Gospel Story Finder

As many of you know, our family experienced a tender separation three months ago when our daughter Wendy departed from this mortal life. In the final days of her battle with cancer, I was blessed with the opportunity to have our farewell daddy-daughter conversation.
I held her hands and told her how much I loved her and how grateful I was to be her father. I said: “You married in the temple and faithfully honored your covenants. You and your husband welcomed seven children into your home and raised them to be devout disciples of Jesus Christ, valiant Church members, and contributing citizens. And they have chosen spouses of that same caliber. Your daddy is very, very proud of you. You have brought me much joy!”
She quietly responded, “Thank you, Daddy.”
It was a tender, tearful moment for us. During her 67 years, we worked together, sang together, and often skied together. But that evening, we talked of things that matter most, such as covenants, ordinances, obedience, faith, family, fidelity, love, and eternal life.
We miss our daughter greatly. However, because of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, we do not worry about her. As we continue to honor our covenants with God, we live in anticipation of our being with her again. Meanwhile, we’re serving the Lord here and she is serving Him there—in paradise.1

The October dawn was cool as I helped load our belongings into the covered wagon. The weight in my 10-year-old heart was heavier than the bundles of clothes and food I carried. It just isn’t fair, I thought. I don’t want to leave our home and my friends and travel to an unknown place.
It was 1877, and our home near St. George, Utah Territory, was already far away from Salt Lake City. Now we were moving even farther away.
Mother called, “Mary Agnes, please make sure everything is cleared from the back porch before we leave.”
As I made my way around the house, I thought back to the day six months before when my father had returned from the dedication of the St. George Temple. Mother and I had stayed home because my baby brother was ill. One look at Father told us something serious had happened.
Mother spoke first. “William, what is the matter?”
Father took her in his arms, and with tears streaming down his face he said, “We must leave our beautiful home.” He could say no more.
Leave? How could we leave? After years of saving we had finally been able to buy farmland and build a comfortable home for the 10 of us. We had horses, cattle, and other farm animals. We lived near my grandmother and my cousins. I was able to attend the school in town. Who would ask us to sacrifice all this?
Later I heard my parents discussing what was happening. Families were needed to extend Church settlements farther south. President Brigham Young had asked our family to move. He counseled my father to sell all we had so we would not be tempted to return to Utah. We were needed in Arizona.
Arizona was a place where there was very little water and nothing to see. The prophet had called people there last year. Many had returned to Utah because they could not endure the hardships. Father said almost no greater sacrifice could be asked of him.
Mother’s voice brought me back to the present. “It is hard to leave, isn’t it, Mary Agnes? Do you know the real reason we are moving?”
I shook my head.
“We are going to Arizona because the prophet called us to go,” Mother explained. “Remember my telling you about when I was your age and my family lived in Nauvoo? After the Prophet Joseph Smith was killed, there were contentions with our neighbors. The Brethren told us to leave our homes and move west. There our lives would be spared, and we could worship in peace.
“It was terrible to leave our home, but there was nothing else to do unless we turned away from God, the Brethren, and the Church. We made the long, hard journey to Salt Lake. We sacrificed again when we followed President Young’s direction to leave there and settle here.
“Now we have been asked to go to Arizona. We do not have to go. No one is forcing us. We are not fleeing for our lives. We could find reasons not to go. This time the struggle to obey comes from within.”
Mother hugged me as she continued. “The Lord said that when we receive a commandment ‘whether by [His] own voice or by the voice of [His] servants, it is the same’ (D&C 1:38). Our prophet has spoken to us. I know he speaks for God. Your father and I decided long ago to follow the prophet, no matter what the sacrifice.”
The Spirit warmed me as I listened to Mother’s testimony. I felt strengthened for the uncertainties ahead.
As I climbed into the loaded wagon, I took one last look at our old home, then turned to face the trail to Arizona. I realized that I, too, had a testimony of God’s representative on earth. Like my parents, I decided I would follow the prophet—even to the last frontier.

Melinda Bassett won the final round of a spelling bee sponsored by the European Congress of American Parents, Teachers, and Students in Berchtesgaden, Germany. She defeated her last opponent by spelling rallentando correctly.
Melinda, 12, plays the violin and coronet. She has five brothers and sisters, and her parents are stationed in the Air Force at RAF Lakenheath in England. They belong to the Cambridge Ward, Ipswich England Stake.

Back in the year 1961, a worldwide conference was held for mission presidents, and every mission president in the Church was brought to Salt Lake City for those meetings. I came to Salt Lake City from my mission in Toronto, Canada.
In one particular meeting, N. Eldon Tanner, who was then an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve, had just returned from his initial experience of presiding over the missions in Great Britain and western Europe. He told of a missionary who had been the most successful missionary whom he had met in all of the interviews he had conducted. He said that as he interviewed that missionary, he said to him, “I suppose that all of the people whom you baptized came into the Church by way of referrals.”
The young man answered, “No, we found them all by tracting.”
Brother Tanner asked him what was different about his approach—why he had such phenomenal success when others didn’t. The young man said that he attempted to baptize every person whom he met. He said that if he knocked on the door and saw a man smoking a cigar and dressed in old clothes and seemingly uninterested in anything—particularly religion—the missionary would picture in his own mind what that man would look like under a different set of circumstances. In his mind he would look at him as clean-shaven and wearing a white shirt and white trousers. And the missionary could see himself leading that man into the waters of baptism. He said, “When I look at someone that way, I have the capacity to bear my testimony to him in a way that can touch his heart.”

In 1961 President McKay assigned LaMar Williams, secretary to the Church Missionary Department, to go to Nigeria on a month-long fact-finding mission to determine if the people were sincere and willing to accept the Church without holding the priesthood (Williams interview, pp. 10–11). Although Brother Williams had been responding to the flood of letters from Africa, he was not prepared for what he found there. He was met at the airport in Lagos, Nigeria, by 10 pastors with whom he had been corresponding. He, too, was treated like royalty but was surprised to discover that not only did each pastor operate independently, they had not even been aware of each other (Williams interview, pp. 11–12).

The first official Church meeting in black Africa was held on October 22, 1961, in a small mud hut in Opobo District, Nigeria, where Brother Williams met with a pastor and 110 followers. No one came by car. Many, including eight mothers with small children, had begun their day before 4:00 a.m. and walked 25 miles or more to be there. After teaching them for two hours, Brother Williams prepared to end the meeting. He recorded:

It was hot as blazes. . . . My suit was wringing wet. . . . When I turned the meeting back to [the pastor], I heard a murmur all through the congregation . . . and [the pastor] said to me, “They don’t want to go home. They have something to say.”

Then for three hours . . . these people were standing up bearing testimony to the truthfulness of the Church and how they believed in the prophets. I could not believe what I was hearing. [Williams interview, pp. 10–12]

One elderly gentleman said:

I keep hearing you say, “if we are sincere.” Elder Williams, I want you to know that I am sincere. I am an old man . . . I am sick. But when I heard you were going to be here, I walked 16 miles this morning to see you and to hear what you have to say. I still have to walk 16 miles to get back home, and I am not well. I want you to know that I am sincere or I would not be here. I have not seen President McKay. I have not seen God. But I have seen you. And I will hold you personally accountable to tell President McKay that I am sincere. [Letter on file]

Brother Williams reported to President McKay that he felt thousands were ready for baptism (Williams interview, pp. 25–27).

Three months later, President McKay called Brother and Sister Williams to preside over the first mission in black Africa, but the Nigerian government refused to issue the necessary visas. This was primarily due to media attacks against the Church because of its position in denying blacks the priesthood, and at this time civil rights was an explosive issue. After four years of intense effort, one day Brother Williams was at the embassy in Nigeria hoping to finally obtain the visas. While there he received a telegram from the First Presidency stating, “Discontinue negotiations in Nigeria and return home immediately.” Shocked and confused, but obedient, he returned home (Williams interview, pp. 4, 22–24; also Williams journal, “Nigerian Mission,” Church Historical Library, p. 64.4).

Upon his return to Salt Lake City in November 1965, President N. Eldon Tanner assured Brother Williams that the Church would yet go to Nigeria, and they would both live to see it (see Williams journal, p. 64.1). He further said, “We don’t know why we called you back. We only know it was urgent. There is a reason, and we will know [what it is someday]” (Williams journal, p. 64.4; also in Williams interview, pp. 4, 22–24).

Within three weeks Africa’s most devastating civil war, the Biafran War, exploded in Nigeria, with much of the fighting in the area where the unbaptized congregations of believers were located (see Encyclopedia of Africa South of the Sahara, John Middleton, editor in chief [New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1997], 4:357). Two ambassadors were killed on the steps of the embassy where Brother Williams received the telegram instructing him to return home. Brother and Sister Williams were released from their mission call, and in June 1966 LaMar Williams turned over 15,000 names and addresses of unbaptized African converts to Elders Spencer W. Kimball and Gordon B. Hinckley, both of whom were on the Church Missionary Committee (Williams interview, pp. 7, 20–21, 35).

“All I ever hear anymore is Jessica this and Jessica that or ‘Isn’t that great about your sister?’”
Kris Douglas was irritated with all the attention her twin sister, Jessica, was receiving. It seemed like everyone was delighted to support Jessica in her ballet, but when Kris had a big tennis match, no one showed up to watch. It hurt her feelings. At dinner that night, when Jessica was excited about her upcoming solo dance performance, Kris stomped out saying that she would not be able to make it to the performance. She said she had a meeting with the tennis team she couldn’t postpone.
This scenario is set in the first of ten episodes in a new seminary videotape called “I Will Lead You.” The series involves the members of the fictitious Douglas family as they learn to apply the teachings in the Doctrine and Covenants in dealing with the difficulties in their lives. At the end of the first episode, Kris realized that she was feeling jealousy but that Jessica was her sister and needed her attention and support at the performance.
Kris left her meeting and hurried to the auditorium in time to wish her sister good luck before the curtain rose.
For the first time, the seminaries have produced a videotape instead of a filmstrip to go along with the year’s course of study. Each episode presents a dilemma common between family members or between friends. As characters confront their problems, they learn the best ways to react by following the truths they know from the scriptures.
Lisa Griffiths, who plays the role of Kris Douglas, learned some valuable lessons when she had to put herself in her character’s shoes. When Lisa went to audition for the part, she had her confidence shaken. “I asked myself, What am I doing here? My application, where I was supposed to list my experience and training, was blank. I prayed very hard that if I needed to do the role because there was something I had to give to the character or that she had to give to me, I would know how to read the script.”
When Lisa got the part, she told her roommates, “I had the best acting coach—the Lord. That must have been it, because I certainly was not as experienced as the others.”
Lisa said that in some ways she is like Kris, but in others she isn’t. She knows a lot about her character and can anticipate what Kris might do in different situations. “Kris always seems to know how to phrase things or how to subtly get the message across. I can feel it, but verbalizing it is hard for me.
“She has incorporated the scriptures into her life. She really tries to apply what she is reading to what she is doing,” Lisa said when she described Kris, almost as if this fictional character were a close friend. “She does start to resent the fact that she is always the good one and her twin sister gets a lot of attention for the rebellious things she does. She focuses on herself for a little while until she straightens it out.”
Lisa applied the lesson she learned from playing the part of Kris to her own life. “I learned to check where my focus was. I was pulling on some natural feelings. I have a sister who is a performer. She’s fantastic, and I look up to her in so many ways. I have felt the role before of the younger sister that doesn’t get the attention sometimes. There have been times I have let that get to me, so I knew that what Kris was feeling really happens—that you really do get jealous. I can see when my focus was on myself, when I wasn’t applying things I had learned in church, things didn’t work out. I still have to do that kind of checking.”
Lisa is a little embarrassed to remember that she and her friends used to laugh a little at the filmstrips they watched in seminary. That made her want to perform so that her character was believable. “I wanted to make this character real so that at least one person who watched it would stop and say, What is she really saying? What is she really wondering about? The whole cast set that as a goal.
“I did make fun of the filmstrips when I was in seminary,” said Lisa. “We had little jokes about what they were wearing and their hairstyles. I can remember when the wardrobe lady was dressing me and doing my hair. I thought, Now I know why we laughed. I would laugh sometimes at myself while I was doing it. It was a humbling experience. There is a message behind what the characters are wearing and how their hair looks. There is a message or a mood behind it all.”
Kris talked about the most difficult part of the video for her. “The hardest scene for me,” said Lisa, “was when I was sitting on the porch with my grandfather and we are looking at the stars. He’s saying how lonely it feels when he looks up there. Kris sees it as the Lord saying He is there for people and that He loves you no matter what. That was a hard scene for me because I believed what I was saying, and I was very worried that it would come across sappy or trite to high school students watching it. There are times we do feel alone, but there are times when we’ve got to know that we really are not. The Lord is there for us.”
Learning that each of us has to rely on guidance from our Heavenly Father is the whole purpose of the “I Will Lead You” videotape. And that guidance is contained in the scriptures. Lisa said, “I learned to read my scriptures every day to get something out of them to hold onto. That was the idea of the films. Sometimes you can’t handle it all. You just don’t have the answers. It doesn’t make sense, and it doesn’t seem fair. You have to remember that even if you don’t feel the Lord, his hand is there and he is leading you.”

Defeated. Again. I slumped against my chair with my head hung low. I was just an observer, but still I had no energy to stand. Our team had tried so hard. Some were bruised. Some were limping off the field. After our high school soccer team’s consecutive losses, we weren’t just beaten—our hearts were broken.
Just as my disappointment seemed to overcome me, one of the youngest girls on the team strode past. I was drawn instantly to the sense of purpose I saw in her face.
I watched as every few steps she reached out a hand to each girl, but not in acknowledgment of defeat. Instead, she was giving individualized praise, comfort, and compassion. “I’ve never seen you run so hard to get there for every pass. That was your best game.” And to another, “Wow, amazing game. Seriously, you were on it today!”
With each high five, her one hand lingered in theirs, while her other hand held on to a shoulder or gently patted a leg bruised and grass-stained. I could feel that she carried something within her, a power that somehow transferred from her to the heart of each team member. Smiles started to break through the painful winces and disappointment. Slowly, one by one, each player stood with a new feeling vibrating through the air.
Who cared about the bruises and pain? Who cared about the anger and frustration? Not one. But how could a mere hand lift someone from a place of suffering to a place of purpose and strength?
How could a mere hand lift someone from a place of suffering to a place of purpose and strength?
I saw that in our light-giving soccer player. She was sharing the light of Christ on a soccer field and allowing Him to perform His healing. By holding up His light, she was helping to gather Israel.
Each of us will need saving by someone other than ourselves. However vulnerable that may seem to leave us, we can trust that Heavenly Father provided a Savior who can help raise us from despair. And we can participate with Him, just as my soccer hero did.

A story from my own family history illustrates this principle. My great-grandfather Joseph Watson Maynes was born in 1856 in Hull, Yorkshire, England. His family joined the Church in England and then made their way to Salt Lake City. He married Emily Keep in 1883, and they became the parents of eight children. Joseph was called to serve a full-time mission in June of 1910, when he was 53 years old. With the support of his wife and eight children, he returned to his native England to serve his mission.

After serving faithfully for approximately two years, he was riding his bicycle along with his companion to Sunday School services in Gloucester, England, when his tire burst. He got off his bicycle to assess the damage. When he saw that it was serious and would take a while to fix, he told his companion to go ahead and begin the Sunday service and he would be there shortly. Just as he finished saying this, he collapsed to the ground. He had died suddenly of a heart attack.

Joseph Watson Maynes never saw his wife and eight children again in this life. They were able to transport his body back to Salt Lake City and have his funeral service at the old Waterloo Assembly Hall. A statement made at his funeral service by Elder Anthony W. Ivins of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles teaches us an important lesson about life, death, and endurance: “This is what the gospel gives us—not immunity from death, but victory over it through the hope we have in a glorious resurrection. … It applies to [Joseph Maynes]. … It is a pleasure, and it is a satisfaction and joy to know that men lay down their lives in righteousness, in the faith, true to the faith.”

This family story inspires me to try my very best to follow the example of endurance and spiritual stamina illustrated by my great-grandfather. I am equally inspired by the faith of his wife, Emily, whose life after Joseph’s death was certainly a heavy burden to bear. Her testimony was strong and her conversion complete as she spent the rest of her life true to the faith while supporting her eight children on her own.

“But, Mom! Pleeeeease!” Mom had to understand. Putting the new toy in the bathtub was important. It was the home base. The underwater explorers needed it so they could rescue sea creatures!
“The explorers have to have a home,” Eli said.
“If you put it in the water, the stickers will come off,” Mom said. “That’s why I already told you no.”
Eli was standing at the door, holding his toy. He moved toward the tub. He really wanted to put the base in the water.
“Eli?” Mom said.
He stopped.
“Remember, choices have consequences,” she said.
“Consequences?” It was a big word.
“Consequences are good things or bad things that happen because of choices we make,” she explained.
“So something bad will happen if I put my home base in the water?” Eli asked.
“The stickers will come off. But something good will happen if you don’t,” Mom said. “It will last longer. And you will also know that you were obedient.”
Eli sighed. He thought about the home base being under water. At first it would be fun. Then the stickers would get soggy.
But if he kept it dry he could use it over and over. And the stickers would still be good.
Eli set the base down. “I’ll leave it here,” he said. Then he headed toward the tub.
“Good choice,” Mom said.
Eli smiled. It felt good to obey Mom.
And you know what? The underwater explorers still had an exciting adventure. Eli just had to dry them off before they went to home base.

Last year, students from Mesa Skyline Seminary in Arizona agreed to work together in creating a habit of daily scripture reading. They accepted the challenge to read the scriptures each day for at least 15 minutes. For every three days a student did this, he or she could write his or her name on a new wooden block.
As the blocks were earned and marked, they were glued together, eventually forming a replica of an ancient American city the students affectionately called “Zarahemla.” After seven weeks of reading and learning, a total of 1,750 blocks were cut, earned, and labeled with a name. The replica city was 12 feet in length, 8 feet wide, with a city wall, four corner towers, a large temple at the center, and hundreds of smaller buildings and shops within.
Building the city of Zarahemla “got me into the habit of reading my scriptures longer,” says Marissa Madsen, 16. “I really appreciated seeing something physically being built as a reminder of my testimony growing as I continued to read the scriptures.”
Randy Chavez, 17, agreed that the project was a big success. “It was nice to be unified as an entire seminary to achieve one large goal, and I felt excited to do my part. Because of the project, I read more frequently and longer.”

Olivio Gomes Manuel grew up in a small Angolan village. He and his seven brothers and sisters lived in a two-room mud hut with a dirt floor and thatched roof. Plumbing and electricity were unheard of.
When Olivio was nine years old, his country was thrust into an extremely violent civil war in which thousands were murdered or just disappeared. Then, when most of the fighting was over, famine swept through Angola, and thousands more died of starvation. “It was not a good life,” Olivio says, in his very deep, soft voice. Understatement is typical of him.
But Olivio was saved from starvation by his incredible height and agility. He was able to play basketball for food. “God blessed me,” he says.
By the age of eleven, Olivio was six-foot-three. He had been playing professional ball for about two years. “Professional” meant that the company that sponsored his team would sometimes feed him on game days. Some weeks, those were the only full meals Olivio ate.
And the road trips were the best of all—his meals were all taken care of. Olivio played in Nigeria, Algeria, Zaire, and even in Czechoslovakia. “I was there for ten days, and they gave us money for food,” says Olivio. “With this money I bought clothes and shoes for my family. It was difficult to buy clothes in Angola. They were so expensive.”
Olivio had been raised by his parents to be a good Christian, but at times his faith was tried. “If there is a God, how can he let so many people die—so many people suffer?” he asked. Still, Olivio could not deny that God had had a hand in his survival. He felt that he was being prepared for something.
When Olivio was seventeen, he played on a team for the Angloan military. All the boys in the country were required to go into the military for an indefinite amount of time. He also made the national team.
That’s when Olivio began to dream of playing ball in Portugal. He was fluent in Portuguese. (Angola is a former Portuguese colony, and Portuguese is the official language.) And what’s more, Olivio heard that they actually paid professional players salaries in Portugal. He would be able to send money home to his family.
It took Olivio a few years to get a visa to go. But once he arrived in Portugal, it took him only a few days to find a professional team that wanted him. At six-foot-seven, he not only had the stature they were looking for, but he also had the skill.
And it took him only a month to find something else. “I was on the metro, and I saw these two boys—they were only boys, but they were wearing nice suits—and they said they wanted to talk to me, so I said okay.
“They started to teach me the discussions. The Joseph Smith story surprised me, but it felt good. Everything felt good. One week later I went to a conference. I attended the meetings, and afterwards I was baptized. Baptism is for the remission of sins. I was a good guy, but I knew I needed to be baptized.”
Little did Olivio know what that baptism would lead to. When he wasn’t playing basketball, Olivio was at church. “I tried to go to church all the time. Every time I would go, my mind would open up, and I would learn something new. It felt good.”
Then one day, about a year later, one of Olivio’s American teammates said, “Hey—you’re Mormon. Don’t Mormons go on missions? Are you going to quit the team and go too?”
That started Olivio thinking. “The things I learned made sense to me, and I said, ‘Well, if these things come from God. I have to explain them to other people.”
But leaving basketball—that would be tough. Olivio had just made the Portuguese national team, and his professional team had offered him a very lucrative contract—lots of money, a car, and a luxurious apartment.
“It was a difficult decision to leave basketball, so I decided to get my patriarchal blessing. There it said that I was going to serve the Lord, so I decided to do it. God prepared me to come here and find the gospel by giving me these talents to play basketball. I don’t have a problem leaving it to serve him. I think I can help many people.”
And now, Elder Olivio Gomes Manuel, who left northern Portugal almost two years ago to serve in southern Portugal, is helping many people. He’s well known throughout the mission for his good nature and easy smile, his hard work, and his gentle rapport with the people he towers over.
That isn’t the kind of fame that makes you a star on national television—it’s more the kind of fame that makes you a star in the eternities. And while he won’t make lots of money from gigantic contracts and endorsements, he knows that his eternal reward will be far greater.
Still, you see his eyes light up when you put a basketball in his hands on preparation day. Watching him glide around the court, you realize basketball is as natural for him as swimming is to fish. It seems to be what he was made for. Oh, once his mission is over he would like to use basketball to earn a university education. But then he wants to return to Angola “to help the Church and help the people grow there.” Elder Manuel speaks mostly Portuguese now, but he remembers his native language, an African dialect called Quinbondo, and he knows English as well.
Even though the end of this tale is far from written, it’s already a success story as tall as Elder Manuel himself. After all, the richest pro in the world can’t buy his way into heaven. And no matter how many autographs you’ve signed, if your name isn’t written in the book of life, your fame won’t mean a thing.
Elder Manuel has already gained more success than he ever hoped to, and his secret is simple: “I listen to God, and when I do what he says, he blesses me.”

Let me tell you my personal experience. I grew up in California, away from the heart of the Church. But I never sensed that separation. I loved my ward in California. Going to Church and participating was simply our way of life. In those early years, the sacrament meetings I remember the most were the ones that involved missionaries either leaving on their missions or coming home. I so admired the faith and courage of those who left. As I watched the faith of those who were leaving on missions, and as I observed the purity and strength of those who came back, I knew that, someday, I wanted to be a missionary. I wanted to be like them – full of faith and goodness, and that feeling never left me. At the start of 9th grade, my family moved back to Salt Lake City and I began those wonderful high school years. There were new friends, new influences and new interests.

We had a large ward with many young men in the ward. There was also an escalating war in Vietnam that had an enormous impact on the ability of young men to serve missions. Because there was a draft, coupled with mandatory military service for those who were drafted, the Church entered into an agreement by which the number of missionaries that could be sent each year was limited to two missionaries per ward. Under the system where each ward could send only two each year, it would be many, many years before I would be able to serve.

By July 1970, I had finished the first year of college and would turn missionary age in August. Earlier that year I had met Mary, and by July, we were very much in love.

One hot, July afternoon, I returned home from work, and my mother said to me, “The bishop called. He wants to see you.” I asked “When?” and was told that he wanted to see me “now” at the ward. I went to the ward and found Bishop Matheson waiting for me in his office. I could soon tell that this was not an ordinary interview. After making the needed inquiries about me and my life, Bishop Matheson said: “David, it is very unusual, but we have been given the blessing of sending one more missionary this year. Because this was unexpected, as a bishopric we determined to ask the Lord who He would send now. David, what I can tell you is that ‘now’ is the time the Lord would have you serve your mission.” I had no idea that this is what we would be talking about. I had always wanted to go, but I was stunned at the statement that “now” was the time that the Lord would have me serve. I asked for a week to think about it. I left and got into the car and drove around for about an hour, ending back at the ward. Bishop Matheson was alone in his office. I asked him what he was doing, and he said that he was “waiting for me.”

I knew I wanted to serve a mission but hadn’t thought I could. Do you ever feel that way? The thought that God was aware of me and that there was a time when He wanted me to serve, and a place and people He had prepared had never occurred to me. To the bishop I said, “Bishop, if ‘now’ is the time the Lord would have me serve, of course I will go.” That was July. In August, I received my call to serve in the Japan Mission.

On October 10, 1970, I entered the Salt Lake Mission Home (we didn’t have an MTC in those days) and after a period of studying Japanese here in Hawaii, I was soon on my way to Japan, arriving on December 10, 1970. During my mission, I grew. My testimony became sure. I came home clean and anxious for whatever the Lord would have me do next in my life.

Gratefully, Mary waited, and three months after my mission ended, we were sealed in the Salt Lake Temple. Since that time, we have been blessed with eight wonderful children and 28 grandchildren.

Through it all, we have been anchored and blessed by the gospel of Jesus Christ and the faith we gained during my missionary service. Together, our faith and testimony have grown as we have stood together and met life’s challenges. Together, we have the assurance and witness that God is our Father, that His Son is our Savior and that we are led by Prophets and Apostles. All of this, in one way or another, is the result of having made the commitment to offer to the Lord two years of my life as a missionary. Indeed, everything good that has happened in my life -- or our life -- can be traced to the decision to serve a mission for the Lord. Every strength we had together had to be “faithened” in order for me to accept the call, and for Mary to let me go.

President Thomas S. Monson, Second Counselor in the First Presidency: “Several years ago, the Salt Lake City newspapers published an obituary notice of a close friend—a mother and wife taken by death in the prime of her life. I visited the mortuary and joined a host of persons gathered to express condolence to the distraught husband and motherless children. Suddenly the smallest child, Kelly, recognized me and took my hand in hers.
“‘Come with me,’ she said; and she led me to the casket. … ‘I’m not crying, Brother Monson, and neither must you. My mommy told me many times about death and life with Heavenly Father. I belong to my mommy and my daddy. We’ll all be together again.’
“… To my young friend, … there would never be a hopeless dawn. Sustained by her unfailing testimony, knowing that life continues beyond the grave, she, her father, her brothers, her sisters, and indeed all who share this knowledge of divine truth, can declare to the world: ‘Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning’ (Ps. 30:5).” (Sunday morning session)

We gradually picked up the pace as our bikes passed under the arched gateway which admitted us into the heart of the old city. I was always impressed when I saw the massive city wall that was built over 800 years ago to protect the inhabitants of the beautiful city of Luebeck in Northern Germany.
I didn’t have much time to think about the wall though, because I had my hands full just keeping the bike from bucking me off as we clattered over the narrow cobblestone street. The generator attached to my front wheel whined as I raced my companion to our small second floor apartment on Kleine Burg Strasse.
Elder Peterson usually got home first—not because he was the senior companion, but because he had a new three-speed bicycle, and I had what we called a no-speed bike.
We were both almost flying as we turned the last corner and headed toward our place. Elder Peterson braked hard, jumped off his bike, and was halfway up the steps with a look of satisfaction on his face by the time I had pedaled the final distance.
We parked our bikes inside the front entryway, locked the door, and hurried up the narrow stairs to the place we had both called home for about three months. We didn’t talk much as we whipped off our jackets and ties and headed for the small refrigerator that supplied us with our nightly dose of yogurt, not the yogurt we had disliked in the States, but creamy plain yogurt that we ate with canned strawberries, Haferflocken (oats), and raisins.
After a blessing on the food, we savored our homemade snack and discussed the events of the day.
“I think Frau Malchow is going to make it,” Elder Peterson said between mouthfuls of yogurt.
“Yeah, if her husband would start reading the Book of Mormon like he promised, maybe they’d both get baptized.”
“Tomorrow let’s finish the last two streets in the neighborhood over by Sister Sasse and then start looking for a new area.”
“Sounds good to me. I’m not used to doing five or six hours of tracting a day without being able to get in and teach a single discussion,” I responded after a big yawn and a stretch.
We rinsed out our large cups, changed, and knelt for personal prayer. I made a mental note to review one of the discussions the next morning so when we did get in I would be prepared to tell the fine family (I always had goals to teach families) about the plan of salvation.
We quietly crawled into our beds and were soon asleep. About 11:00 P.M. Elder Peterson was awakened by the phone.
“Elder Klomp, wake up, it’s for you. It’s President Schwendimann.”
I tried to shake the sleep from my head before I took the phone. The mention of the mission president’s name did help to bring me back from the world of dreams.
“Elder Klomp,” the president said, “I don’t know exactly how to say this to you, but today I received a call from your sister and she told me that your father had just passed away. She wants you to call her and your mother at your brother’s home in southern Nevada tomorrow at 1:00 P.M. your time.
“You have our deepest sympathies, and if there is anything Sister Schwendimann and I can do for you, don’t hesitate to contact us.”
I mumbled a reply and hung up the phone. I was dazed. I stumbled over a shoe in the dark as I made my way to the tiny kitchen that was perched in the space where the roof angled down from over my head to the floor. I gazed out the window at the stars shining brightly.
Had I really heard what I thought I just heard? I asked myself. The cold tears streaming down my face led me to believe that I was awake and hadn’t imagined those words about my dad. I hadn’t been dreaming. I never had nightmares like that anymore anyway. But then it must be true!
Not my dad. My dad was always so healthy and strong! He was healthy before that stroke that temporarily paralyzed him. He was healthy the whole time I was growing up, even though he was a lot older than most of my friends’ fathers. Hadn’t he given me a big hug and tried to hold back the tears at the airport when I was getting ready to fly to Germany? Hadn’t he been proud of me, the last of his three sons to serve a mission for our Father in Heaven? Hadn’t he told me stories about his mission and taught me that I should prepare myself to be the best missionary I could possibly be? How could he be gone? Not my dad.
I need you Dad—I’m your little boy—help me know what to do, Dad, I thought to myself as I gazed out that little window at the wonders of the night. Dad, you were the one who first showed me Orion and the Pleiades, remember? Look over there—I’ve spotted the Big Dipper and the North Star too.
Please Heavenly Father, give me some kind of sign so I’ll know that my dad is with you and he’s okay. I love my dad. Please, help me!
While I waited for the outward sign that never came, my mind and heart were full of poignant memories. I remembered how proud Dad and I had both been on the day when we met with our priesthood leaders in the stake president’s office. I remembered the strength I felt in the hands as they joined in a circle around me as my father ordained me an elder after the order of Melchizedek.
“Well, Elder Rick,” they said to me afterward as they enthusiastically shook my hand, “we know that you are going to be a terrific missionary.”
As I shook my father’s hand and looked into his misty eyes, I knew that he was also sure that I would be successful.
That memory faded and was replaced with the “D” discussion I had preprogrammed myself to study. The details of the plan of salvation ran through my mind as the tears slowly dried on my cheeks.
I reviewed the premortal existence and the council of heaven and realized for the first time that my father must have been there. I knew my dad had been born to receive a body, like everybody else, and had obeyed the Lord’s commandments to the best of his ability like we all must. He was always the most selfless man I had ever known, and even though he wasn’t the most verbal individual, we always knew by the things he did that he loved Mom and us more than he could say.
Nobody enjoyed being home with his family more than my dad. About the only thing Dad would let take him away from his family was the gospel he loved so much. Few people had served in as many different capacities in the Church as my dad. I knew that he had successfully honored his first and second estates, and could surely expect a promising future with our Heavenly Father.
I tried to imagine my dad’s reunion with his earthly parents and little sister who had died over 50 years ago. It wasn’t hard to picture Uncle Lew and Uncle Vic also waiting with open arms to welcome Dad to his next field of labor, almost like a transfer in the mission field.
These thoughts brought a smile to my heart as I continued to gaze out that tiny kitchen window. I knew I didn’t have to worry about what was in store for my dad.
What about Mom, though? They had been married nearly 40 years. What would she do without him?
My stomach tightened nervously until I remembered that this was the week of the Klomp family reunion in Panaca, Nevada. All four of my older brothers and sisters and their families would be there with Mom to help her through this difficult time. She would be comforted by her children as she so often had comforted each of us. It seemed terribly fair somehow. I realized also that Mom was not a weak, ignorant, or faithless woman. She had helped me gain a better understanding of and love for the gospel of Jesus Christ and would certainly take strength from that same fountain of truth.
I don’t know how long I stood at that window, but I do remember being stiff as my eyelids began to droop again with fatigue. I stretched, still staring out the window, hoping to see something, anything which would show me that everything was all right. It wasn’t until later that I realized that my “sign” had come in the form of the Spirit speaking peace to my heart, calming my fears, and warming me with the love of a faraway family and a God who was very near.
When I finally pulled myself away from the window, I wondered whether or not I should return home, leaving my mission only half served. I remembered scriptures about putting your hand to the plow and then turning away or loving father and mother more than the Savior. I felt confident that Dad would have wanted me to stay and finish the work I had been given to do, but decided that if Mom needed me, I would go home to help her.
I kept the whole thing pretty much to myself the next day and was determined not to let it affect the work. Actually it still didn’t seem real. It seemed like a hazy dream. But I still made plans to make the phone call to my family.
After a busy morning and a quick lunch, we pedaled to the post office so I could make the call. I waited anxiously in the long-distance line. When my turn finally came, I gave the man behind the desk the right phone number, and he directed me to the appropriate plexiglass phone booth in the center of the building.
“Hello, Nancy, can you hear me?” I said when the connection was made.
“Yes, Rick. I’m so glad you were able to call. We’re all here taking good care of Mama and we want you to know that everything is fine. She wants you to do what you think is right.”
After speaking to Mom and some of the rest of the family and hearing that Dad had seemed really fulfilled and happy to have almost all his family around before he died, I knew that I wasn’t really needed at home. I was needed in Germany to do the work a prophet of God had assigned me to do. The still, small voice comforted me, and I was able to complete the second half of my mission in a way that honored my beliefs, my family, and most of all, my dad. He had endured, faithful to the end, and taught me to do the same. Did he ever quit or give up before he finished an assignment? Not my dad!

Many years ago, while I was mending a fence, a small sliver of wood entered into my finger. I made a meager attempt to remove the sliver and thought I had done so, but apparently I had not. As time went on, skin grew over the sliver, creating a lump on my finger. It was annoying and sometimes painful.
Years later I decided to finally take action. All I did was simply apply ointment to the lump and cover it with a bandage. I repeated this process frequently. You cannot imagine my surprise when one day, as I removed the bandage, the sliver had emerged from my finger.
The ointment had softened the skin and created an escape for the very thing that had caused pain for so many years. Once the sliver was removed, the finger quickly healed, and to this day, there remains no evidence of any injury.

Gary*—a young, single man—was feeling out of place in his ward, which consisted mostly of families. He was unemployed and without a car when Mike* became his home teacher. “Looking back, I don’t remember Mike ever giving me a formal lesson,” Gary says. “Instead, he would pick me up each Sunday, and since Mike was on the high council, he would take me along on his speaking assignments. With six children, Mike didn’t have much time, but he always had time for me. Often our visits in the car would extend long after each meeting as we exchanged the highs and the lows of the past week.
“When I did get a car, Mike still gave me rides because we enjoyed our long talks,” continues Gary. “One weekend he took me with his family to a college football game. Another weekend we worked together putting in his mailbox. Although Mike has since moved, we still keep in touch. We are truly eternal friends.”

Yolanda said, “I have been baptized a very short time. I came home from school one day and found two missionaries waiting for me. At first I was unwilling to listen to them, but finally I took a seat and listened, and I began to hear with faith the things they were saying. I was amazed that anyone could be so sure of anything as they were of their message. I began to feel that my life was changing. I was happier than before. One day I amazed myself by going to the chapel when I could have gone out with my friends. I had never given up a chance to go out with my friends in order to go to a church. I felt at home in the chapel. I felt happy. At the end of the week I told the missionaries that I would be baptized. The day of my baptism was marvelous. I will never forget it. I felt that this was the true church and that I was doing right in being baptized.”

“Please hurry, Rabiha,” Hisham urged as he walked beside the cart on the busy Cairo street.
The mule pulling the loaded cart could make little progress on only three good legs.
“Get that worthless bag of bones off the street!” the impatient cart owner directly behind Hisham yelled.
“Rabiha is not worthless!” Hisham shot back.
A feeling of affection for Rabiha washed away Hisham’s anger as he guided the mule to the side of the road and stopped. He looked at Rabiha’s lame leg again and grimaced when he saw how swollen and sore it was. “My poor Rabiha,” Hisham mourned, patting the mule. “Your leg is not healing.”
Putting into words what he had feared these many days aroused a feeling of terror in Hisham. The heavy loads Rabiha pulled provided Hisham and his mother their only income. When his father was alive, Rabiha had pulled the cart for him. Hisham did not know how they could manage without the mule. Discouragement overwhelmed him, and he buried his face in Rabiha’s neck, ignoring the noise of the busy street.
“Hisham!”
Hisham started, blinking back the tears. His neighbor Mr. Megm was looking at Rabiha’s leg.
“You must take your mule to the Dispensary for Sick Animals,” Mr. Megm advised. “When my donkey’s leg became lame from a nail lodged in his hoof, the veterinarian there removed the nail and made him well again.”
Hisham brightened. “Do you think they can help Rabiha?”
“They can try,” Mr. Megm replied. “I will help you take him there after work.”
That evening Mr. Megm and some of Hisham’s other neighbors helped load Rabiha into a cart, and then Hisham took the crippled animal to the dispensary. For the first time in his life Rabiha rode in a cart instead of pulling it.
“It’s a deep, ugly tumor,” the white-coated veterinarian told the boy after examining Rabiha’s leg. “I can operate tomorrow.”
Hisham wet his dry lips. “Will Rabiha be all right?” he asked anxiously.
“I hope so,” the doctor replied. He gave Hisham a reassuring smile.
Through smarting tears, Hisham tried to return the smile.
Rabiha was put into an empty stall and fed.
“You may go home now,” the doctor told Hisham. “Your mule will be all right here tonight.”
“I cannot leave Rabiha!” Hisham cried.
“As you like,” the doctor replied. “But there is no food for visitors to the dispensary and no place to sleep.”
Hisham was too worried to eat. After sending word of his whereabouts to his mother, he spent the night in the stable beside Rabiha.
The next morning Hisham watched from the stable as the anxious owner of the donkey in the next stall led his animal to the canvas-covered operating table in the adjoining area. As the white-coated attendants forced open the donkey’s mouth, Hisham again buried his face in Rabiha’s neck. “I love you,” he whispered. “You must get well!”
Later Hisham heard an attendant chuckle as the other donkey was returned to the stall. “A greedy donkey if I ever saw one,” he said.
The owner was laughing too. “Greedy indeed!”
“What ailed your donkey?” Hisham asked.
“He had a whole corncob stuck in his throat,” the owner explained, grinning. “He is all right now.”
When Rabiha’s turn came to leave the stable, Hisham tried to be brave. But his legs felt like matchsticks as he followed the mule to the operating table. Then, hearing the neighing and barking from the paddocks and dog kennels close by, Hisham whispered to Rabiha, “The animals are sympathizing with you, old friend. You will soon be well.”
It wasn’t until the attendant administered the anesthetic from a large brown flask that Rabiha quit straining at the thick ropes steadying him.
Smelling the pungent fumes Rabiha was breathing, Hisham’s head, too, began to swim. He backed away and rested against a tree.
When he felt better, Hisham saw that the doctor had removed the tumor and was scraping and cauterizing the wound. Rabiha lay quietly on his side.
Hisham swallowed the lump in his throat. For the first time in weeks, he thought, Rabiha is feeling no pain in his leg.
“Your mule came through the operation beautifully,” the veterinarian told Hisham.
“Thank you, doctor!” the boy exclaimed. “Rabiha thanks you. My mother also thanks you.”
“Your mule, however, cannot go home today,” the veterinarian said.
Hisham blinked. “Why not?” he asked.
“He will have to stay several days until his leg heals.” He patted Rabiha’s bony back. “He needs time and rest to put a little meat on his tired bones.”
“Rabiha has never had a holiday,” said Hisham, wondering how he and his mother would live while the mule was recovering.
Seeing the boy’s worried face, the veterinarian said, “Perhaps I could lend you some money until your mule can work again.”
“I could not take money unless I earned it!” Hisham protested.
“If you are willing to work,” the veterinarian said, “there are jobs you can do here. Because you love animals, you would be a good worker for us. Come, I will show you the pets we board for people on holiday. They help pay our costs. You could help care for them.”
Hisham accepted the kind offer and then smiled as he thought, Rabiha’s holiday will be my holiday too.

When Nuria and I were being taught by full-time missionaries in 1982, we were invited to visit the local ward meetinghouse and to attend the Church meetings there. As we arrived on a beautiful Sunday morning, the first two members that we met at Church were two sisters from our Caribbean island of Puerto Rico. That was a pleasant surprise! We then entered the sacrament hall and beheld families talking reverently to each other, as the sacrament meeting was about to begin. There was great love and friendship in evidence among them.
The missionaries then pointed out the bishop in the stand talking with one of his counselors. I knew the bishop, though not as the local leader of the Church, but as a faculty professor of mine, whom I respected as a great physician and individual. Nuria and I loved the service. From that very first day, except for illness, we have always attended Sunday meetings. I had received a spiritual confirmation in my heart that this Church was true and that the will of our Lord Jesus Christ was for us to remain. Shortly thereafter, we were baptized together and began attending sacrament meetings as members of the Lord’s restored Church.