Gospel Story Finder

The Campbells didn’t have as far to travel as many volunteers. Their home is in Gowanda, New York, about a two-and-a-half-hour drive away. They arrived on a Friday. The next morning began with breakfast and a devotional. Then casting (choosing people for parts in the pageant) started.
There are ten major scenes in the pageant. Each scene has a director. Each director chose the people for their scene and what part each person would play. Brittany and Tishna’s little brother Montgomery (5) was given the part of Jesus Christ as a young child. Their mother and other brother, Christian (2), were assigned to the scene where Christ visits the Americas. Their father didn’t have an acting part. He’s served as a pageant choreographer (someone who plans out everyone’s movements on stage) for ten years.
The girls’ favorite scene to be in is the “Voyage to Ancient America.” When Tishna and Brittany went to the tryout, there were more children than parts. Three years earlier, Brittany had played a child on Nephi’s ship in the voyage scene. She’d had fun being tossed into the air on a blanket by other actors. She decided that it was someone else’s turn this year and tried out for another scene.
When the tryouts were over and the parts had all been assigned, the directors started blocking the scenes. Brittany and Tishna learned where to stand, what to do during the scene, and how to get on and off the stage. The speaking parts, music, and sound effects for the pageant were all prerecorded, but the actors had to learn to move and react in time with the tape. The first practices were held on the big lawn in front of the stage. Later, rehearsals were held on stage.
Tishna was cast as one of Lemuel’s daughters in the voyage scene. Wondering if and when she’ll get splashed by the water during the scene added excitement. Usually she did get wet. After the scene was over, she had to be especially careful to hang up her costume neatly so that it would dry before the next performance.
“The boat scene is the most fun,” Tishna said, “because you get to run and play during the scene.” The tricky part of her scene was opening the floor hatches so that Nephi’s ship could be raised onto the stage. “It can be hard to do it quickly enough,” she added.
Rehearsing wasn’t always easy. Brittany was cast in the “Burning of the Prophet Abinadi” scene. She played a page in King Noah’s court. It was an important part because she was responsible for handing fans to all of King Noah’s courtiers as they came onstage. But once she herself was onstage, she didn’t have much to do but stand beside King Noah’s throne. Rehearsals lasted up to three hours and sometimes were hot and boring, but she still wouldn’t trade being in the pageant for any other vacation.
Although they weren’t in it, Tishna and Brittany’s favorite part of the pageant was the harvest dance. “That’s when the Book of Mormon people were righteous and they prospered,” Tishna said. “It’s a happy scene—very colorful, and everyone is dancing.”
When Tishna and Brittany weren’t practicing their scenes, they met in small groups they were assigned to. They had leaders who prepared lessons, stories, and activities for them.
“I like working on our journals,” Brittany said. “We write things down, and the leaders give us stickers and stamps we can use to decorate the pages.”
One year each child drew a picture on a quilt block. The group leader sewed the blocks into a quilt. The child who picked up the most garbage from the grounds during the pageant would win the quilt. Brittany won it.
Tishna’s favorite group activity was stamping designs on fabric.
Montgomery liked making a little garden, and one day his group went out and looked at the trees and leaves through magnifying glasses.
Everyone involved with the pageant attended three 35-to-45-minute devotionals each day. Sitting quietly through the devotionals was the hardest part of the pageant for Montgomery and Christian, but Tishna and Brittany enjoyed them. On performance days, the actors didn’t have to arrive at the grounds until noon. The Campbells used this time to sleep a little longer, get pizza or ice cream together, or visit some of the Church historical sites in the area.
With all the work and practices, why do the Campbells keep coming? “I have been to the Hill Comorah Pageant every year since I was three years old,” Brother Campbell said. “It’s a family tradition.”
“At the pageant, people are so nice to you,” Brittany said. “You make a lot of friends here. When we get home, we run to the mailbox each day, looking for letters from our new friends.”
“Everyone plays with my little brothers, and there’s no fighting here,” Tishna added. “It’s exciting because it’s for the Church, and it helps you understand the Book of Mormon. It’s our favorite vacation in the whole world.”

One of our sons served in the military and was called to serve overseas. He had not been overseas very long when we received a phone call that he'd been seriously wounded.
Nancy and I met our son at Walter Reed Army Medical Hospital a couple of days after we received the phone call—those were long days and nights we waited. When we met him, he was pretty busted up.
Following his fifth surgery in less than 3 days, he was in excruciating pain. The pain would come in great waves and then it would subside for a moment. It was terrible to hear him moan and scream in pain. He held his mom's little hand and I could see her tender fingers turn white when his grip tightened as the pain grew.
It was absolute chaos in his room. Doctors and nurses were running in and out. They gave him various medications and increased dosages, but nothing worked. After about 10 minutes of frantic activity at his bedside, the doctors decided to consult in the hallway. When they left, my son looked at me and said, "Dad, I need a blessing." The time for preparation was past. There was no time to fast or repent or get a snake out of my dining room. There was no time to figure out how to get in tune with the Spirit. I was the person—now was time.
The blessing was among the shortest that has ever crossed my lips. He was told that he would be able to withstand the pain until the doctors determined how to properly treat him.
He instantly relaxed and became calm. His entire facial expression changed. In less than a minute, the doctors came back into the room from the hallway. One doctor asked him, "what is different? Something has changed and everything seems to be better." My son looked at him calmly and said, "I can't explain it to you in a way that you would understand. The pain is just as bad as it was before, but somehow I am able to withstand it now."
The doctors wheeled him out of the room to another surgery room to see if they could figure out what was wrong. As he was being wheeled out, he looked at me and said, "Dad, it was the priesthood." Over the next hour, the doctors determined the shunt they had put in to deliver pain medicine was in the wrong place so it wasn't working and they were able to move it and relieve his pain.

Every Saturday at ten o’clock, Mama takes Brett and me to the library. That’s when our Library Grandma reads.

The other children grab books and yell, “Read mine! Read mine!” Brett and I sit quietly, like people should in a library.

Our Library Grandma gathers the grabby grumblers and growls like a grouchy gorilla. She reads wild stories for wild children. Her hair springs from the bun on the top of her head. Her arms wave and her feet stomp. Her eyes squint and her brow wrinkles. The wide-eyed children hold their breath.

“Don’t stop, Grandma,” they beg when it’s time to go. “Read to us all day.” They love her, but we love her the best.

After our Library Grandma finishes reading to all the children each Saturday, we pick out books to take home. When Mama comes to get us, she gives our Library Grandma a ride home too. At our house, she comes in. Brett and I give her our library books and yell, “Read mine! Read mine!” Then our Library Grandma, our very own real Grandma, hugs us—and reads to us all day!

Tina and her family went back to Orem, Utah, to see the little house where she lived as a child. “When we moved into that little house, the yard was run-down and full of weeds. We had to clear all the weeds and the rocks before we could plant lawn. It was the nicest lawn, and everyone came to play there. When we went back, we found it had all gone to weeds again. I was so sad. I remember how hard I worked.”

A girl active in her sorority found that scripture reading helped her stay spiritual at school: “Well, I decided that if I promised to read the scriptures for thirty days, I would do it for thirty days—which wouldn’t do me too much good. So I promised to do it for the rest of my life. That was about six months ago. I’ve almost read the Book of Mormon three times since then and oh the difference! It has made possible the thing that I have always thought impossible, which is to be spiritual during the school year.”

When I was in high school, my friend Skip Stewart invited me to play basketball with the team at his church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I thought, “Oh, brother, that’s not going to be good basketball. But I guess I might as well.” As it turned out, the team was very good—so good that we traveled to play in a large tournament in Salt Lake City, Utah. While there, I heard President Joseph Fielding Smith speak at a banquet, and I felt very impressed with “the Mormons” and their teachings. When I went home, I asked to have the missionary discussions. Soon I was baptized.

The Consequences of Our Actions
Shortly after my sweetheart, Devonna, and I were married, she shared with me a story about how she learned in her youth this important doctrine that we are free to choose but that we are not free to choose the consequences of our actions. With the help of my daughter Shelly, I would like to relate Sister Arnold’s experience:
“When I was 15 years old, I often felt that there were too many rules and commandments. I wasn’t sure that a normal, fun-loving teenager could enjoy life with so many restrictions. Furthermore, the many hours spent working on my father’s ranch were seriously dipping into my time with my friends.
“This particular summer, one of my jobs was to ensure that the cows grazing on the mountain pasture did not break through the fence and get into the wheat field. A cow grazing on the growing wheat can bloat, causing suffocation and death. One cow in particular was always trying to stick her head through the fence. One morning, as I was riding my horse along the fence line checking on the cattle, I found that the cow had broken through the fence and gotten into the wheat field. To my dismay, I realized that she had been eating wheat for quite some time because she was already bloated and looked much like a balloon. I thought, ‘You stupid cow! That fence was there to protect you, yet you broke through it and you have eaten so much wheat that your life is in danger.’
“I raced back to the farmhouse to get my dad. However, when we returned, I found her lying dead on the ground. I was saddened by the loss of that cow. We had provided her with a beautiful mountain pasture to graze in and a fence to keep her away from the dangerous wheat, yet she foolishly broke through the fence and caused her own death.
“As I thought about the role of the fence, I realized that it was a protection, just as the commandments and my parents’ rules were a protection. The commandments and rules were for my own good. I realized that obedience to the commandments could save me from physical and spiritual death. That enlightenment was a pivotal point in my life.”
Elder Mervyn B. Arnold of the Seventy

I know of a family who once a month holds a “provident living family council.” With mother and father, the children determine how $25 out of their budget—in addition to their tithes and offerings—will be distributed to an individual in need. Last month, $25 went to a young child in the Primary Children’s Medical Center. This is one way to teach compassion to children, especially as they visit the sick child in the hospital. (By the way, the children now want to save more money to give to the needy in next month’s budget.) This family does other charitable acts, too. They do not give money and feel that they have done their compassionate service.

For some kids one night a week of Mutual is enough, but not for Claudine Miller of Sandy, Utah. Besides going to her own Mutual night on Wednesday, Claudine also volunteered to help with her region’s handicapped Mutual every Thursday night.
One of Claudine’s most memorable times with the girls was on “Cinderella Night,” she says. The Mutual girls dressed up in fancy dresses and learned how to put on makeup and fingernail polish. “It really helped them feel pretty,” says Claudine.
Another great experience came when Claudine helped the handicapped Mutual do baptisms for the dead in the Jordan River Temple. “It was really neat,” she said. “The Spirit was so strong!”
Her service project ended up lasting two years, but the time flew by for Claudine. “It made my testimony grow so much to feel their spirit and hear them say thank you and express their love for me,” she says. “When I serve I feel like I’m doing it for Christ, and it makes me feel really good.”

I had an experience that influenced my feelings about the importance of choosing what is right. Several years ago, the young daughter of a friend of mine died in a tragic accident. Hopes and dreams were shattered. My friend felt unbearable sorrow. He began to question what he believed.

The mother of my friend asked if I would talk to him and give him a blessing. As I laid my hands upon his head, I felt to tell him something I had not thought about in the same way before. The impression that came to me was this: “Faith is not only a feeling; it is also a decision.” He would need to choose faith.

My friend chose the road of faith and obedience. He got on his knees. His spiritual balance returned. The ability to seek within ourselves the gift of faith is an enormous spiritual blessing.

“On a Friday afternoon an opportunity came up to go visit a new girl in our ward,” Emma H., 15, said. “No one wanted to do it, including me. But I think the idea of helping someone else and sacrificing my time was something I was more used to after the Fit Challenge and more used to saying yes to. I said I’d go, and I went and had a super great visit with one of the Beehives. We got her to come watch the general women’s session of conference with us. It was cool because she seemed to have wanted us to come by.”
“When you are asked to do something, whether it’s by a leader in your ward or your stake or a prompting from Heavenly Father, you should act on that,” she continued. “Try something new, work a little harder to be a little better. Those practices can really change your life if you let them.”

“Officer Lansberg, re-e-port to the control room. It’s urgent!”
The sharp command, coming over the intercom, drew me from my scriptures. Turning on the microphone, I said, “Lansberg acknowledging. I’ll be right up.”
Leaving my quarters immediately, I started down the hall to the transit port. As I passed an external viewscreen, I couldn’t help but pause and look at it. There, on the screen, was the Milky Way spread out before me.
The words that I’d read from the book of Moses, just moments before, ran through my mind:
“And worlds without number have I created; and I also created them for mine own purpose; and by the Son I created them, which is mine Only Begotten. … For behold, there are many worlds that have passed away by the word of my power. And there are many that now stand, and innumerable are they unto man; but all things are numbered unto me, for they are mine and I know them” (Moses 1:33, 35).
Those words, unlike some things, seemed to have grown more impressive with the continuing conquest of space.
“They’re waiting for you, Mike!”
Bishop Gentry’s jolly voice pulled me out of my reverie. He was a transport skid operator and had been dispatched to pick me up.
I hurried to the port and boarded the skid. It shot out of its port like a bullet, humming moderately as it clung gondola-like to the track that would carry it across the ceiling of the agricultural dome to the control room at the top.
I was the youngest officer in Delta Colony, but being a teenage prodigy with a flair for history and physics had made me a natural for my position.
Since I was the investigator of extragalactic phenomena I rarely had to respond to an emergency call. Most problems that arose did not involve me, and a majority of those that did could wait until my regular shift.
“You have any idea what’s up, Bishop?” I asked.
“None at all.”
Bishop Gentry, leader of our small ward, always gave direct and concise answers. After a short pause he picked up the conversation.
“I received a bulletin from Church headquarters today.”
Earth seemed almost nonexistent when one lived on a giant metal cylinder, four light-months outside the “edge” of the galaxy. I sometimes marveled that anything from Church headquarters could ever reach us.
“Anything new?” I said, adding, “Did the millennium begin yet?”
He chuckled heartily, “No, nothing like that. It was a statement from the First Presidency, reemphasizing the importance of serving a mission—which reminds me of something. You’ll be 19 in one more week and you haven’t begun to work on your papers yet. I know that you’ve been preparing, I know that you’re worthy, and up until now you’ve been eager. What’s the matter?”
Well, imagine how it feels. You’re in a swiftly sliding aluminum box, 200 feet above the floor, only your bishop with you, and he’s just asked you a question that jabs to the center of your conscience.
“Bishop,” I said, “I’ve seen more of the galaxy than anyone my age ever has, and more than most people ever see in their entire life. A mission would be somewhat anticlimactic.”
I was prepared for him to ask me how I could know that, but instead he asked, “How do you intend to spend the time that you would otherwise spend on a mission?”
“Bishop,” I answered in mock complacency, “with two more years at Antares Academy I could be appointed governor of this colony, or one like it.”
As we pulled into the port, Bishop Gentry responded, “Mike, I agree that to be a governor at 21 would be an unmatched achievement, and I’m confident that you can do it, but would it be that much worse to be a 23-year-old governor?”
I figured that if I made a hasty exit then I could get in the last word, but the door was jammed.
“It’s not just the time, Bishop,” I answered, poking the open button harder than before. “It’s the money, too. I only have so much, and mission and education costs have both become quite astronomical.”
By then I’d resorted to tugging on the door, to no avail. Disgusted, I turned away from the door and saw the cause of my minor dilemma. The bishop was holding his finger on the override lock.
“I just wanted to make sure that I clearly understood every word you had to say,” he commented, wearing one of those smiles that you just can’t get angry at.
As I stepped out of the skid he continued, “Pray about it. Some things, like what God expects of men, are absolute, and endure much longer than the stars.”
Then, much to my surprise, he added, “Remember, the Lord didn’t just tell Moses that he’d made everything. He also said, ‘They are mine,’ and that includes you and me.”
Flashing one last smile, he closed the door.
I stood speechless on the deck as the skid darted away. Did he know that I’d been reading Moses just five minutes before? Could he?
I didn’t have time to ponder those questions. I’d been summoned on an emergency call, and it would require my total attention.
The door to the control room slid open as I entered. Commander Jackson was waiting for me.
“Glad you could make it,” he said, in his stern, deep voice.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“We’re picking up an SOS.”
I stopped where I was. The gentle tapping of fingers against keyboards, and the rhythmic clicking and buzzing of 30 computer consoles bridged the momentary silence. I was puzzled.
“Commander,” I asked, “How am I supposed to help with that? What does that have to do with extragalactic phenomena?”
“The signal didn’t come from out there,” he said, indicating a screen that displayed the Milky Way. “It came from out there,” and he gestured to a screen showing a few clusters of stars, some scattered patches of light, and farthest away, little dots resembling stars.
Every object visible on the screen was a separate galaxy. The signal had come from deep space, much farther out than any official manned mission had ever been sent. No independently funded missions had been undertaken since the Space Bureau had instituted laws against them, one and a half centuries before.
“Who could it be?” I murmured.
“Well,” the commander answered, “it’s obviously not an alien. The transmission is in English. Besides that, there are no spacecraft at the signal’s point of origin.”
“An SOS signal that comes from nothing,” I remarked, “is definitely in my department.”
I thought a moment. There were just a few possible solutions, even including the most improbable ones.
Interrogating the control room staff, I asked, “Are there any malfunctions in the communications system?”
“Negative, sir,” a crewman responded. “We’ve already checked that out.”
“How about a mirage?” I continued. “Is there an ion cloud out there, or anything that the signal could be bouncing off of?”
“Negative, sir,” another crewman answered. “Sensors indicate no ion clouds, and no stray matter for at least a 50-mile radius of the signal’s origin.”
“Thank you,” I said, and I turned back to the commander. I could see just one possibility remaining, though it seemed unbelievable.
“Commander,” I said, “whether it’s a renegade independent from Earth or something more bizarre, I can’t say, but there’s only one place that the signal can be coming from. I’ll need three star scouts, one outfitted with a boarding mechanism, and I’ll need a salvage shuttle as well, with full crews in each craft. I don’t know if the broadcaster can receive a message, but transmit it anyway: ‘Received, awaiting arrival.’ I’ll be in the boarding star scout.”
As I turned to leave, the commander asked, “Where is it coming from, Lansberg?”
Well, when your commanding officer asks you a question, you can’t very well avoid it, however controversial you know the answer will be.
I looked right into Commander Jackson’s steely eyes and said confidently, “Hyperspace,” and quickly departed, certain that the commander thought me to be “space happy.”
Hyperspace was an old theory based more on conjecture than on fact. It had begun with the idea that the three dimensions—length, breadth, and depth—representing space, were not alone; everything had a fourth dimension—duration—representing time. From that a concept of a fifth dimension developed: hyperspace, a bridge or tunnel traversing space and time. If a person wanted to move from one place to another, in much less time than it would take to travel in space, he could travel in hyperspace. It was the long sought “northwest passage” of space travel. I had neither accepted the idea nor rejected it. Theory is theory; fact is fact.
As we waited in space, near the origin of the signals but as far away as caution dictated, I talked on the radio with Commander Jackson.
“Lansberg,” he said, “if you didn’t have such a good track record you’d be under psychiatric observation right now.”
I responded with respect, “Commander, I admit myself that it sounds insane, but frankly, it’s all I can think of. Do you have any other suggestions?”
“No way. This is your territory. Besides, if you’re right, it could revolutionize space travel. Your competence in the past gives me every reason to trust you now, incredible as your idea is.”
“Thank you, sir,” I answered.
An hour passed, and another as well, before anything happened. In the middle of the third hour the SOS signal stopped. Simultaneously, a bright light appeared at the exact point that had been the signal’s origin. It immediately widened and opened until it became the border of a great circle through which a delta-winged spacecraft was passing.
The craft, three times the size of a star scout, was dwarfed by the ring of light, as it came smoothly through the center of the circle. Twenty vessels just like it could have passed through side by side.
What a picture! A tiny spacecraft coming through a giant ring of light, the end of what seemed to be a conduit to another galaxy, for behind it stars blazed in glory! A closely knit cluster of at least 5,000 stars, seen through the ring, paraded before us in majesty, beckoning us to charge through after them.
When the mysterious craft had swiftly passed beyond the ring of light, the passage through hyperspace shut up tightly, just as it had opened.
As the vessel drifted in space near us, I unsuccessfully attempted to restore radio contact. I then instructed my pilot to maneuver our star scout to search for damage and identifying marks.
As we circled the craft, it seemed to be undamaged. If any of us still harbored any secret desires that we’d made contact with an extraterrestrial, they were quickly dissolved when we discovered an identifying mark on the nose of the craft. What appeared to be its name was written in neat bold letters: SPACE BEAGLE.
After a short search we located a hatch on the Space Beagle’s underside. A dull thud reverberated throughout our vessel as I sealed the boarding tube to the strange craft’s hull. When the gravity-free tube had been pressurized, a section of our star scout’s floor slid open, disclosing the entrance to the tube. When I looked in, I was surprised to see some colored light emanating from the opposite end. The hatch on the other craft had already been opened.
I was to board the Space Beagle solo for the initial investigation. I grasped some handles inside the boarding tube and pulled myself through the hole.
I floated effortlessly towards the opposite hatch. It was strangely different than floating in open space. In space I would have heard no sound, but there I heard the sounds of movement from my craft as they blended with the mystical, musical whisperings that ebbed and flowed from the curious vehicle that I was approaching.
As I entered the Space Beagle I twisted my body so that I wound up landing in a gentle squat on the floor next to the hatchway. While I sat there a strange rhapsody filled the air around me.
Standing up, I looked around the chamber that I was in. Lights on various consoles, reds, greens, and blues, flashed incessantly, creating a hypnotic strobe effect throughout the room.
The eerie music continued as my senses were subjected to a deluge of visual images. Video units lined each wall, alternately showing pictures of planets, stars, and galaxies. Flashing shots of ancient stone structures mingled with shots of desolate landscapes, as well as open meadows and green hills, not unlike those of Earth.
Some screens flashed pictures of chartreuse skies, and others of crimson snow.
Most fascinating of all, in the center of the room was a highly advanced holographic display that intermittently presented many of the images on the screens as three-dimensional moving objects, synchronized with the shifting musical tones that filled the air.
Indigo lions stalked on a lavender veldt. Dragons soared across distant horizons. Living cells seemed to grow larger and larger, until I saw DNA, the double helix, spinning before my eyes.
Elements mixed and changed. Continents slipped beneath seas. Planets broke up to dust, stars exploded in fury, and entire galaxies pulsated with light in front of me.
In no other place that came to my mind could such a comprehensive treasury of knowledge of the universe be found.
Then the words I’d read that morning once again occurred to me, “And worlds without number have I created … for mine own purpose … numbered unto me … they are mine and I know them.” As if that wasn’t enough, the phrase “they are mine” became stuck in my brain on a constant replay.
As I stood, awestruck at the scope of what I was experiencing, the music suddenly stopped, and I heard a deep and tired sounding voice, gentle to my ear, say, “Does my collection please you?”
Looking around I saw no one. I answered the question, “Yes,” adding, “Who are you?”
“I’m just a man like you,” the voice replied. “I’m in an adjacent chamber. When I lived on Earth I was called Desmond Jeffress.”
“Desmond Jeffress?”
“My, but that is sweet. That’s the first time I’ve heard my name spoken in more than 300 years.”
“You’ve been in space that long?” I asked, gasping at so profound a claim. Only the reality of hyperspace would allow such a thing.
The voice simply answered, “Yes.”
“You sent an SOS. What kind of help can I give you?”
A door at the other end of the room opened, revealing a brighter, more substantial light behind it.
“Come here, please,” the voice said.
Still somewhat mesmerized, I complied with the request.
The chamber that I entered was apparently a combination control room and observation deck. The Milky Way, Delta Colony, the salvage shuttle, and the other two star scouts were clearly visible on a wall-size screen that could easily have been mistaken for a window.
A circular console in the center of the room held dials and gauges that I was unfamiliar with, and seated in its center, in a large, well-cushioned chair, was the oldest looking man I’ve ever seen. Long silver hair flowed over his shoulders to the middle of his back, and a beard of the same color reached to his knees.
Looking directly at me with soft, brown eyes, he said, “I’m dying. I’ve lived more than 300 years, and I’ve barely an hour left.”
I almost felt hurt. I’d just met a man with a broader range of experience than anyone else I’d ever met, and he had less than an hour to share his knowledge with me.
“How can you be sure?” I asked.
“I’m sure,” he responded. “That’s why I sent the SOS. I didn’t want to die alone, and, more important, I didn’t want to have lived in vain.”
“Three centuries before you were born I began my chronicle of the universe. Though there are countless planets, stars, and galaxies that I have never approached, I have nevertheless chronicled a total of 237 galaxies with 100 trillion stars and 600 trillion planets. I was able to visit exactly 200,000 of those planets, if only for a moment. If it sounds like I’ve been busy, I have. Never for an instant have I been idle. My last wish was to see all that I have learned safely delivered into another human’s hands. Since that is now assured, I should be able to die knowing that my life was not in vain. Still … still, something is not right.” He paused a moment, wheezing slightly. “I should feel at peace, but instead I’m more anxious than before.”
“Do you know why?” I asked.
“I believe,” he said, “that my mind is still troubled on one matter, on one foolish little matter.”
“What is that?”
“I had,” the old man recalled, “before I went into space, been somewhat of an atheist. I’ve always been analytic and cannot accept anything as true until it has been proven by experimentation. Not long after my voyages began, I found myself believing in God. I had become aware of a pattern, of a design in the universe, and observing mankind’s potential to control it, I felt a relationship, a descendency if you will, with some remarkably infinite power, maybe even a living, tangible being.
“From then on all of my experiments and voyages, of which my journals and chronicles became but by-products, were whole-hearted efforts to prove the existence and nature of God. All my knowledge was continually applied to this single purpose. I was determined to prove God, so that I could know, and not just feel, that he lives.
“However, despite all of my efforts, the most powerful evidence was nothing more than a strong indication of what I believed. It always left room for doubt.
“I’ve been almost everywhere and seen almost everything, and still have no proof that God exists. I’m a scientist believing something with no definite proof of its validity. That is my anxiety.”
I thought his method of research had been like someone trying to learn about a sculptor by studying his statues. He had been experimenting through the wrong medium.
“Have you ever asked God?” I inquired.
“How is that done?” he replied.
I then proceeded to bear my testimony to him. My testimony of God, that he is the Creator, that he is everyone’s Father in Heaven, of the premortal existence, of the plan of salvation, and of the atonement of Christ, and that Jesus is the Only Begotten Son of God; my testimony of all these things fell from my lips with more power than it ever had before.
We talked. In the short time available, our conversation must have touched upon nearly every principle of the gospel.
I told him that I did not just believe the things I’d said. I explained that I knew them by the power of the Holy Ghost, through prayer, that being the only way that anyone could know.
He then prayed one of the most fervent prayers that I’ve ever heard. He ignored my presence in the room as the words of supplication rolled smoothly off from his tongue, and when he ended his prayer, he knew! One quick glance at his tear-washed eyes and it was clear: he knew!
He looked up, right at me, and he said, “Young man, contained in this spacecraft is knowledge accumulated from more than three centuries of constant research, as I traveled from one galaxy to another, and never has it meant more to me than it does now.”
His eyes held mine in a firm stare as he continued, “The knowledge that you have shared with me for the last hour is more important than all the rest of the knowledge I’ve gathered put together. Thank you,” he said.
The moment that he finished uttering those words his final breath wheezed from his lungs. Silence permeated the air.
“You’re welcome,” I mumbled, hoping that someplace his spirit could hear, and added, “Thank you, Desmond Jeffress.”
The entire procedure of impounding the Space Beagle seemed almost melancholy after that. Those who had wondered what had consumed so much of my time while I had been in the vessel were satisfied when they had seen the tremendous storehouse of knowledge within the craft.
The immense value of the Space Beagle to science was obvious. It would prove to open a new renaissance in space travel. No longer would it take years to cross the galaxy. The doors to other galaxies were wide open, and, with the charts provided by one who had been there before, no one would have to travel blindly.
As far as I’m concerned, the greatest results could not have been filed in a library. After I had received credit for the safe recovery of the Space Beagle and its priceless cargo, the League of Interstellar Earth Colonies granted me a full scholarship to Antares Academy.
I was very honored, but I politely and cheerfully declined. I already had a message to share that was more important than anything that the academy could teach me. Besides, the Lord expected me to serve a mission.

Perhaps a real-life situation will help. It’s Friday night; you’re 17, and life is beautiful. You’ve promised Karen’s father you’ll have her home by midnight, and now it’s 15 to 12. You don’t want to go home. But for some reason, maybe because you promised, you decide to go. You discover that not only does Karen’s father trust you more, but you trust yourself. The promise is more important than the extra half hour.

Whitney and her mother were cleaning out Whitney’s great-grandfather’s attic after he died. Mother pulled a large tarp off of a dresser, and her eyes filled with tears.
“What’s wrong?” Whitney asked.
“Nothing really is wrong,” Mother responded. “I just remember that when I was about your age, I would watch my grandmother take her hat out of this armoire.”
“What’s an armoire?” Whitney asked.
“That’s what this is,” Mother said, pointing. “It’s a large chest where Grandmother hung her clothes.” Mother lovingly ran her finger over the wood, and Whitney noticed that one of the doors was broken and that the varnish was chipped.
“It’s broken now, isn’t it?” Whitney asked.
Mother got a twinkle in her eye. “It is. But you know, Whitney, I think that I would like to restore this armoire. We could refinish it and make it as good as new.”
Whitney was excited. “We could paint it white and put fancy new handles on the doors!”
Mother shook her head. “No, I want to restore it. Restore means to bring something back to the way it was originally. I want it to look just the way it did when my grandmother used it. Can you think of something that is restored?”
Whitney was puzzled. “I’ll give you a hint,” Mother said. “You learn about the restoration of something when you go to church.”
“The gospel!” Whitney said. “But how was the gospel restored?”
“Jesus Christ brought back His gospel just the way it was when He was on the earth. He didn’t change it or make a new gospel. Jesus restored His gospel through Joseph Smith.”
“And Jesus is still the head of the Church,” Whitney added.
“I think you understand quite a bit about restoration,” Mother said with a smile.

Guiding the sisters back to the temple was the goal of the Merthyr Tydfil Wales Stake Relief Society presidency when they set out to plan a temple focus week.
Aware that many sisters had not returned to the temple since COVID-19 restrictions had been lifted, the presidency decided to encourage not only temple attendance, but also an invitation to focus on the temple all week.
Kicking off the focus week with a Sunday evening devotional, sisters in the stake were introduced to a calendar of activities which would help them to turn their hearts to the temple, their covenants and their family each day.
Much thought went into the ideas for the daily activities and it was hoped that the sisters would connect with their living relatives, as well as complete research for their deceased ancestors. Suggested activities for the week centered on family history projects, conference talks, service opportunities, scriptures and ideas to make connections with living relatives.
During the devotional, sisters also heard talks from President and Sister Jensen, who were just about to be released from the London England Temple presidency. They shared beautiful testimonies of how their time in the temple had taught them about the importance of covenants, and how the temple experience is personal and individual.
Merthyr Tydfil Stake president, Simon Hayes, spoke to the sisters and left his blessing upon their efforts in the coming week.
The week culminated with over 40 sisters attending the London England Temple together. The sisters were joined in the temple on the day by young adult brethren from the stake, who assisted in all aspects of a special baptistry session.
One sister commented, “I enjoyed the company and conversation with the sisters on the drive to the temple, and was blessed that more work was accomplished than I had anticipated.”
With distances to the temple being so far for many families in the stake, the actual temple visit on the Saturday was an act of faith on the part of the presidency. Stake Relief Society president, Theresa Williams commented. “Our faith was rewarded as the temple filled with the happy faces of so many of our sisters. It was a real glimpse of heaven for us to all be there together. Participating in the activities of the week brought a sense of unity even though we were taking part separately. We knew that somewhere in the stake our sisters were joined with us in the work of salvation. ‘Fulfil ye my joy, that ye be likeminded, having the same love, being one accord, of one mind’ (Philippians 2:2).”

When I was eight years old and recently baptized, I struggled with nightmares. One night as I sat on my bed, I told my mom that I was afraid to fall asleep.
I had been learning that the scriptures hold the answers to every problem. I wanted to find a scripture to help me, but I wasn’t sure where to look. I couldn’t think of any scripture stories that had to do with nightmares.
My mom told me that the Holy Ghost could guide me. We knelt by my bed and said a prayer and asked Heavenly Father to help me feel the Holy Ghost.
After we prayed, I had a thought to look in the Pearl of Great Price. Then I felt we should look in Joseph Smith—History. We read verses 16 and 17, which talk about the darkness Joseph felt when he first started praying. Then there was a bright light, and Heavenly Father and Jesus appeared to him.
The darkness Joseph Smith experienced reminded me of the fear I felt from my nightmares. The light when the Savior and Heavenly Father appeared was like being helped and shielded by the Holy Ghost.
My mom asked me what Joseph did to overcome the feeling of darkness. I said, “Joseph prayed.”
If I pray and have faith, the Holy Ghost can help me feel peaceful and safe. This experience has helped me realize that the scriptures really do have the answers to my problems.

HI!
My name is Cory Kennedy, and I live in Sandy, Utah. My good friends, Stuart Weichers and Mark Jensen, and I had a really neat experience last year. We’re members of Cub Scout Pack 953, and the three of us won first place in the National Cub Scout Physical Fitness Contest.
Each Cub Scout pack participating in the competition had an eight-year-old Cub Scout, a nine-year-old Cub Scout, and a ten-year-old Cub Scout on its team. Teams compete against teams from other packs in five different events: sit-ups, pushups, the broad jump, the softball throw, and the fifty-yard dash. My dad was our Cubmaster, and in our own pack competition Mark was the eight-year-old winner, Stuart was the nine-year-old winner, and I was the ten-year-old winner. We have a lot of really good athletes in our neighborhood, so our pack competition was tough.
The three of us decided to work out together before and after school. We took turns going to each other’s houses for workouts. Sometimes our parents or older brothers coached us, and sometimes we just worked out by ourselves. My dad let me borrow his stopwatch so we could tell how we were doing. Our families really pulled for us to do well.
We knew we had to score as high as we could in every event, but each of us also had a specialty that we kept trying to improve on. Mark has awfully strong legs, and he could broad jump a long way. Stuart could do more push-ups than the rest of us. And sit-ups were my best event.
When we first started working out as a team, we were doing about forty push-ups and forty sit-ups a minute. Then each day we would add one or two more. We pushed each other pretty hard, and we even made a game out of it. Mark and I are University of Utah fans, and Stuart is a Brigham Young University booster, and we pretended that it was the Utes against the Cougars.
After winning in our district competition, we competed against all the district winners from the Great Salt Lake Council. Boy, were we nervous! But our hard training paid off. Each of us gave it everything he had, and we scored well in all of the events. Just as we had hoped, Mark won in the broad jump (sixty-nine inches), Stuart won in the push-ups (eighty-nine in one minute), and I won in the sit-ups (ninety-six in one minute).
We won the council competition, and our scores were sent to Boy Scout headquarters in Irving, Texas. After a few weeks we were notified that we had won the national championship. We were really excited. You should see the huge trophies we received! Our families are really proud of us, and each of us had a super feeling. I think we all learned a very important lesson in the competition: Nothing is impossible, and you can do anything you want to if you are willing to work hard enough.

King Hussein (that's his name) is a convert to the church and the CEO of Span Construction Company; in fact, his firm built the Gordon B. Hinckley Building on the BYU Provo campus. He said his company contracted to build a new COSTCO warehouse. COSTCO has the policy that once a construction pad is in place, the company wants the store up and running in 120 days. At this one location there were some weather issues and building supply shortages that were delaying this project so the Vice President of COSTCO called a meeting of the contractor and sub-contractors. He explained the problem with the delays and said that they would have to work on Sundays to complete the building on time. As the VP went around the room to see what concessions each sub-contractor would make, Brother Hussein calmly said: "I don't work my crews on Sundays." The Vice-president said: "Well, you'll have to this time because we are way behind." He calmly responded: "Sir, I don't work my crews on Sundays, but I think we can meet the deadline." The vice-president got up and came around the desk (in front of all the sub-contractors) and: thumped him on the chest and said: "You mean to tell me that you would lose this contract just to keep your crews from working on Sunday?"

He said he gulped - this was one of those moments in life where you have to decide what you really believe. "Yes, I would," he said." But I think we can complete the job on time."

They did finish the job on time and guess who builds COSTCO stores in the Western part of the United States? Span Construction Company. COSTCO : and the Lord learned--that they could depend on this Latter Day Saint to keep his word.

Our family moved to Logandale, Nevada, more than eight years ago, and we have been involved with the Clark County Fair ever since. It is held each year in April, near Easter. Children can show pigs, steers, or lambs they have raised. The animals are judged on Thursday, and the auction takes place on Saturday.
I always dread the auction. I worry that one of my children will have an animal that doesn’t sell. Most parents try to get someone to prebuy their child’s animal. But even if your child’s animal is presold, you still have to wait endlessly for his or her turn at the auction.
One of the most touching events I have ever witnessed took place at the auction three years ago. We had sat most of the day on aluminum bleachers, listening to the auctioneer’s bark, the crowd’s babble, and the animals’ bleating, mooing, and squealing. Suddenly we heard another sound—the wind pelting a freezing rain against the building.
Soon, in addition to parents and extended family attending the auction, we had many other people seeking shelter inside the metal livestock pavilion. They were quite surprised to find an auction taking place. Most were from the big city of Las Vegas and had never experienced a real animal auction before. They apparently found the auction entertaining, and a few even bid on animals. Of course, after the auctioneer explained that the price was per pound, the bidding slowed considerably.
Our boys’ pig came up for auction, and I remember feeling quite relieved when it was sold. All I could think of was getting home, away from the people, the noise, and the smell. It was still raining outside, so while I waited for my brother-in-law to get the car, I listened involuntarily to the auctioneer as he started the bidding on lambs.
A young girl brought out her lamb, and the bidding commenced. I don’t remember the exact amount, but I do remember thinking, “That’s a lot of money for a lamb.” Then a most amazing thing happened. The auctioneer explained that the person who had purchased the lamb was donating it back to the little girl to be resold. He went on to explain that this little girl’s father, who normally would have been there with her, was in the hospital. He had cancer, and the prognosis was not good. The family had no medical insurance, and the father was their sole support.
What happened next will burn in my mind and heart forever.
The bidding resumed, and again the little lamb was sold for an unheard-of amount of money. Again the lamb was donated back to be resold. About that time my brother-in-law returned, wet and windblown, but I couldn’t move. I told him something remarkable was happening, and though I tried, I could not stop my tears.
That lamb was sold again and again, and all those people, many of them from the city, were bidding and giving donations for that local family.
As I stood there in amazement, I couldn’t help but think of another lamb—not one that was sold again and again to benefit just one family, but One who allowed Himself to be sacrificed for all of God’s children. It seemed fitting that Easter was just around the corner. The Spirit bore witness to me that day of the significance of sacrifice in behalf of others and the importance of community.
Regrettably, this little girl’s father did not survive. The family has since moved into our ward, and the wife of that good man bore her testimony in Relief Society one Sunday. She told us how she had been at the hospital with her dying husband when she heard of the auction. She didn’t know who or how many people had donated money, but she was moved to tears when expressing her gratitude for all who cared enough to help. She was amazed at the outpouring of love and support shown to her family that stormy day at the Clark County Fair—the day the lamb was sold.

Girls’ camp in Panama takes place when the southern and northern heavens mingle. During the first part of April in Panama you can see the Southern Cross and the Big Dipper at the same time. Under this fitting symbol, native Spanish-speaking Panamanians and English-speaking girls from the Canal Zone combine their languages, testimonies, cultures, and cuisine for one of the most fascinating, informative, and spiritual girls’ camps held anywhere in the Church.
At a recent camp, the girls and their counselors organized into groups and committees according to their levels of certification in the Young Women Camp Certification program. Each group or committee had at least one American who spoke Spanish or a Panamanian who spoke English so there was always a translator handy plus a person to make sure no one felt left out. All of the girls learned about a new culture and a different way of life.
The standard camp certification program has been modified somewhat to fit the particular circumstances in Panama. The girls’ camp under palms instead of pines; they hold two flag ceremonies each morning; and they eat typical Panamanian food, like Sancocho de gallina (chicken cooked with native herbs, roots, and cooking bananas), along with U.S. favorites, like pizza or tacos, the next day. Machete usage is taught as part of the regular camp skills.
The girls also learn about poisonous plants and dangerous reptiles. They learn early in their programs to avoid coral snakes and the feared fer de lance. They do learn a few of nature’s lessons the hard way. One night in camp some of the girls pitched their tents in the path of army ants on the march. These particular ants in Panama are between 1/2 and 3/4 of an inch long and don’t like to deviate from their chosen course.
Scripture study classes were held in Spanish and English at the same time, and these sessions helped to prepare everyone for the spiritual high point of the outing—a special evening testimony meeting when the girls from two lands could express their common beliefs in their own language. As they shared their feelings, the Big Dipper and the Southern Cross were both sparkling in the heavens, making everyone feel closer to each other and to the Father of them all.