. With a storm on the way there were a few things that he knew had to be done in case the storm turned out to be a bad one.
As Ben worked he remembered the first time they drove into this valley. There was a long bridge spanning a wide river filled with muddy water and tree branches. “Look, Dad,” he had said, “it must be almost a mile wide.”
“Usually it’s a big empty riverbed with just a trickle of water going down the middle,” Dad had explained. “But when it rains heavily in the mountains the water comes down in sheets, washing gravel and rocks down the stream. Sometimes it even floods over into the fields and groves.”
It began to rain a little now, and Ben kept on putting rocks and sandbags around the outside of the house. Soon he heard Lady Belle barking, and Mrs. Haycock’s words came back to him. “Mr. Larsen’s yard … a big pond.” And now with Mr. Larsen gone, Ben was worried about Lady Belle and her puppies. They were right in the middle of the yard, and in his imagination he could see them floundering in deep water.
It was raining much harder now. Ben picked up a flashlight and started down the road.
Lady Belle was barking frantically.
“I’m coming! I’m coming!” Ben shouted.
He reached the high gate but it was locked. He remembered that Mr. Larsen always kept the key in his pocket. Lady Belle’s fur was plastered down with water and the puppies were huddled against the fence in front of her, whimpering.
“Take it easy,” Ben said as much to himself as to the dog. He looked around for something to knock the lock off. Aiming his flashlight along the fence, he spotted a rock about the size of a baseball. Every time Ben hit the lock with his makeshift hammer, it stung his hand. But the lock wouldn’t budge.
Lightning cut the sky overhead, followed by rolling thunder. Great drops of water began pelting down. The sides of the roadway became small rivers. Rain dripped over the edges of his hat and down onto his hands, making his fingers stiff and cold.
Lady Belle whined and licked Ben’s hand as he tugged at the lock. Then he said, “Look out, Lady!” Ben struck the lock as hard as he could several more times. He was just about to give up, when he saw that the bottom of it had slipped down. It was open!
Ben dropped the flashlight and picked up the wet puppies. The little fellows wiggled and squirmed, but he bundled them inside the warmth of his coat and held them close with one arm. He grabbed Lady Belle’s collar with his free hand, and urged, “Come on, Lady. We’ll have to run for it.”
While he was rearranging the pups, Lady Belle placed her body squarely in front of them so that she broke the force of the storm. She was strong, for she was a Great Pyrenees, a breed of dog used to facing cold winds and snows at high mountain sheep camps.
Everything set, Ben took hold of Lady Belle’s collar again. As they slogged along, Mrs. Haycock came running out to her gate. She looked tired and worried, and her coat was flapping in the wind.
Ben edged over to the side of the road and gave a high shrill whistle. Mrs. Haycock heard it and pushed herself out toward them. Ben took her arm and guided her up to higher ground.
“Muddy water … it’s flooding … rocks bouncing all over!” she gasped.
Ben took her thin hand and put it on Lady Belle’s collar. He called to her over the storm, “Hang on. Our house is higher.” She nodded and clenched her hand on the collar.
It wasn’t until then that Ben became aware of the sounds, like artillery blasts. Rocks were bouncing down the cement drainage canal in back of the house, crashing into the walls and booming as they came.
Ben helped Mrs. Haycock up the steps of his house while Lady Belle went up them in one bound. Ben snuggled his face into the wet fur of the puppies and then put them all down on the doorstep.
Mrs. Haycock leaned against the door as Ben opened it. “Never thought we’d make it!” she wheezed. She reached over and patted Ben’s back.
At that moment the storm hit with a burst of sudden fury. The wind blew in wild gusts that rattled the windows and ripped at the shutters. There was a sudden “KER-BANG!” from the garage, followed by the sound of splintering boards and the rattle of cans.
Mrs. Haycock tried to keep her voice calm. “I am glad to be here where we’re all safe,” she said as she took off her wet raincoat and scarf and sat down on a kitchen chair.
Ben looked out of the kitchen window. The street was a muddy river by now. Branches, boxes, garbage cans, and tree limbs all went tumbling along in the water.
“I really think the storm is easing up some. Usually they end with a big fling, like that last,” said Mrs. Haycock, listening to the sounds from outside.
Flashing red and yellow lights were suddenly reflected through the window, and three people got out of a rescue truck. They came splashing up to the house. Ben opened the door and called, “Mom! Dad! Mr. Larsen!”
Lady Belle bounded out of the door. “Thought you and your puppies were goners for sure,” shouted Mr. Larsen.
Ben hugged his parents in relief while Mrs. Haycock smiled at the happy reunions.
“They let us come with the rescue crew when we told them how worried we were about our son who was all alone,” Mom explained.
“But I can see that we didn’t need to worry about you at all,” Dad said with pride as he smiled at Ben.
“That’s right!” Mr. Larsen exclaimed. “And I didn’t need to worry about Lady Belle either. I can see that Ben knows just what to do in an emergency. I’d like him to have a pup for his very own to take care of.”
Ben was so happy that for a few minutes he forgot all about the storm outside. Finally it quieted so the neighbors could go home.
“Well,” said Dad as he looked at the clock. “It’s almost morning but I think we better get a little sleep. We’ve much to be thankful for. This has been a night to remember.”
And Ben agreed. He knew it would be one he would never forget.

May I share a story of one of our dear sisters. She wrote:
“In our home were alcohol, drug abuse, two divorces. I was living in spiritual darkness with two tiny children, when ‘angels of mercy’ came one more time. Each month I peeked out my window as the visiting teachers tried to visit me. I hid myself quietly until they left. They never gave up, and I am so glad and thankful. I learned that God’s love never stops!”
This sister is now an endowed member in full fellowship and full of happiness and joy!

Farther upstream, where the flood waters had swept away fields of grain and herds of livestock without reason or respect, youth could be found in every house left standing. They were there helping friend, stranger, family, neighbor, Mormon, nonmember—without prejudice or pride they crawled into basements and dragged out clothes, food storage, tires, Christmas decorations, and other belongings. They scraped off gluey silt and hung things out to dry. Much of what they tried to save was disappointingly and irretrievably damaged, but they kept going, salvaging what they could.
“The youth kept our spirits high,” one grandmother said. “If it weren’t for them, I think I would have given up.”
“Their cheerfulness and energy were inspiring,” said another. “They seem to have found something good about all this hard, unending work.”

On June 14, 1989, due to some misinformation about the Church, the government of Ghana banned all activities of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints within that African country. The government seized all Church property, and all missionary activity stopped. The members of the Church, who refer to this period as “the freeze,” did their best to live the gospel without branch meetings or the support of missionaries. There are many inspiring stories about how the members kept the light of the gospel shining by worshipping in their homes and looking after each other as home and visiting teachers.
Eventually the misunderstanding was resolved, and on November 30, 1990, the freeze ended and normal Church activities resumed. Since then there has been an excellent relationship between the Church and the government of Ghana.
Members who lived through the freeze are quick to point out the blessings that came from that unusual period. The faith of many was strengthened through the adversity that they faced. But one blessing of the freeze came in an unusual way.
Nicholas Ofosu-Hene was a young policeman assigned to guard an LDS meetinghouse during the freeze. His duty was to watch over the building at night. When Nicholas first arrived at the meetinghouse, he saw that things had been scattered around, with papers, books, and furniture in disarray. In the midst of this disorder, he saw a copy of the Book of Mormon. He tried ignoring the book because he had been told that it was evil. But he felt strangely attracted to it. Finally, Nicholas could ignore the book no longer. He picked it up. He felt impelled to start reading it. He read through the night, tears running down his cheeks as he read.
The first time he picked it up, he read all of 1 Nephi. The second time, he read all of 2 Nephi. When he got to 2 Nephi chapter 25, he read the following: “And we talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, we preach of Christ, we prophesy of Christ, and we write according to our prophecies, that our children may know to what source they may look for a remission of their sins.”
At that point, Nicholas felt the Spirit so strongly that he started sobbing. He realized that in the course of his reading he had received several spiritual promptings that this book was scripture, the most correct he had ever read. He realized that the Latter-day Saints, contrary to what he had heard, strongly believe in Jesus Christ. After the freeze ended and missionaries returned to Ghana, Nicholas, his wife, and his children joined the Church. When I saw him last year, he was a police commander and was serving as the president of the Tamale Ghana District of the Church. He says: “The Church has transformed my life. … I thank the Almighty God for leading me into this gospel.”
Alibert Davies, another Ghanaian, accompanied a friend to one of our meetinghouses, where the friend had a presidency meeting. While he waited for his friend, Alibert read a book he found nearby. When the meeting ended, Alibert wanted to take the book home. He was given permission to take not only that book but also a copy of the Book of Mormon. When he got home, he started reading the Book of Mormon. He could not put it down. He read by candlelight until 3:00 a.m. He did that for several nights, overwhelmed by what he read and what he felt. Alibert is now a member of the Church.
Angelo Scarpulla started his theological studies in his native Italy when he was 10. He eventually became a priest and served his church with devotion. At a certain point his faith started to waver, and he sought and received opportunities for further study. The more he studied, however, the more concerned he became. What he read and felt convinced him that there had been a general apostasy from the true doctrine taught by Jesus and the early Apostles. Angelo searched for God’s true religion in various faiths but was left unsatisfied for many years.
One day he encountered two members of the Church who were helping the missionaries find more people to teach. He felt drawn to them and joyfully listened to their message. Angelo willingly accepted a copy of the Book of Mormon.
That evening he started reading the book. He felt overcome with joy. Through the Spirit, God gave Angelo an inner assurance that in the Book of Mormon he would find the truth for which he had been seeking for many years. Sweet feelings flooded through him. What he read and what he learned from the missionaries confirmed his conclusion that there had been a general apostasy, but he also learned that God’s true Church had been restored to the earth. A short while later, Angelo was baptized into the Church. When I first met him, he was the president of the Rimini Branch of our Church in Italy.
What Nicholas, Alibert, and Angelo experienced with the Book of Mormon is reminiscent of Parley P. Pratt’s experience:
“I opened [the book] with eagerness. … I read all day; eating was a burden, I had no desire for food; sleep was a burden when … night came, for I preferred reading to sleep.
“As I read, the spirit of the Lord was upon me, and I knew and comprehended that the book was true, as plainly and manifestly as a man comprehends and knows that he exists. My joy was now full, as it were, and I rejoiced sufficiently to more than pay me for all the sorrows, sacrifices and toils of my life.”

At the age of 50, my mother developed cancer. I recall our family prayers and our father’s tearful pleadings. He took her to Los Angeles in search of better medical care, but it was to no avail. I remember with clarity the return of my brokenhearted father as he stepped off the train and greeted his grief-stricken children. We walked solemnly down the station platform to the baggage car, where the casket was unloaded. We came to know even more about the tenderness of our father’s heart. This has had an effect on me all of my life.
I also came to know something of death—the absolute devastation of children losing their mother—but also of peace without pain, and the certainty that death cannot be the end of the soul.

In 1960 I met a young man at a party who told me that Jesus Christ had visited the Americas after His Resurrection. I found the idea fascinating and wanted to know more, so I began searching in libraries and inquiring at the various religious denominations in my hometown of San Miguel, El Salvador.
I searched for almost three years but found nothing. When I mentioned to religious leaders that I had heard of Christ coming to the Americas, they told me I had been deceived. Because my search turned up no information, I eventually came to believe they were right.
One day, two missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints came to my home and said they had an important message for my family. I immediately asked them, “Do you know if Jesus Christ came to the Americas?”
One of them said, “We bear witness of that.”
At that moment I felt a great excitement in my mind and heart and asked, “How do you know that?”
He took a book out of his bag and said, “We know Christ came here because of this book, the Book of Mormon.”
What the missionaries taught me during the first discussion troubled me, and I doubted the account of the Prophet Joseph’s vision of the Father and the Son.
However, the Book of Mormon intrigued me, and the missionaries kept teaching me. One afternoon they asked me, “Have you prayed to find out if what we are teaching you is true?”
I told them I had but had not obtained any answer.
“You must pray with real intent,” they said.
I had been reading the Book of Mormon for several nights. I had read about and believed in Christ’s appearance to the Nephites. But I still could not accept Joseph Smith’s vision. My internal struggle was terrible.
One night I knelt alone and opened my heart to God. I told Him I needed to know if He had really manifested Himself to Joseph Smith. If He had, I promised Him I would be baptized into the Church and serve Him all my life.
When I got up early the next morning, the answer came to me through the Holy Ghost. My mind cleared and my heart filled with peace. From that moment to this, I have had no doubts whatsoever that Joseph Smith truly was a prophet of God, that the Book of Mormon is another testament of Jesus Christ, and that Jesus Christ is our Savior and Redeemer. I know Christ came to the Americas after His Resurrection. My soul delights in this marvelous knowledge that was taught to me by the power of the Holy Ghost.

Recently, two Latter-day Saint boys were walking along a street in a city they were visiting.
“Hey, Brother Schmidt,” called out one of the boys to a man who was coming down the sidewalk toward them. “What are you doing here?”
With obvious pleasure the two greeted each other. The other boy was introduced but wasn’t too much a part of their conversation. As he watched, it was obvious that these two persons really cared for each other. After a few minutes and a warm good-bye, the man went on his way.
The other boy asked, “Is he your bishop?”
“No,” said the first boy. “He’s my home teacher.”
Well, what about you and your home teacher? Do you really know each other? Do you know him? And if you don’t, whose fault is it—yours? his? both?
We all know that some people—and some home teachers—have a manner that lets people know that they really care. Other kinds of home teachers care but don’t show it so obviously. And still others care but don’t dare to let it show at all.
Now then, what about your side of the coin? All of us know down deep that unless we are willing, we can keep anyone from becoming our friend, from helping us.
Sadly, some youths refuse a home teacher entry into their lives by the subtle messages that they send saying “Stay out.”
You send that kind of message if you display no enthusiasm regarding your home teachers’ visits.
You send that kind of message if you see your home teachers at church or elsewhere and make no special effort to shake their hands.
You send that kind of message if you don’t ask their counsel on matters with which they could help—perhaps a church talk or an issue or problem that concerns you.
You send that kind of message if you don’t call upon them when a priesthood administration is needed and when assistance outside the family is needed.
You send that kind of message by doing or not doing many things that only you know about.
Unfortunately, people who leave home teachers out of their lives are ignoring one of the most important links in Church government. Your home teachers are the Lord’s agents to you—they represent the bishop as well as the Church.
Home teachers are called and set apart to bless and help members of the Church, and because of that, the Lord will cause them to be able to help. That’s the key point. You may not think that they can help, but if you’ll give them a chance, if you’ll let them come into your lives, you will not only be strengthening your own personal links with Church government, but you will also be strengthening your home teachers. And don’t you have a responsibility to do that?
If you don’t know who your home teachers are, ask your bishop or branch president immediately. Then put their names, addresses, and telephone numbers on your bulletin board and in your purse or wallet.
If you will let them, these two persons can bless your lives more than you’ve ever realized, and you will gain two real friends. And I have never met anyone who didn’t need two more real, genuine friends.

It was a wintry Sunday morning in northern New York. The temperature was several degrees below freezing. The walks were icy; roads were blocked with heavy snowdrifts. No one came to church that morning except the minister and an 89-year-old woman, who had hobbled ten blocks from where she lived.
Surprised at seeing her, the minister called her by name and asked: “How did you get here on such a stormy morning?”
“My heart gets here first,” was the cheerful reply, “and then it’s easy for the rest of me.” (Quote, January 26, 1973, p. 5.)

For years I was nervous that returning to Hungary would be difficult for me emotionally. When I eventually traveled there, it wasn’t until the second day that I realized that not only was I not feeling any pain, I was also feeling overwhelming joy to be back. I knew then that Heavenly Father had given me the opportunity to experience the healing power of the Savior’s Atonement. I now know that through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, all things will be made right in the end.

I remember the winters in New England being unbelievably cold. In Calais, Maine, there was a small grocery store not more than 40 feet from our apartment. One morning we ran from our door to that store, and the cold felt like fire on my face. My skin was left frost burned for several days afterward. It was 60 below with the wind chill factor, the radio had said.
Calais was my first area on my mission.
On one of those cold mornings my companion, Elder Bond, and I had an appointment with a family that lived in a town which was over 20 miles away.
We walked out into the cold to our car. It was nearly buried in snow. Elder Bond handed me the keys.
“Start it,” he said. “I’ll sweep it off.”
The car door wouldn’t open.
“It’s broken.”
“Just frozen,” Elder Bond answered. He had a bright red and green checked scarf wrapped around his face. You could only see his eyes.
I bent down and looked at the door. I’d never seen a frozen car door handle before, but then there were a lot of things here that I hadn’t seen before. I’d never seen it this cold before for one thing. At least I thought it was cold. The local people didn’t think it was too bad. “Cold, naw, t’ain’t cold yet. Why this is shirt-sleeve weather. If it gets any warmer the apple trees are going to start to blossom.”
Elder Bond set his broom down and walked over to the car door. He hit the handle with his hand and then opened the door. His eyes narrowed, and I knew that behind the scarf he was smiling.
“Nothin’ to it,” he said.
I slipped down into the seat, pumped the gas a couple of times, and turned the key. We had an electric car warmer, and the engine started right off. Warm air started coming through the heater, defrosting the window. Elder Bond got into the car.
“Let’s go,” he said.
“I don’t think we’d better.”
“What’s wrong?”
I pointed to the gas gauge.
“Empty.”
He pulled the scarf from his face and leaned over.
“It’s not quite empty. It’s just above the empty mark.”
“It’s not enough.”
Neither of us had any money for gas. It was the end of the month, and our checks from home were a week overdue.
“We just can’t go.”
Elder Bond wrinkled his face.
“I hadn’t thought of this. I had really strong feelings about going.”
He bowed his head and sat there for nearly a full minute, not moving. He looked up and smiled.
“We’ll be all right,” he said.
“What?”
“We’re going.”
“I don’t think we should go. If we run out we might have to walk 20 miles.”
“Sometimes, elder,” he said, “you just have to trust.”
“Crazy,” I mumbled and put the car in gear. The discussion with the family went very well. They were ready for a commitment. We set the date with them for baptism in two weeks. On the way back it started to snow lightly. I watched the gas gauge sink until it stopped.
“Any minute now.” We were ten miles from Calais. It would be a miserable ten miles if we had to walk it.
For another three miles the car kept moving.
“Maybe this will be like the widow’s vessel of oil,” I said.
Elder Bond smiled and then began telling about his girl friend for the 3,000th time. I could tell you exactly where she lived back then. How old she was. What her favorite color was. That she cooked wonderful lasagna. And I could also tell you, now, that she married someone other than Elder Bond just a couple of months later.
Just then the car sputtered and then killed. I drove it to a stop at the side of the road.
“Well, I guess miracles don’t happen anymore, at least not today for us.”
“Have faith, elder,” Elder Bond opened his door and got out.
“We’d better start right now. It’s getting dark. We’ll hope our checks come tomorrow.”
Just then a car pulled in behind us and stopped.
A small man got out and walked toward us.
“Trouble?” he asked.
“Out of gas,” I said.
“I have a gas can in my trunk. I can take you into town and bring you back,” he said smiling.
“You can give us a ride into Calais. We live in Calais, but we don’t have enough money for gas.”
“We’re expecting checks in the mail tomorrow.”
The man smiled again: “I know how that is. Get in.”
We got into his car. It was clean and it was about ten years old. He reached over and shook our hands.
“I’m Mr. Hendricks.”
We introduced ourselves to him.
“Elder, elder, are you boys some kind of ministers?”
“We’re Mormon missionaries.”
The man was suddenly silent. He pulled the car around and started toward Calais.
“Tell me about your church,” he finally said.
Elder Bond began explaining the plan of salvation. When we reached Calais the man pulled into a service station and took out the can. He had it filled and put it back in the car.
“We appreciate this,” Elder Bond said on the way back to the car. The man was silent again for a few minutes.
“Funny about me stopping. I just had a strong feeling I should.”
He pulled the car in behind ours and stopped.
“We buried my daughter yesterday. She was only one year old. The funeral, it didn’t seem right. It didn’t leave much hope. That plan of salvation you mentioned, would you come and tell my family about it some afternoon? We’ll give you dinner.”
“We’d be more than happy to share that with you,” Elder Bond said. “When would be good for your family?”
“How about Saturday?”
Elder Bond smiled: “Great.”
“Can you come at six?”
“Yes.”
He took out a notebook and pencil.
“If you don’t have enough gas then, call me.” He handed the paper to Elder Bond. “This is my address and my telephone number. We’ll be expecting you.”
We poured the gas into the car, all five gallons of it, said our good-byes and thank-yous and then started for Calais. The gas gauge was well above empty. We had more gas than when we’d started.

“Shhh!” The girls in the corner giggled, and Wade and I rolled our eyes. All five of us in the Valiant B class were hidden behind the steel folding chairs. The lights were off and the door was shut as we waited to present our traditional welcome for our new Primary teacher.
After what seemed like forever, the door opened and the new teacher came in. But it wasn’t the teacher that made all five of our jaws drop—it was the big yellow dog at her feet. Whoever heard of a dog at church?
Someone hurriedly turned on the lights, but the teacher didn’t seem to notice. She walked directly to her seat near the chalkboard and sat down with a cheerful smile on her face. It was then that I realized she was blind.
Of course, we’d all heard that a new woman was moving into the ward—not much goes unnoticed in a town the size of ours—but no one had mentioned anything about her being blind.
“Good morning! I’m Sister Linden, your new teacher. This is Molly, my guide dog.” The yellow dog was already asleep on the floor by her feet. Molly opened her eyes when she heard her name but closed them again after a moment. “Now, let’s see,” Sister Linden went on, “is everybody here today?”
One of the girls murmured, “Yes.”
“OK. Would you all do me a favor and sit in the same order each week so that I’ll know where you are?”
I nodded, then turned red as I realized that she could not see me nod.
“How about if Wade sits in the first chair on your left, then Mark, Laura, Jessica, and Katie, in that order?”
We all came out from behind the chairs and sat where she’d asked us to.
Then Sister Linden told us about herself. She and Molly had moved into the old Winter home. She had a job as a court reporter that she and Molly walked to every day. She told us that Molly was a yellow “Lab”—that’s short for Labrador retriever—and had been trained at a special school in California. Sister Linden said that without Molly, she wouldn’t be able to do most of the things that she used to do before she lost her sight. Besides that, she said, Molly was good company.
When the bell rang for us to go to Sharing Time, none of us jumped up to leave. We all helped fold and stack the chairs. For the first time in years, our class had actually been reverent.
Sister Linden’s lessons were really interesting every Sunday, and we learned a lot. She couldn’t read the lessons straight from the book, so she told them in her own words. She often brought a tape recorder, and we listened to stories.
Molly almost always slept through the lessons. Sometimes she even snored a little! But she was always on her best behavior during class.
That summer, Sister Linden invited us all over to her house on a Saturday afternoon. Her small home was very neat so that she could always find the things that she needed.
She showed us her Book of Mormon in Braille. She read it by feeling the bumps with her fingers. She let us try it, but it just felt funny to me.
Her cans of food had magnetic Braille labels on them so that she knew what was in them. When she used up the food in the cans, she put the labels on the refrigerator door to remind her of what she needed to buy. She also had Braille labels sewn into the lining of her clothes so that she could tell what colors they were. She even had a watch with Braille numbers!
She showed us how she could tell coins apart by their size and feel. She folded her paper money in different ways so that she could tell how much each bill was worth.
Molly slept on the floor near Sister Linden’s bed. Molly wasn’t allowed on any furniture, but she had a toy ball and a bone that she carried in to show us.
Later we all took a walk in the park. Sister Linden and Molly walked so fast that it was sometimes hard to keep up with them.
When I think of my favorite Primary teacher ever, I don’t think of her as disabled. Sister Linden took what she had and made the best of it, and she taught us more about the gospel than any sighted teacher I ever had.

Alison listened eagerly as the bishop announced that their ward would be having a Christmas open house this year. “We want it to be a special evening,” he said. “It will be a wonderful opportunity to invite friends and neighbors.”
Alison loved the Christmas holidays. She liked shopping for presents for her family and friends and singing Christmas carols. And she loved reading the story of Jesus’s birth and thinking of Him as a small baby.
The bishop’s next words caught her attention. “Because of the open house, we won’t be having our traditional ward Christmas party this year.”
Alison frowned. “No party?” she whispered to her mother. The ward Christmas party was one of her favorite parts of the season.
Mom put a finger to her lips.
“Some of our friends and neighbors do not understand that we are Christians,” the bishop continued. “We want them to know that we believe in Jesus Christ.”
Alison thought about that. She remembered when her best friend, Erica, had said that Mormons weren’t Christians. She didn’t understand what Erica meant, so she had asked her parents about it.
“A lot of people focus on the name ‘Mormon’ or ‘Latter-day Saints,’” Mom had explained. “They forget that our Church is named for Jesus Christ.”
The next day at school, Alison had told Erica the first article of faith: “We believe in God, the Eternal Father, and in His Son, Jesus Christ, and in the Holy Ghost.”
But Erica had just shrugged. “Then why don’t people call you Christians instead of Mormons?” she asked.
Alison turned her attention back to the bishop.
“The open house will focus on Jesus Christ,” he said. “We’re asking families to bring nativity sets, and we will have a live reenactment of the Nativity scene.”
As the time drew near for the open house, Alison started getting excited. Mom and Dad invited an elderly neighbor to go to the open house. Alison invited Erica.
The night of the open house, Alison helped Mom wrap both of the family’s nativity sets in newspaper. Then Mom and Dad drove her to pick up Erica.
When they got to the church, Alison and Erica looked at nativity sets from Japan, Austria, the Philippines, and many other countries.
Then the girls went outside where the young men and young women were acting out the Nativity. There were live cows, sheep, and even a nanny goat. “Everything but a camel,” Alison said.
The bishop asked everyone to gather in the chapel. Alison and Erica sat with the Primary children. The children sang “Picture a Christmas” and “The Nativity Song,” and the ward choir performed parts of Messiah.
“That was really great,” Erica said on the ride home. “I wish my parents could have come.”
“Maybe next year,” Alison said, smiling. She thought about the open house and realized she hadn’t missed the Christmas party after all.