Gospel Story Finder

The completion of the St. George Temple also reconfirmed the hope and desires of the Saints for finishing the “Great Temple” in the Salt Lake Valley. Lucy B. Young, a wife of Brigham Young, was called to serve in the St. George Temple to administer to the living and the dead. An official Church periodical stated, “How many times the sick and suffering have come … to [the] temple, and at once Sister Young would be called to take the afflicted one under immediate charge.” One sister who had not walked for a dozen years “was brought, and under the cheering faith of Sister Young she went through the day’s ordinance and was perfectly healed of her affliction.” Spiritual experiences such as this, coupled with their desire to fulfill biblical prophecy, impelled the Saints to complete the Salt Lake Temple.

“I grew up in Mormon country, but I never heard of the Mormons except maybe one time,” said Elder Hartman Rector, Jr., a convert to the Church. “I grew up in Missouri, and one day as my mother and I were driving over to Huntsville, the county seat, I saw a couple of mounds in a field. We were traveling about twenty-five miles an hour in a Model T Ford, so I had time to look around. I asked my mother what those mounds were. She said she thought that they were the graves of two Mormons who had died moving through the country years ago. I didn’t know what a Mormon was, and she didn’t say anything more about them. That was the only time, as a boy, that I ever heard the term Mormon.
“My home in Moberly was up on a hill,” Elder Rector remembered, “and a creek that ran about fifty yards below it formed a swimming hole. Everyone learned to swim in that creek. We called it the Old Well.
“I was the only boy in a family of three children, and I was spoiled. My grandmother saw to that. Her name was Lucy Ellen Mason, and she would save marshmallows for me. Back in those days, before plastic packaging, marshmallows in an open package would turn as hard as rocks. I still love hard marshmallows.
“My grandmother was very religious. I would spend a whole week with her before school started, and every night we would go to revival meetings (something like the meetings Joseph Smith went to before he prayed in the Sacred Grove to find out about the true Church). She would also read the Bible to me as I sat on her lap.
“My father never joined the Church. But I guess he’s about as honest and honorable a man as I’ve ever known. If he gave you his word, you never had cause to question it. He was a stern disciplinarian. When he told me that I had to do something, then I knew I had to do it.
“When I was about seven, Dad sort of hoodwinked me into milking cows. He said, ‘You’re not big enough to milk the cows.’
“Well, I knew I was big enough to milk them, so I said, ‘Of course, I can milk them.’ I got up early, got the bucket, and went out and milked the cows.
“My dad then said, ‘I believe you can milk the cows. You’ve got the job!’ For the next dozen years I milked eight to twelve cows each night and morning.
“Dad was a lot smarter than I was. One day I said to him, ‘I don’t want to milk cows.’ He replied, ‘That’s OK. You don’t have to want to. … as long as you do it.’
“My dad loved to play baseball, and I loved baseball too. I was sure I was going to pitch for the St. Louis Cardinals, and I might have done it, too, if the war hadn’t come along. As a result, I went into the service. Although I hate war, the Fourth of July and what it stands for always gives me a thrill. I have the strongest feeling for my country’s flag. I can’t see it pass by without getting a lump in my throat. I considered it a tremendous privilege to serve my country in the military.
“My mother was a sweet, wonderful woman who really loved my father. Their example had a great effect on me. I wanted to live like that; I thought it was the only way to live. It was quite a shock when I got out into the world and discovered that their relationship was rare.
“Sunday was a day spent visiting our relatives. My dad’s sister, Aunt Lila (whom I baptized in 1955, the only other member of my family who has joined the Church), had four children. My three boy cousins were practically my brothers. In fact, one of them came to live with us for a year and went to junior college with me. He even helped with the milking!
“I loved school. There were only thirteen pupils in my little school. They didn’t teach all eight grades each year, but alternated certain grades. They double-promoted me twice, so I missed the second grade and the fifth grade completely. I went from that little school to a big junior high school with three hundred sixty students. I found that there were many things I didn’t know, and I really had to study hard. By the time I got to college, studying wasn’t at all difficult for me.”

Dear Topher,
I’m Cindy’s mother. You probably don’t know me. Or maybe you do, a little. Cindy most likely told you about her family in some of her letters. She’s told us a good deal about you.
Cindy passed away last week, Topher. She wanted me to tell you good-bye and that she would see you later. She said for you to work on your testimony every day because it will help make your trials much easier to bear. And you know what, Topher? It does. It does!
Write us when you can. We would like to keep in touch.
Love,
Cindy’s mom
Dear Cindy’s family,
I cried a lot when you told me about Cindy. Then, well, it’s hard to explain, but a warm feeling came over me. It felt like the sun when it pushes down through a bunch of dark, wet clouds. I know Cindy is happy, just as she said she would be. And what she said about you asking me to work on my testimony? Well, I am. I want one, too, so that when things get hard or confusing I can be strong—and happy, even when I’m sad.
I’ll write again soon.
Love,
Topher

The tools the Lord uses are diverse. He is not always going to speak to your mind or to your heart. If you want to know the truth, sometimes you act in confidence. This is known as indirect revelation. In time, the Lord will often directly share with you that you acted upon the truth.

Another story to illustrate this process. There was a time in which I participated in a hiring committee. I prayed to find the right person. Someone that needed the job and who could benefit my place of employment. A colleague had recommended someone to me. I told this person that the position would open in a few weeks, and I would let them know—and I promptly forgot to follow up. We opened the position, and we had gone through the entire process and had extended the offer. Just as the candidate accepted, my colleague stopped by my office. Knowing that I forgot about his recommendation, I felt awful. The conversation quickly changed when, with a smile on their face and they said, “I told you this candidate is great.” At that moment, the Spirit testified to me that we had hired the right person. I felt at rest.

What I noticed immediately as we entered the ice cave was how cold it was. And the farther we went into the cave, the darker and spookier it got. Surprisingly, despite the darkness and gloom of the cave, the time I spent there during a girls’ camp hike gave me a chance to think about the direction my life was taking. And I decided there were some things I wanted to change.
We soon reached an area where we had to climb over boulders to reach our destination. I thought about how those boulders are like my own personal obstacles. I found myself asking whether I climbed confidently and carefully over my problems, or if I struggle, as I was now doing, to get to the other side.
Lagging behind, I looked up and saw the lights of the girls in front of me, moving forward almost as if the rocks weren’t there. It seemed their faith was so strong that I felt a new burst of strength that carried me on.
When we reached the end of the cave, one of the leaders had us turn our flashlights off. When all was dark, it struck me that this cave might be like the place where Satan lives—cold and dark. I decided right then and there that I would set new goals to return to my Father in Heaven and live with my family for all eternity.
The lights came back on, and we all headed out. Toward the beginning of the cave, there was a hand-painted sign that read, “Remember This Place.” That, I decided, I would always do, for it had helped me want to do what’s right.

I would like to mention an experience to indicate what I think he meant when he said, “… unto him will I give power to bring forth my word … and not to the bringing forth my word only, … but to the convincing them of my word, which shall have already gone forth among them.”

While I was on my first mission in Holland, I was invited to speak to a Bible class of businessmen in The Hague. They met every week, holding a Bible class. We met in the home of a prominent furniture dealer; the only woman there was the daughter of the man of the house.

They invited me to speak for an hour and a half and explain our doctrine of universal salvation, which includes the work for the dead. I gave them chapter and verse and let them read these passages from their own Bibles so they would believe more completely, as they seemed to think we have a different Bible. Then I closed my Bible and laid it on the table, folded my arms, and waited for their comments.

The first comment came from the daughter of the man of the house. She said, “Father, I just can’t understand it. I have never attended one of these Bible classes in my life that you haven’t had the last word to say on everything, and tonight you haven’t said a word.”

The father shook his head and said, “My daughter, there isn’t anything to say.” He said, “This man has been teaching us things we have never heard of, and has been teaching them to us out of our own Bibles.”

That is what the Lord meant when he said that the prophet he would raise up would not only bring forth his word, but would bring men to the convincing of his word that had already gone forth among them.

You may be a modern mighty woman of Israel in the face of great tragedy. One such modern mighty woman of Israel is your age. She served as a missionary with us in Guatemala. She just finished her graduate degree and will soon be getting married. During our service in Guatemala, she and her companion were kidnapped. Heavenly Father would not let me share that difficult and miraculous experience with you today. However, the Spirit does allow me to quote one of the first things she stated upon her safe release: “We taught them [meaning the kidnappers] all of the lessons.”

She recently had to face the loss of her father in a tragic accident. After the accident, but before his passing, she told my wife and me that she knew Heavenly Father had prepared her to face hard things. In a humble and committed manner, she indicated that she was prepared and would valiantly face what Heavenly Father asked of her. Of course she wanted her dad to survive, yet she knew she was prepared to accept the will of Heavenly Father. She taught her mission president what it means to be a modern mighty woman of Israel.

I love President Gordon B. Hinckley very much. He called me to be a Seventy in 1990. I was the first Chilean called as a General Authority. It was a beautiful moment in my life. However, when I was called, I didn’t speak any English. President Hinckley, who was then First Counselor in the First Presidency, blessed me when he set me apart that I would learn English quickly.
I have two gifts that helped me to learn English quickly. My first gift is a good memory. That has been my salvation in many jobs. The other gift is my persistence. If I have a job to do, I work and work at it until it’s done. When I began to learn English at age fifty-two, I studied it five hours a day, when I had time. I listened to audio tapes every morning, then studied grammar for an hour, which was difficult for me. After that, I read the conference talks in English and listened to them on tape at the same time. I memorized about ten new vocabulary words per day. Then I read aloud in English to practice pronunciation, and I listened to English on an international news station so that I could test my understanding of what was said.
Six months after being called as a General Authority, I prepared intensely for giving my first general conference talk in English. My talk was on the Word of Wisdom.
I have had experiences with seven prophets of the Church, from President David O. McKay until now. They have all been great leaders. Now it is a blessing for the Church to have the presence of President Hinckley. It is easy to love him and to express our love to him. He is very warm with us, and he loves us.
I am grateful for all you marvelous children in the Church, and I ask you to follow Jesus Christ, our beloved Leader.

His contribution to the Reader’s Digest, where he casts himself as the sailor, reads in part:
“The Right Time at Home:
“One evening in Albany, New York, I asked a sailor what time it was. He pulled out a huge watch and replied, ‘It’s 7:20.’ I knew it was later. ‘Your watch has stopped, hasn’t it?’ I asked.
“‘No,’ he said, ‘I’m still on Mountain Standard Time. I’m from southern Utah. When I joined the Navy, Pa gave me this watch. He said it’d help me remember home.
“‘When my watch says 5 a.m. I know Dad is rollin’ out to milk the cows. And any night when it says 7:30 I know the whole family’s around a well-spread table, and Dad’s thankin’ God for what’s on it and askin’ Him to watch over me … ,’ he concluded. ‘I can find out what time it is where I am easy enough. What I want to know is what time it is in Utah.’”

After the sacrament, Sister Stevens, a recently returned missionary, gave the first talk.

“One day, about halfway through my mission, I was having a really bad day,” Sister Stevens said. “Nothing was going right.”

“Fortunately,” Sister Stevens continued, “my companion wouldn’t let me stay in a bad mood. She suggested that we make a gratitude list. We listed all kinds of things, like peanut butter, soft beds, and letters from home.”

“By the end of the day, I’d forgotten why I had been in a bad mood,” Sister Stevens said. “It was the best day my companion and I had ever had. We decided to make a gratitude list every day.”

How blessed we are to be led by a living prophet! Growing up during the Great Depression, President Thomas S. Monson learned how to serve others. Often his mother asked him to deliver food to needy neighbors, and she would give homeless men odd jobs in exchange for home-cooked meals. Later as a young bishop, he was taught by President J. Reuben Clark, “Be kind to the widow and look after the poor” (see Thomas S. Monson, in Conference Report, Apr. 1986, 79; or Ensign, May 1986, 62). President Monson looked after 84 widows and cared for them until they passed away. Through the years, his service to members and neighbors throughout the world has become the hallmark of his ministry. We are grateful to have his example. Thank you, President Monson.

As you know, President Monson absolutely loves Canada. He considers himself part Canadian. The Canadian Saints consider him to be their own, too. This was very evident in May 2010, when he traveled to Vancouver, British Columbia to dedicate the temple there. The night before the dedication, a youth cultural celebration was held in a local ice hockey arena. This gathering began as a regular Church meeting with song and prayer.

Instead of singing the hymn on the program, President Monson directed that the congregation sing the national anthem, "O, Canada!" The crowd, including some 2,000 youth, erupted into cheers! As he got up to speak, President Monson gently touched the lapel pin on his suit coat and the Canadian Maple Leaf flag began to flash red and white! The arena went wild! The youth had made two huge cards for him with their greetings. When he held one of them up to show his appreciation, once again total pandemonium from the youth!

While striving to live the gospel as a single adult, it can be hard not to focus on certain areas of our lives that we wish were different. Sometimes it feels like we hit a plateau in our progress. For me, those feelings of being stuck in certain areas seem to ebb and flow, and they can accompany me over days, months, and gradually even years. I’ve always had many reasons to be happy and feel good about life, but at one point, this stuck feeling hit me particularly hard.
During that time, my teenage nephew asked to spend time with me. He recognized a need for goals in his life and asked for advice. I didn’t necessarily feel I was in a position of strength to offer great wisdom, but I listened. I knew I could “cry unto” God for help (see Alma 34:17–27) and prayed to be able to say something meaningful for him. In response, I remembered Luke 2:52: “Jesus increased in wisdom and stature, and in favour with God and man.”
As I strived to focus on my nephew’s needs instead of my own, something started to change in me. My nephew and I talked about how Christ grew spiritually, socially, physically, and intellectually and so could we. Although my nephew’s needs differed from mine, these four areas of growth were pertinent to both of us. While talking about this scripture, I realized it was answering my own questions about how to get unstuck.
Although my nephew’s needs differed from mine, these four areas of growth were pertinent to both of us.
When I strived to grow as the Savior grew, my focus changed, and that change brought additional blessings. As President Russell M. Nelson said, “The joy we feel has little to do with the circumstances of our lives and everything to do with the focus of our lives.”1 My efforts to grow more like Jesus Christ helped draw attention away from circumstances that had consumed my focus and redirect it to areas I could productively work on. I was able to move from inward contemplation to outward action.
I earnestly considered how I might grow in each area mentioned in Luke 2:52, from more consistently attending the temple to completing a long bike race.
Photograph of Memphis Tennessee Temple by James Whitney Young
In each area of my goals, I made some observations:
While working on one goal, I frequently felt Christ strengthen me spiritually, socially, physically, and intellectually all within that single goal.
Rarely, if at all, did any goal happen in isolation from the other areas of growth—they seemed to affect and build on each other. Improvement in one area led to improvement in all other areas. Neglecting any area likewise affected all other areas. I realized that each area deserves attention.
Almost every goal included other people—either learning from them or sharing thoughts and experiences with them—and deepened our relationships.
I continually have the opportunity to see and be inspired by growth in others, and I hope I can do the same for them. I recently spoke with a single friend who feels stuck and frustrated with some life circumstances. I listened to understand, and then I was able to share experiences that helped me and also point each area of growth back to the Savior.
While not all areas of life that had left me feeling stuck years ago have changed, I have changed as I’ve learned to focus more on the Savior and strive to grow like Him. As President Nelson shared, “There are many things we can control. We set our own priorities and determine how we use our energy, time, and means. … We choose those to whom we will turn for truth and guidance.”2 Whatever our circumstances, the areas of growth in Luke 2:52 can help us change our focus and find additional joy and progress through Heavenly Father and the Savior.
The Children and Youth Program—for All Ages
With the same focus on following the Savior’s pattern for growth in Luke 2:52, the Children and Youth program can provide a helpful structure for drawing closer to Christ at all ages. Find resources at childrenandyouth.ChurchofJesusChrist.org and in “Strive to Be—a Pattern for Growth and Mental and Emotional Wellness” (Liahona, Aug. 2021, 12–15).
The author lives in Tennessee, USA.

The whole LeGault family makes it a practice to try to live close to the Spirit. Shortly after Brother LeGault was praying for help in finding someone to share the gospel with, he was prompted to turn off the main highway to stop at a gasoline station, even though he didn’t need gasoline. A young man riding a motorcycle had stopped there because he was tired of traveling. Brother LeGault offered to put the motorcycle in his van and take the young man to Montreal.
The young man was impressed by the kindness he received and wanted to know more about the LeGault family and what made them so loving. He took the missionary lessons. The LeGault family prayed that the young man would gain a testimony. A few weeks later, he was baptized into the Church.
“When something like that happens, we make it a family activity,” says Chantal. “We all prayed for the young man to listen to the truth. We work together to share the gospel.”
“We try to say to our Heavenly Father, ‘I’ll do what you want; make me what you want,’” says Nathalie. “When we let him do that, he does wonderful things.”

I would like to start by sharing an experience from the life of President Joseph F. Smith, sixth President of the Church: Joseph F. Smith was raised in a single-parent home. His father, Hyrum, was martyred at Carthage Jail with the Prophet Joseph Smith. Little Joseph F. was only six years old at the time.

Years later, at the age of 19, Joseph F. Smith was returning home from a mission with a group of other missionaries. His wagon-train journey took him through a dangerous area where enemies of the Church had vowed to kill the Mormons.

I quote now from a biography of President Smith:
“One day after the little company of wagons had . . . made their camp, a company of drunken men rode into the camp on horseback, cursing and swearing and threatening to kill any ‘Mormons’ that came within their path. . . . Some of the brethren when they heard them coming had cautiously gone into the brush down the creek, out of sight. . . . Joseph F. was a little distance from the camp gathering wood for the fire when these men rode up. When he saw them, he said, his first thought was to do what the other brethren had done, and seek shelter in the trees and in flight. Then the thought came to him, ‘Why should I run from these fellows?’ With that thought in mind he boldly marched up with his arms full of wood to the campfire. As he was about to deposit his wood, one of the ruffians, still with his pistols in his hands and pointing at the youthful Elder, and cursing as only a drunken rascal can, declaring that it was his duty to exterminate every ‘Mormon’ he should meet, demanded in a loud, angry voice, ‘Are you a “Mormon”?’

“Without a moment of hesitation and looking the ruffian in the eye, Joseph F. Smith boldly answered, ‘Yes, siree; dyed in the wool; true blue, through and through.’

“The answer was given boldly and without any sign of fear, which completely disarmed the belligerent man, and in his bewilderment, he grasped the missionary by the hand and said: ‘Well, you are the —— —— pleasantest man I ever met! Shake, young fellow, I am glad to see a man that stands up for his convictions.’

“Joseph F. [Smith] said in later years that he fully expected to receive the charge from this man’s pistols, but he could take no other course even though it seemed that his death was to be the result.”

“Let’s not sit by the Wilsons today,” Paul said to his mom as they drove to church.
“Why not?” Mom seemed surprised.
“Because their little boy embarrasses me.”
“You mean cute little Joseph? How does he embarrass you?”
“Haven’t you heard him? He’s so loud, especially during the hymns. He thinks he’s singing, but he’s just making noise.”
Mom smiled. “Ah, yes, I have heard him. I’ll tell you what, you listen very carefully to him today and think about what you hear. And next week, if his singing still bothers you, we’ll sit somewhere else.”
Paul frowned. “That means we’ll have to sit by the Wilsons today.”
“That’s right. But after today the problem should be solved. OK?”
“OK,” Paul sighed.
When they entered the chapel, Paul looked around until he spotted the Wilsons. They were just settling onto a bench. Joseph already had his nose in a hymnbook.
“There’s a seat just in front of them,” Mom pointed out. “Let’s go.”
As Paul sat down, Joseph put down his book and grinned at him. Paul couldn’t help smiling back. Joseph did have a special sparkle in his eyes. If only he weren’t so noisy.
After the bishop’s greeting, it was time for the opening hymn. Paul was still looking for the correct page in the hymnbook when the music began. Joseph began to wail so loudly that Paul could hardly hear the organ playing.
Paul looked at Mom and silently mouthed, “See?”
Mom smiled and mouthed back, “Listen.”
Paul listened. Joseph sang very loudly, but he wasn’t singing what everyone else was singing. When the rest of the congregation paused between verses, Joseph’s voice could still be heard. It just sounded like noise to Paul. Why couldn’t Joseph sing the right words or at least sing at the right times? Paul glanced back at the Wilsons. Joseph held open the hymnbook for his parents. They didn’t seem to notice the awful racket he was making.
After the opening prayer, Mom opened her scriptures and pointed out a verse to Paul. It was in Psalms 66:1–2 and it read, “Make a joyful noise unto God, all ye lands: Sing forth the honour of his name: make his praise glorious.”
“‘Joyful noise’? Was that what Joseph was doing?” Paul wondered.
When it came time to sing the sacrament hymn, Paul was halfway through the song when he realized he couldn’t hear Joseph. Had he fallen asleep? Paul glanced back and saw Joseph sitting between his parents with his arms folded. Joseph’s father held the book for them. Paul tilted his head and listened carefully. Was Joseph making any noise at all? Yes, now he could hear him. He was humming. He wasn’t humming the same song everyone else was singing, but it was a reverent tune. Joseph somehow knew that this was the time for a quiet song. Paul tried to sing with more reverence.
Paul was glad there was another hymn during the meeting. This would give him another opportunity to hear Joseph sing. And sing he did! This was more like a “wake-up” hymn to Joseph. He held the hymnbook high again and sang with gusto. Paul suddenly realized that Joseph probably didn’t sing the words because he wasn’t old enough to read, but he didn’t let that stop him. Paul wondered if he would be so brave if he couldn’t read the words in the hymnbook. Would he be able to sing with as much enthusiasm as Joseph?
After that hymn, Paul’s mother showed him another scripture: “For my soul delighteth in the song of the heart; yea, the song of the righteous is a prayer unto me, and it shall be answered with a blessing upon their heads” (D&C 25:12). Paul nodded. Joseph’s singing certainly was from his heart.
Paul made one more discovery during the closing hymn. Joseph wasn’t just making noise or making up words, he was actually singing the words to a song. Paul listened carefully and heard “I Am a Child of God.” Of course, everyone else was singing something else. When the congregation began singing the last verse, Joseph launched into “Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam.” Paul smiled to himself. This was Joseph’s time to sing, too. And he was singing every song he could think of, with all his might.
When the last notes on the organ faded away, Joseph’s voice could be clearly heard as he ended his song with “I’ll be a sunbeam for Him.” Many people chuckled. Paul heard Joseph’s mom whisper to Joseph, “Prayer time.” There was a rustle as Joseph shifted in his seat and folded his arms.
When the prayer was over, Paul’s mom looked at Paul and raised her eyebrows. “Well?” she asked. “Is there still a problem?”
Paul shook his head. He turned to the Wilsons. “Hey, Joseph,” Paul said, “can I walk you to Primary? I bet they love you in singing time.”
Joseph grinned and nodded as he took Paul’s hand. As they walked down the aisle, Paul started quietly humming a Primary song that had just come to his mind, “A song is a wonderful kind of thing, so lift up your voice and sing. …”

Next point: I would hope that you and I would develop the faith that brings constructive, concrete action. Some years ago there lived in the South, in fact in the state of Mississippi, a teenage Negro boy. This young boy was Len Hope. I’m sure many of you are familiar with this story. Len Hope read the Bible, and he believed it. He read in the Bible that one could receive the gift of the Holy Ghost. He went to his minister and said, “I want you to give me the gift of the Holy Ghost.”

His minister said, “Len, I’m sorry, but I don’t know how to give this great gift.” He went to another minister. This minister tried to persuade him that there was no such thing as the gift of the Holy Ghost. He said it was only available in the times of the apostles of old. Well, Len Hope was determined to receive this gift, so one morning early he left the shack of his sharecropper family and walked some miles distant, where he found an old abandoned farm house. He went down into the basement. The windows were broken out, it was very dirty, but he was alone. And there this young man knelt in humble prayer, pleading with God Almighty to shed forth upon him this great gift. He prayed all through the day—you’re familiar with the experience of Enos—and when the night came he still prayed. He cried unto God that he would bless him with this gift of the Holy Ghost. He prayed through the night, and during the night there was a great rainstorm in that area. The water descended upon that house, poured in the broken windows of that basement, and Len Hope knelt waist deep in mud and water, pleading for God to bless him with the gift of the Holy Ghost. Then there came a voice to this young boy telling him, “Len, this isn’t how you receive the Holy Ghost, but if you will return home and remain true and faithful, the way will be opened for you to receive this gift.” So he started his trek back home.

The previous afternoon, when Len had been engaged in prayer, two young representatives of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints were walking along a dusty country road. At a given point one elder said to his companion, “I feel strongly impressed that we should go down this road here.” His companion wanted to know why, but he didn’t know why. They went down the road and saw in the middle of a field this old shack, and they approached the shack. As I understand the story, Len Hope’s mother came out onto the porch. She wanted to know what these two white boys wanted. She hadn’t seen white boys out in that area before. The one elder said, “Do you have a young teenage son? Is he at home?”

“No, he isn’t here.”

“When he returns,” the elder said, “give him this.” (He handed her a pamphlet.) They left.

The next morning when Len Hope returned home, his mother was worried sick about him. She saw him muddy and wet and wanted to know where he had been. She asked him to change clothes, and after he had done so, she said, “While you were gone yesterday two white boys came. They asked me to give you this.” She handed him a pamphlet entitled “The Gift of the Holy Ghost.” The name of the Church was written on the tract, as were the names and address of the Elders. Len Hope contacted those missionaries, was taught the gospel, and was baptized. Some years later he converted his girl friend, and she was baptized. They moved to Cincinnati, Ohio, and there raised their family. Finally they moved to Salt Lake City. This is the faith that causes something to happen. Lack of faith brings blindness and hardness of heart, so said Moroni, but the demonstration of great faith enables one to tap the very power of God (see Ether 4:14–15).

For Paul Allen and Jeanine Bryan, the Junior Life Guard program is even more than that. It’s a ticket to Australia, where they’ll participate in junior guard competition with the teams down under.
Paul and Jeanine are members of the elite “Captains,” the highest level in the junior guard program, which is divided into groups based on age and ability. The top members of the program were chosen, based on their athletic ability and citizenship, to make up the Junior Guard Educational Exchange—the 16-member group traveling to Australia.
To be Captains, Jeanine and Paul had to be at least 14 years old; be certified by the Red Cross in standard first aid, CPR, and personal safety; swim around the pier, battling waves and currents, in less than 15 minutes; be able to complete a two-mile beach run in under 15 minutes; and swim a mile in less than 30 minutes, to name a few of the requirements.
There are no exceptions made for Jeanine because she is a female. She must meet the same demands as Paul.
For Paul, the junior guard program could also provide a way to finance his mission. If he is good enough, he can work as a lifeguard during the summer after he turns 17. He’s planning to put the money he makes in a mission fund.
Of course, the youth in the junior guard program don’t spend all their time conditioning. Sometimes they listen to lectures on lifesaving techniques, and they receive complete training in cardiopulmonary resuscitation and first aid. Then there are the games, which include relays, tugs-of-war, water tag, Red Rover, and many more.
They also learn about the tides, waves, and basic beach training. “My kids are safer at the beach than I am,” says Caroline Allen, who has two sons and a daughter in the program. “They really know what to do. They can stand out on the shore, watch the waves, and say ‘Look Mom, there’s a riptide out there.’”
They learn from practical experience once they become Captains. They spend two hours, every other day, assisting the full-time lifeguards in the tower. “If a lifeguard goes out on a rescue, we’re supposed to go out there with him,” says Paul, who says he’s used prayer more than once to help him battle the waves.
Gospel teachings, in fact, have helped many of the LDS youth involved in junior guards. In order to be selected for the Australia trip, Paul and Jeanine had to go through a series of interviews, and their Church interview experience was a great asset, they said.
Paul, who earned his Eagle Scout Award two summers ago, says that the leadership training he received at Church has helped him too. He talks about the time when the Captains were in charge of doing the cooking for a hot-dog roast held for the junior guards and their families. The Captains were responsible for feeding about 7,000 people in all. “My Church experience really helped me to work with people and helped me know how to suggest to people what to do and when to do it,” he said.
Likewise, the junior guard program has been known to help the youth with their Church work. Just ask Bruce Johnston, of the Fountain Valley First Ward, Huntington Beach Stake. Bruce was involved in the junior guard program and later served in the Italy Catania Mission. He is now a junior guard instructor. “The program helped me with my mission preparation because it was very discipline oriented, just like the mission field. It stressed the importance of obeying rules.”
“It also gives you a sense of self-confidence, by helping you know that you can accomplish something that’s really hard for you,” said Jeanine.
One of the hardest things the Captains accomplished last summer was a 24-mile run, swim, run. They started by scrambling over the rocks and through the tide pools of Laguna Beach, dived into the ocean and swam across a cove, then ran to the Newport Jetty and crossed it together so they’d be highly visible to the boats that also cross. On the other side of the jetty, they ran to the Balboa Pier and swam around it. Then they hustled over the sand to the Newport pier, where they swam out to a buoy, rather than around the pier. There are so many fishermen casting lines off the Newport Pier that the swimmers would be sure to get tangled in them. From then on, it was a clean break across the beach to home territory. Once they hit Huntington Beach they swam around the pier, and the marathon was over.
Paul finished about a half hour ahead of everyone else, possibly thanks to his workouts with the Marina High swim team, where he was voted most valuable swimmer as a junior. Or maybe it was his experience on the cross-country team that helped.
But, he adds, following the Word of Wisdom doesn’t hurt either. “Since I don’t drink or smoke, I feel clean,” he says. “I don’t have bad lungs, so I can keep running and swimming and be in good shape.”
On almost every coast in the country, LDS youth are staying in good shape via similar lifeguard programs, and there’s even a program based at a lake in Idaho. On occasion, the groups come together for competition.
That’s another point the kids like about the program. “You get to meet all sorts of people and make new friends,” says Alison Brown, 14, of the Huntington Beach Sixth Ward, Huntington Beach North Stake.
Each swimmer probably has a different reason for joining, but they all come out with one thing in common, according to Coach Eich. “Respect is the key word,” he says. “We try to teach them respect for the ocean, respect for the environment, and respect for themselves.”
All that, plus sand, surf, and sun? Not only are these kids spending their long summer hours learning how to save lives, but they’re saving a summerful of memories as well.

When I asked Elder Werker to tell me about himself, I found out he had worked for his father.
“What business?”
“Construction.”
“Was it hard work?”
“Dad expected us to go to work as soon as it was light enough to see, and to work until the job was finished or until it was too dark to see.”
“Do you think you’ll have to work that hard here?”
“I don’t think I should work any less for the Lord than I do for my father. Do you?”
The answer was obvious.
Four or five weeks later at a zone conference, Elder Werker’s companion, who was a hard worker too, said, “President, how long do I have to train Elder Werker? The pace is killing me!”
By the end of his mission, Elder Werker had helped bring 56 people into the Church.
Elder Werker had something in common with a lot of successful missionaries. He came into the mission field with a knowledge of work. He knew what it meant to keep going even when he was tired or discouraged. He would stick with a job until it was completed.

Lisa soaked in the coolness of the dewy morning air as she walked down the winding lane. She knew she should be exhausted. Yesterday she and her mother had left their home in Utah. They had flown to Chicago, then on to Manchester, England. The trip had taken 16 hours. Aunt Enid met them in Manchester and drove them the three hours to the old farm house at Bwlchycibau, Wales.
As they had neared the small village, her aunt had slowed the car down and said, “That’s the churchyard where your grandparents are buried, Lisa,” pointing to the left. Looking out the window, Lisa saw a church spire above a grey stone wall. As they rounded the corner she noticed a small wooden gate.
She hadn’t had time to think any more. There had been cases to unload, cousins to meet, a farm house to explore, and finally the bliss of lying in bed for much overdue sleep.
It wasn’t quite dawn when she awoke. She knew that she should still be asleep, but her body was on Utah time and no amount of mental persuasion could entice sleep back once it had fled. She heard voices and peeked out of the small dormer window to see her uncle and oldest cousin Wynn heading off towards a building that she assumed was where the cows were milked.
She lay back on her pillow. A picture of the churchyard flashed into her mind. All at once, she knew that more than anything, she wanted to be alone for her first visit to Bwlchycibau churchyard.
Lisa stopped at the small wooden gate in the wall that she had noticed the night before. She realized as she reached for the latch that she was nervous. She had held back her feelings for many years, and now in a strange churchyard, half a world away from home, she was going to confront them.
She walked slowly down the well-worn path. On either side of her were gravestones, some lichen covered, others leaning slightly. Some stones were well cared for with small flower arrangements at their bases; others were totally neglected. She could imagine other girls, perhaps her own ancestors, walking down this same footpath.
She began meandering between the stones, looking for a familiar name: Williams, Roberts, Davies, Jones. It took awhile, but suddenly she read: “Mabel Jones, beloved wife of Arthur Jones 1917–1994.” Beside the purple slate stone was another: “Arthur Jones, beloved husband of Mabel Jones 1911–1968.” There was a copper bowl of yellow roses at the base of each grave. Her Aunt Enid had been here.
Lisa turned, sat down on an old tree stump nearby, then faced her grandmother’s grave. She said aloud, “Oh, Granny, I wish I had known you. Why did it have to be this way?”
She looked down and whispered, “I wish you had known that I am a good person and that Mum is happy. I don’t understand why you were so bitter. How could you hate me without even knowing me?”
Once she started, she couldn’t seem to stop talking. “When you have a testimony of the gospel like Mum does, you just can’t deny it. Her decision to join the Church was not made carelessly. She fasted and prayed about it many times because she knew it would be hard on you so soon after losing Grandpa. Even though she went away, Mum never stopped loving you or feeling bad for hurting you, Granny.”
Lisa paused. Her eyes filled with tears. “Why couldn’t you have just once acknowledged me? I know that Mum wrote and told you when I was born. We never heard anything. Weren’t you even curious about me? It was hard hearing all my friends talk about their grandmas. You were just an empty ache inside. I didn’t even know you, but I missed you so much.”
Lisa looked at the new gravestone and asked, “Did you get my letter last year? I wrote and told you that I was going to come and see you. I came, Granny. I came, but you didn’t wait.”
With that, Lisa’s whispered words ceased, and she let the tears run down her cheeks without wiping them away. She didn’t hear the quiet approach of a short, aging man in black until his dark robes brushed against her leg. She gasped, startled.
“Can I help you, child?” His soft Welsh accent was like music. Lisa stood, feeling a little foolish.
“You were sitting here for so long that I became anxious about you,” the man said. “Early morning in the churchyard can be quite chilly you know.”
Lisa managed a watery smile. “Oh, I’m fine. Really I am. But thank you for your concern. Are you the rector here?”
The clergyman peered at her perceptively, noting her deep blue eyes, still filled with tears. “That’s right, dear. I’m Reverend Lloyd. Been here at Bwlchycibau for well on 35 years now. Yes, indeed, I’ve seen a lot of people come and go in my time.
“You take this lady here now,” he continued in a comfortable tone, and gestured towards Lisa’s grandmother’s grave. “She was a very special lady. She lived her life quietly giving service to others. Yes, indeed, Mabel Jones is sorely missed by us all.” He sighed, a little sadly.
“What did she do?” Lisa asked, trying to hide her feverish desire to know more.
“Well,” said Reverend Lloyd, “it may be easier for me just to show you. Come with me.” He turned and led the way slowly to the church.
The cool, dark interior of the church was a shock after the bright light of morning outside. Lisa gazed around with interest. The wooden pews were polished to a shine. The stone floor and walls were cold, and every footfall echoed. At the front of the aisle was the altar, draped in a white lace cloth. All around the chapel were tall narrow stained-glass windows. Beams of multicolored light danced on the floor as the sunlight hit the beautiful glass.
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” exclaimed Lisa, instinctively lowering her voice to a whisper.
“I’m glad you think so, child,” Reverend Lloyd smiled briefly. Then he led Lisa to a pew halfway down the aisle.
“This is the Jones’s pew,” he said. “Mabel’s daughter Enid and her family still use this bench. A few years ago Mabel decided that her knees were getting too old to kneel on the stone floor, so she made herself a small cushion to kneel on.” He handed Lisa a rectangular pillow that was tucked under the pew. “It’s needlepoint, I believe.”
Lisa touched the delicate work. “It’s lovely,” she said quietly. She felt overwhelmed to be holding something her grandmother had made.
“Yes, that’s exactly what everyone in the congregation thought too. So during the next few winters, Mabel made one or two for every family at church. Each one is a little different, but all most beautiful.” Reverend Lloyd bent down and lifted another pillow from beneath the next bench and handed it to Lisa.
Lisa looked at the two works of art in her hands and wondered that aging hands could create such masterpieces. Reluctantly, she handed them back to the rector. He then guided Lisa towards a small door at the back of the chapel.
“When Reverend Price, my predecessor, first came here as a young rector, there was no village school for the children. A few of the wealthier families sent their children into Oswestry on the train to attend school, but most of the children went without formal instruction. Mabel married Arthur Jones about that time. She moved into Bwlch Farm and was soon involved in the community. It concerned her no end that all the young children here were illiterate. She approached Reverend Price to see if they could do something about it. This was what they came up with.”
Reverend Lloyd opened the thick wooden door into a small room containing one large wooden desk, a large old oak chair, and half a dozen small chairs and tables. On the wall were faded maps, pictures of wild animals, and the alphabet.
“For ten years this was the Bwlchycibau schoolroom. Mabel would come and teach the children of the village three mornings a week. She received no pay for it. She just did it because she saw a need. There are many farmers around here now who wouldn’t be reading if it weren’t for Mabel Jones.
“When the county finally built a school in the village and sent us a certified teacher, Mabel still stopped by once a week to read to the children. I think it was the highlight of the week for them all.”
Lisa let her eyes wander around the room as the rector spoke. She tried to imagine her grandmother reading to the young farm children. Suddenly, she realized that Reverend Lloyd had moved onto another subject.
“It’s strange, isn’t it?” he was saying.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Lisa asked apologetically.
“Well, it’s like I was saying,” said the rector, “Mabel Jones did so much Christian service that nobody ever thought she’d done anything she really regretted. But there was something. I only found out about it a few days before her death.”
Reverend Lloyd took Lisa by the arm and led her out of the schoolroom, closing the door behind him. They walked outside, and he motioned for her to sit beside him on the bench beneath the church porch.
“Mabel became ill a few days before her death. I went to see her. She was very weak but wanted to talk to me. She told me about her daughter, not Enid who lives at the farm now, but Mary, an older daughter who went away to America as a young girl. She married an American out there, and they had a daughter.”
The rector didn’t pause in his story as Lisa looked up in surprise and recognition. “Mabel had never seen that granddaughter. I believe when Mary left, there were some bad feelings. Anyway, over the years, Mabel had come to regret the things she’d said to Mary and wanted more than anything to see her again and meet Mary’s husband and daughter. But she didn’t know how to approach her. Then last year, she received a letter from her granddaughter saying that she and her mother were going to come and see Mabel the next year. Mabel was so pleased. She wanted to apologize face to face. She talked of all the things that she wanted to show her granddaughter. Most of all, she wanted that young lady to know that she loved her.
“I think Mabel knew she was going to leave us when I sat with her that day. She drew me close and made me look into those deep blue eyes of hers. Then she said, ‘Reverend, you promise me that if I’m not here when that young girl comes, you’ll find her and tell her what a fool her Gran was not to tell her that she loved her long ago. You tell her that I kept her baby picture that Mary sent right next to my bed where I could see it every morning and every evening. You tell her to grow up to be as fine a woman as her mother is. But most of all, you ask her to forgive me.’”
Her grandmother loved her! In some ways, it made her death harder to bear, but where there had once been emptiness and heartache, Lisa felt a warm glow of gratitude as she began to cry.
Reverend Lloyd covered Lisa’s hand in his. “Now, now child. It’s all right.”
“But, rector,” Lisa said, practically whispering. “I’m Mabel Jones’s granddaughter.”
The rector looked into her face. “You don’t have to tell me that, dear. Mabel Jones’s blue eyes are looking right back at me.” Then with a smile tugging at his lips, he added, “And you don’t talk like a Bwlchycibau native either.”
Lisa smiled at the kindly old man and said, “Thank you,” as they both stood and walked down the path through the churchyard.