Gospel Story Finder

I was so excited to tell Mom and Dad about Primary that I had a hard time sitting still in sacrament meeting. My mind kept wandering back to the story about the sons of Helaman in the Book of Mormon. Now I knew what I wanted to be for our neighborhood costume party this year—one of the two thousand stripling warriors! I just hoped that Mom could make my costume. I kept imagining how cool I would look with a big gold shield and arm bands like the young men in the picture.
On the way home, I told Mom and Dad about my idea. My sister started to laugh, but I didn’t care. At school recess the next day, when I told my friend Jacob about my costume, we got into an argument because he wanted to be one of the sons of Helaman too. Then we decided that it’d be great if we dressed alike.
After school, the guys I play baseball with heard us talking about it and wanted to be stripling warriors, too—and lots of them weren’t even members of the Church! I knew my dad would be happy to hear that I’d been talking about the Book of Mormon with my friends, but I was a little nervous about telling my mom that I had volunteered her to make all the costumes! Fortunately, when they heard about it, the other moms volunteered to help make the costumes.
That night in family home evening, we talked about the two thousand sons of Helaman. At first I thought it was just a coincidence, but during the lesson, I realized that Mom and Dad wanted me to see that there was more to the story than handsome young men with shields and weapons and fighting. I guess I missed the important part in Primary because I was thinking about my costume. I was impressed that night not only by their courage in defending their country and religion and families but also because they had listened to their mothers and were obedient to the things that were taught to them.
As I lay in bed that night, I realized that I could be like one of Helaman’s sons by being obedient to my parents and keeping the commandments. One of the things Mom and Dad had always taught me was to be kind and to serve others. I knew that it was just as important for me to serve those around me as it was for the sons of Helaman to fight for their freedom. And I had an idea.
The next day at school I told Jacob what I wanted to do. He looked at me a little weird at first, but then decided it was a pretty good idea. At recess we all got together and made our plan.
It was fun for all of us to wear our costumes to the neighborhood party. But the best part was after school the next day. We put on our costumes again, but this time our weapons were rakes and brooms and garbage bags. We raked leaves and swept driveways and porches in our neighborhood. We were an army of second graders, “fighting” with love and service. The neighbors watched us out their windows with smiles on their faces. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a good time.

My testimony today is one of gratitude.
At a family gathering a few nights ago, we discussed the fact that today is the anniversary of our mother’s birth.
I thought that night how much the generations owe each other, how much we learn from each other, how we should love and appreciate each other. One of mother’s grandsons said he had watched with wonderment as his tiny daughter paged through her storybook, moistening her first finger to turn the pages as she had seen her daddy do as he read his books. Actually, she was moistening the finger on her left hand and turning the pages with the finger on her right hand! But that only served to emphasize both the power of example and the fact that she, like all the rest of us, is yet learning.
As I observed two of our lovely grown daughters that night an incident from the past came to mind that forms the burden of my brief message today. I still think of it with a tendency to tears. Another little girl had joined our family and was of course much loved. Occasionally I had called her older sister “Princess,” but had thought about that, and, since the second young lady was equally deserving of royal treatment, had concluded that it would be well for her to share the title, if it were used at all.
So one day I called to her, “Come on, Princess. Let’s go to the store for mother.” She seemed not to hear. “Honey,” her mother said, “daddy is calling you.”
“Oh,” she answered, with a quiet sadness that hurt my heart, “he doesn’t mean me.”
In memory I can still see the resignation on her innocent child face and hear it in her voice, when she thought that her father didn’t mean her.

I have learned this truth through a personal experience that, though seemingly insignificant, left a lasting impression on me. At the age of 22, while serving in the French Air Force in Paris, I was thrilled to learn that Elder Neal A. Maxwell, an Apostle of the Lord, would be speaking at a conference on the Champs-Élysées. However, just before the event, I received orders to drive a senior officer to the airport at the exact time the conference was set to take place.

I was disappointed. But determined to attend, I dropped the officer off and rushed to the conference. After finding a parking spot, I sprinted down the Champs-Élysées to the meeting place and arrived breathless with only five minutes left before the meeting ended. Just as I entered, I heard Elder Maxwell say, “I will now give you an apostolic blessing.” In that instant, I had a beautiful, unforgettable spiritual experience. I was overcome by the Spirit, and the words of the blessing seemed to penetrate every fiber of my soul as though they were meant just for me.

What I experienced that day was a small yet powerful manifestation of a comforting aspect of God’s plan for His children: When circumstances beyond our control prevent us from fulfilling the righteous desires of our hearts, the Lord will compensate in ways that allow us to receive His promised blessings.

Here I am, the Freckled Wonder, starting another year at Madsen High. I say “another year” to distinguish myself from the younger set, who look incredibly lost and frightened. Was I that bad last year? As usual, anyone new who met me today said, “Hey, I’ll bet everybody calls you Freckles!” If anyone ever says, “Hey, I’ll bet everyone calls you Gorgeous,” I’ll be his slave forever.
The particular anyone I referred to earlier—the one who made the strikingly original remark about the freckles—is Dave Johnson, class president. If he hadn’t made that remark about the freckles, I think I would be interested in him. He’s handsome even with glasses, which he wears part-time. Reminds me of Richard O’Neal, my childhood (last year’s) hero.
Ever hear of Miss Frodjam’s Freckle Ointment, guaranteed to “lighten or totally remove unsightly freckles and facial blemishes forever”? Neither had I, until this afternoon in the library. Shelly handed me a moldy-looking book from a top shelf somewhere—Miss Gordon’s Modern Book of Beauty, Charm, and Etiquette. Needless to say, the book was actually written shortly after the Stone Age. I browsed through it awhile, not really studying anything in great detail, when suddenly, surrounded by recipes for homemade cold cream (where on earth would a person buy rose water?) and hand lotion (worse yet, wool fat?), there was the recipe for Miss Frodjam’s Freckle Ointment.
“What a riot!” Shelly said to me as she wrinkled her smooth, unfreckled nose. “A girl would really have to be desperate to try a weird concoction like that!”
“How would Shelly know?” I thought as I carefully memorized the ingredients and amounts, trying meanwhile to look mildly amused. Shelly would laugh for a week if she knew that I went straight home and mixed one tablespoon of lemon juice, two tablespoons of vinegar, and one-half cup of flour “or enough to make a smooth, moist paste.”
Well, I was just stirring up my smooth, moist paste—and incidentally, the kitchen was beginning to smell like a pickle factory—when I heard voices and realized it was too late to hide. Voice Number One, of course, was Kevin, winner of the year’s Most-Obnoxious-Big-Brother Award.
“Gee,” he said, sniffing the aroma, “I’m glad you fixed me something good to snack on, Keri. I’m just dying (here he rolled his eyes desperately) of hunger.”
Voice Number Two then made his appearance in the kitchen. If I could have died on the spot, I would have.
“Oh, hi Dave,” I croaked feebly.
He grinned his handsome Richard O’Neal grin and asked, “Been taking cooking lessons? Smells like a real treat.”
What could I say? Why on earth did dear old Kevin pick this day, of all days of the year, to suddenly become great friends with Dave Johnson? They don’t have a thing in common other than their student government positions, debate team, and, of course, basketball. Dave is the school’s star center and Kevin is the star benchwarmer. I now noticed a basketball under Dave’s right arm. So that was what brought them together.
“Planning to really knock the team over dead this year, Kevin?” I asked, hoping to change the subject. Kevin blushed slightly and couldn’t think of a good comeback.
“I hate to ask, but what is it?” said Dave, pointing to my dish of smooth, moist paste.
“I have a rare disease and it calls for a special diet.” I was trying to be funny.
Kevin’s next act deserves the award for Putdown of the Year.
“Miss Frodjam’s Freckle Ointment,” he read solemnly and eloquently from the notebook on the counter. I had completely forgotten about that notebook. I wanted to sink into nonexistence. He went on to read the ingredients with great flourish, adding a few choice remarks like, “A touch of bat liver improves the quality of the ointment considerably!” and “Incidentally, if this doesn’t land the man of your dreams, Madame Butterball’s Diet Salve certainly will!”
I probably would have laughed if I hadn’t been so close to crying. I’ll bet Dave thinks I’m really out to lunch. What could I do? I whisked my smooth, moist paste to the opposite end of the kitchen, returned with the cookie jar, and disappeared to my room. It wasn’t too long before they were totally engrossed in devouring Mom’s home-baked chocolate chip cookies. From my room I could hear them chuckling. See if I loyally cheer for good old Kevin when he makes his one basket for the year.
I am not only desperate about those freckles, I’m determined. I have launched forth on Miss Frodjam’s program for freckle removal. I think it may work better than my past attempts with cover cosmetics, sun lamps, and zinc oxide.
Last night, in spite of the extreme humiliation of being discovered, I stubbornly smeared the paste all over my freckled face and then held very still while it dried to a stiff crust. The book said to leave it on four to six hours, so I went to bed looking and feeling like an Egyptian mummy. All night I had awful dreams about being encased in cement from head to toe.
But this morning when I woke up and rushed right in to wash the stuff off, my freckles—believe it or not—actually did look one-tenth of a shade lighter. I think.
I saw Dave Johnson in the hall today, but he didn’t say anything. Well, he said hi or something. But then what could he say after being a participant in the most embarrassing moment of my life? I suppose it is beneath his dignity anyway to speak to the star benchwarmer’s freckle-faced kid sister. I don’t care.
I guess tonight I’ll try Miss Frodjam’s miracle wonder paste again. It’s not that much fun, but if the treatment works, it will be worth it.
One solid week and seven applications of Miss Frodjam’s Freckle Ointment. The results are far from striking, to say the least. I am about ready to give up. People are beginning to sniff and look baffled when I walk by. However, my freckles are now two-tenths of a shade lighter. I think.
But the crowning blow to my ego came tonight. I was in the kitchen mixing up my smooth, moist paste when Kevin and Dave strolled in, complete with Dave’s basketball again. They were grinning I might add. This week Dave has hardly noticed me, although I’ve seen him at least a hundred times at school. This fact made the moment of our meeting especially poignant.
“Here she is—Miss Freckles,” announced Kevin. “Having great success, I suppose, with your bat liver ointment?”
I ignored him—or rather glared at him—and turned to Dave to offer him the cookie jar.
“Hi, Keri.” That was all Dave said. That was it. His entire speech—two words. He could have at least laughed, or made some remark. But he just popped a cookie into his mouth, turned to Kevin, and started talking about basketball.
I feel like a real failure. Miss Frodjam’s Freckle Ointment is not even good for a laugh.
That Dave Johnson. After school I saw him in the hall. He was going one way and I was going the other. I didn’t know whether to speak or not, so I didn’t. I kind of smiled feebly.
“Hi, Keri.” Dave Johnson, winner of the Warmest-Greeting-of-the-Year Award.
“Hi.” I thought that was a safe reply, in keeping with his warmth and enthusiasm. I was about to walk on, but he asked the weirdest question.
“Well, aren’t you going to thank me?”
“I hate to ask, but what for?”
“Last night. I could have given you a bad time, but I didn’t.”
That was a new way of looking at it. “Uh, thanks!” I answered. “Chivalry is not dead.”
“You’d be surprised,” he said. “I have some insight into the problems of being a kid sister.”
“Is that right? How did you come by this marvelous insight?” I asked.
“I’m a kid brother.”
“Which isn’t quite the same thing, you know.”
“I see your point. Which brings me to another subject,” he said, putting on his glasses. After clearing his throat very solemnly and intellectually, he proceeded. “Miss Carter, I am doing a detailed study on a little-known topic—freckles. The thesis of my study is that sunlight, far from fading freckles, actually brings out their color even more brilliantly. Now—would you be willing to be guinea pig in an experiment with direct sunlight at the football game Saturday afternoon?”
“Wait a minute!” I was really riled. “I thought you had marvelous insight?” What does he think I am, the Freckled Wonder of the World? I thought furiously. I was about to come out with a real putdown when I looked up at his face.
He didn’t look sarcastic or even funny. He looked a little awkward.
“Well, I was kidding about the insight. I was kidding about the freckle study, too. But the football game—I was serious about that. Would you like to come with me?”
Well, dear diary, I won’t go on to describe how I suddenly rose about six inches off the floor. I won’t mention what a fool I must have sounded like, trying to stammer out some sort of proper acceptance speech. I will mention that he smiled and looked almost relieved, and I just couldn’t believe that the great Dave Johnson might actually have moments of self-doubt too.
I definitely plan to discontinue use of Miss Frodjam’s Freckle Ointment. It may have worked on Miss Frodjam. And my freckles are two-tenths of a shade lighter. I think. But after all, if I am going to be part of a detailed study on a little-known topic, far be it from me to try to influence the findings of the direct sunlight thesis.

My mother was hospitalized with a stroke. It shocked us, and I wondered why God allowed this to happen.
Despite our worries, we didn’t lose faith. We knew that she would recover. She was OK until a few months later when she had another stroke. She couldn’t walk or speak and had a hard time eating. We continued to pray for help from God.
My mom fought this condition until she passed away. I know that God was not incapable of healing her, but it was His will that she return to Him. I know that if I live my life according to the Lord’s commandments, I can be reunited with her and my family. I know that because of the Atonement of our Savior, we will be resurrected. Death is not the end for us.

Their hand of fellowship and brotherhood is extended to a special member of their quorum. Nick Schwan was recently baptized. He is mentally challenged and attends the special education classes at their high school. Both at school and at church, he’s one of them. They treat him with kindness and listen to what he has to say. “At first,” says Joe Carson, “we didn’t think Nick really knew what was going on around him, but after a while we realized that he picked up on things and he doesn’t really forget anything. He’s just a normal guy. He’s just a little …” Joe is at a loss for words. He knows how the quorum feels about Nick, and the feeling is good and supportive.

Right now there are 20 full-time missionaries serving from the Anchorage Sixth Ward.
Okay, just 19 of the them are elders, but the Young Men claim the young lady serving from their ward because they suspect that their good example helped encourage her to consider a mission.
And there are 10 to 12 priests getting ready to follow in their footsteps in the next couple of years. They readily admit there are other wards in the Church with as many or more full-time missionaries serving, but for a relatively small ward away from a large LDS population, they feel pleased with the tradition of service they are setting. They know just as they progress from deacon to teacher to priest, the next step is a mission.
Bishop Wesley E. Carson says, “We’ve put a positive spin on peer pressure. Serving a mission has become a family tradition; it’s become a ward tradition; and it’s become a quorum tradition.”
Back to the parking lot. “It’s a serious activity,” says Brother Smith. “I don’t want to see anyone’s initials out there. I want you to be proud that when you drive in on Sunday, the stripes are straight.”
The yellow stripes will be straight. Members of this priests quorum know all about following guidelines and doing a good job. They know where service leads—to feelings of worth. And they know the ones that have set the example for them are now in the mission field. The lines are straight, and they’ll follow.

The Turay family resettled in Bo, Sierra Leone. Although there was no Church presence there, they were encouraged to stay and help establish a branch. They started a home group with only the five members of the Turay family. Not long after they started talking to people about the Church, missionaries arrived, and the first baptismal service was held in Bo. On that special day, 31 people were baptized in the Sewa River. Mohamed was soon called to preside over the new Bo Sierra Leone District. Under Mohamed’s leadership, one small branch eventually grew into four branches.

Robert Wood. Robby frowned as he read his name. All his friends called him Robby. His whole name looked strange and uncomfortable on the bright yellow Primary birthday calendar. It didn’t seem to belong with the names of the other kids. He wasn’t like them. He had been to church only about three times in his whole life. He wouldn’t have come today except his new teacher, Sister Jensen, had sent him a special invitation and offered him a ride.
Robby liked singing the songs. Sharing time was interesting, too. When his class was excused, he followed the other children to their classroom. They were ahead of Sister Jensen. She seems old to be a Primary teacher, Robby thought as she stopped to talk briefly to someone in the hallway.
Robby chose a seat at the very back of the room, but when he started to sit down, a boy kicked his chair out from under him. An ugly word popped out of Robby’s mouth. He was immediately sorry, and he blushed a deep red when he saw Sister Jensen standing in the doorway. She must have seen the whole thing.
The girls raised their hands and pointed at Robby. The boys snickered. Robby wanted to run home. But Sister Jensen closed the door and smiled at him. Then, turning to the girls, she said, “I just love to see so many volunteers for the prayer.” The girls put their hands down quickly, but Sister Jensen still assigned two of them to give prayers.
During class, Robby watched Sister Jensen. She smiled a lot. She made Robby feel he was just as important as the other children.
After class, Sister Jensen hugged the children as they left. When it was Robby’s turn, she quietly shut the door. Robby was alone with Sister Jensen, and he knew why. She was going to scold him for saying that angry word. Well, at least she hadn’t embarrassed him by doing it in front of everybody.
“I’m so glad you came today, Robert,” Sister Jensen said with a smile.
Robby looked down and traced on the floor with his shoe.
When he didn’t answer, Sister Jensen continued, “I know you’re embarrassed about what you said. If someone kicked a chair and made me fall, I would be pretty upset, too.”
“They wouldn’t do it to you,” Robby said. “They just do it to me because I’m not a church kid.”
Sister Jensen looked thoughtful as she bent to gather some of her things. When she straightened up, she was wearing her big smile again. “Sit down a minute, Robert,” she said, pointing to a chair.
Robby sat quietly while Sister Jensen pulled up a chair beside him.
“Do you like our bishop?” she asked.
Robby thought for a minute. He remembered the time the bishop came to his house when his mother was sick and couldn’t care for the family. After that, some ladies came by to help take care of his mother and his family. The bishop seemed really nice. “Yeah, I think he’s nice,” Robby said.
“Well, believe it or not, I used to be his Primary teacher,” Sister Jensen explained.
“Oh.” Robby nodded. “I guess you could have been; you are old.” Robby blushed when he realized what he’d said.
Sister Jensen laughed heartily. “That’s true! He was a sweet little boy, just like you. You and he have a lot in common—his parents never brought him to church, either. I used to pick him up all the time. He even sat with me in sacrament meeting.
“When he was about your age,” Sister Jensen continued, “he decided to make choices that would help him the rest of his life. He had a little problem with angry words, and he decided that when he became upset, he’d say ‘How exasperating!’ I told him that was a good start but he also needed to fill his mind with good things. That way only good things would come out of his mouth.”
Robby traced on the floor with his other shoe. “Well, maybe when I’m a grown-up, I can do that, too,” he told her.
“But now’s the time to make important choices that will bless you throughout your life, including your choice of words.”
“How can words bless me?”
“When you are careful with the words you choose to say, you show others you care enough about them not to offend them. Choosing good words helps you gain more friends, and you’re also not offending your Heavenly Father. Besides, when you have good words inside, good actions often follow.”
Robby nodded that he understood, and he helped Sister Jensen gather up the rest of her teaching materials.
The next Sunday, Sister Jensen picked Robby up in time for sacrament meeting. The bishop was conducting, and he seemed to be having a difficult time with some of the announcements. Finally he put down the paper he was reading, smiled at the ward members, and exclaimed, “How exasperating!”
Robby giggled as Sister Jensen nudged his arm. He leaned over and whispered, “That’s what I’m going to say when I’m mad, too.”
“Good for you, Robby,” Sister Jensen said with a wink.
Later, in the Primary room, Robby again noticed his name on the yellow birthday board. “That’s funny,” he said.
“What’s that?” Sister Jensen asked.
“Last week my name seemed different.”
Sister Jensen looked puzzled. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“Well, last week my name looked out of place up there by the names of the church kids. But today it looks like it belongs.”
Sister Jensen put her arm around Robby, and he noticed tears in her eyes. “That’s because you do belong here,” she said.

It is true that some people seem born with faith. And many people die with a full complement. My own grandmother spent her last months pining for death because she was the last of her generation; she “missed her people” to an excruciating degree; and she grew more and more disconnected from a world she saw as simply irrelevant, without the power to interest or lay hold upon her. It was striking to watch the world and persons beyond the grave assume, in her mind and in her conversation, a fully fleshed-out texture and presence that utterly displaced the inhabitants of the here and now. Faith did not seem a choice for her. It descended upon her as naturally, irresistibly, and encompassingly as the heavy snowfalls on her upstate New York farm.

When Samuel Owusu Amako left his native Ghana to go to The Gambia in the hope of having the opportunity to obtain a travel visa, he never imagined that he would spend the rest of his life there helping establish The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in that country. And he could have never imagined that the tender mercies of the Lord would bring him full circle on his journey along the covenant path.
Samuel grew up in Cape Coast, Ghana, as a devoted Seventh-day Adventist. He knew of the Church through his friend Alexander Asare Duodu, a friend from his teenage years who would invite him to services and activities. The lifestyle and conduct of Alexander and others, such as Charles Amoah, Ernest Arko, Stephen Amoah, impressed him greatly, and he began to live his life in accord with those attributes. But whenever he was asked if he’d like to join the Church, which happened to him regularly, he always declined. He admits that part of the reason was fear of telling his mother, who was staunch in her beliefs. And he just wasn’t ready to make the commitment.
One day, after getting another invitation to be baptised, he decided to accept just so that he could be free of the constant invitations. His plan, however, was to just not show up on the day of the baptism. But when the day came, as he explained, he “failed to flee.” He was baptised by Elder Anthony M. Kaku and confirmed by Elder John K. Buah on December 13, 1986.
One year and one month after his baptism, Samuel Owusu Amako was called to serve as a full-time missionary in the Ghana Accra Mission. He began his service in January 1988, and midway during his service, in June 1989, the government of Ghana suspended all Church activities and public meetings. With his missionary service being interrupted for a while, Samuel went to teach in a private elementary school in Cape Coast.
When “the freeze,” as the restrictions were called, was lifted in 1991, he resumed his missionary service. During his mission he encountered people from different parts of the world, and tales of their countries intrigued him. So, after returning home from his mission in December 1991, he made plans with some of his friends from his early days in the Church, who had also completed their missions, to get travel visas and to see the world. Obtaining travel visas in Ghana to certain countries that were of interest to him and his friends proved to be difficult during that time, so in November 1993, he and some of his friends, including his high school classmate Albert Frederick Alexander, who had also joined the Church and had become a returned missionary, left Ghana. They arrived in The Gambia in December 1993 where they had heard it was easier to get travel visas. His friend Charles Amoah was the first among them to travel to The Gambia.
What is interesting is that when Samuel and his friends joined their friend and brother, Charles Amoah, in The Gambia, Samuel’s interest in pursuing his goal of travelling abroad waned considerably for reasons he admits he doesn’t know and he never bothered about. Samuel eventually abandoned his desire to travel abroad from The Gambia. He had somehow found The Gambia as a home, which he now strongly feels that God knows something about that.
In The Gambia, Samuel and his friends met often in the home of his friend Charles Amoah to partake of the sacrament and teach one another. This was in 1994. Sometime during the latter part of 1994, they met the Endecotts. Michael Endecott was a member of the Church from the United States and was living in The Gambia with his family. The friends met in the home of the Endecotts on a couple of occasions till the Endecotts travelled back home to America. During that time, two of the Endecotts’ sons were baptized in The Gambia.
Later all the friends, except Albert Frederick Alexander, left The Gambia. Some travelled back home to Ghana whilst some travelled abroad. Charles Amoah travelled back to Ghana and is currently serving as a counsellor in a mission presidency in Cape Coast; Stephen Amoah travelled to the United States and lives in Utah with his family. Ernest Arko sadly passed away in Cape Coast after a brief illness during one of his visits to Ghana. Samuel Amoah lives in Ghana.
Samuel, however, stayed behind and found employment in The Gambia, hoping to still, at some point, realize his dream. During the early days of his employment, he noticed a beautiful young woman working in another department. As he describes it, “My antenna was switched on,” and he enquired after her, wishing to know if she were married. He was told definitively that she was not, so he approached her to ask for a date. She rebutted him, telling him she was married already. Recounting her response, Samuel laughed and said, “She lied!”
Persistence paid off and eventually his requests for a date proved fruitful. After a period of courtship, Samuel and Fatou Badjan were married. There was no Church presence in The Gambia at that time, and Fatou was Muslim, so they were married civilly and began to raise their family there. But Samuel’s faith and dedication to the Lord never wavered—he knew that the covenant path leads to a temple sealing. Without any formal Church presence in The Gambia, Samuel and his friend Albert F. Alexander met every Sunday with their families to partake of the sacrament. Samuel and his friend sometimes invite friends to join them.
When some members moved into the area, and his missionary efforts continued. The little congregation grew, and for the next 25 years, he welcomed Church members and friends into his home for Church services. These efforts were unofficial as the Church did not have legal status in The Gambia, and the country had not been dedicated for the work of the Lord.
In June 1988, Elder Terrence Vinson, then-President of the Africa West Area Presidency, accompanied by his counsellor, Elder Marcus Nash, visited The Gambia. They met with Samuel, his wife, Fatou, their children Sampson, Daniel, Princess Amelia, Hannah, his sister Juliana Sandra and Albert Frederick Alexander, his longtime good friend, fellow Church member and fellow returned missionary.
Elder Vinson and Elder Nash authorised them to meet as a group and hold sacrament meetings. It was an exciting moment. The two sons of Samuel, namely Sampson and Daniel, were later baptized by Samuel after the visit by the General Authorities.
The year 2022 turned out to be what Samuel describes as the most momentous year in the history of the Church in The Gambia.
In January 2022, President Hugo Martinez, President of the Africa West Area Presidency and his First Counsellor, Elder Larry S. Kacher, also visited The Gambia. They met with Samuel and his family and the group in The Gambia.
In February 2022, Elder D. Todd Christofferson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles came to The Gambia to dedicate the country and to meet with government officials to pave the way for the Church’s legal status.
Fatou Badjan Amako, Samuel’s wife, finally joined the Church and was baptised in February 2022, shortly after Elder Christofferson’s visit.
Finally, on June 10, 2022, the Banjul Branch of The Gambia was formally organized, and Samuel Owusu Amako was made its first branch president. In September of that year, Daniel Nana Kofi Owusu Amako, Samuel’s second son, was called as the first missionary of the Church from The Gambia to serve a full-time mission. He served in the Congo Brazzaville Mission.
Princess Amelia Nana Ama Ahima Amako, Samuel and Fatou’s eldest daughter, joined the Church in October 2022.
In August of 2024, Samuel and members of his branch made the journey from The Gambia to Accra, Ghana. He was returning to the place where he began his missionary service so many years before, and where there is now a temple, so that he and his family could be sealed in the house of the Lord. They met their son Daniel there, who was returning home from his mission just in time for the sealing.
Besides the unspeakable joy of becoming an eternal family, Samuel experienced the additional sweetness and tender mercies of the Lord in a most special way. The president of the Accra Ghana Temple, who sealed Samuel and his wife and children, was John K. Buah, the very same missionary who had confirmed Samuel a member of the Church. And the incoming temple president, who will replace President Buah, is President Anthony M. Kaku, who baptized Samuel. According to Samuel, “God is the unfailing compass of our lives.”
A pioneer in establishing the Church in Gambia, Samuel Owusu Amako reflects on his reasons for going to the Gambia in the first place: to get a travel visa and see the world, something which has never happened. “How did I miss that?” he asked rhetorically with a big smile just before returning to his home with his family. He knows that he was led to The Gambia for a higher purpose, a mission that began on that harmattan-cold December morning in 1986 when he “failed to flee”.

When I was in the first grade, I experienced what I thought was a rather tough day at school. I came home, walked in the house, threw my book on the kitchen table, and let forth [some bad words] that included the name of the Lord.
My mother was shocked. She told me quietly, but firmly, how wrong I was. She told me that I could not have words of that kind coming out of my mouth. She led me by the hand into the bathroom, where she took from the shelf a clean washcloth, put it under the faucet, and then generously coated it with soap. She said, “We’ll have to wash out your mouth.” She told me to open it, and I did so reluctantly. Then she rubbed the soapy washcloth around my tongue and teeth. I sputtered and fumed and felt like swearing again, but I didn’t. I rinsed and rinsed my mouth, but it was a long while before the soapy taste was gone. In fact, whenever I think of that experience, I can still taste the soap. I have tried to avoid using the name of the Lord in vain since that day. I am grateful for that lesson.

As the parents of four sons, my husband and I always seek ways to help our children feel the Spirit and gain a testimony. We had a breakthrough in understanding in an unusual way. I was standing in a store when the prompting came.
Our oldest son’s grades in his social studies class were declining. We had talked with him about it, encouraging him to study harder, but there was still no improvement. We had been praying for ideas to help him. One day in a bookstore, I had a strong impression to buy a book from a pile of books that were on sale.
The book was about how each of us has distinct learning styles. Many people are visual learners, meaning they learn best by what they see. These learners often love art and reading. Some learn best aurally. They process information most effectively when they hear it. These people often love music. Finally, some learners are kinesthetic learners. They learn best when there is motion or activity involved. These learners sometimes struggle in school when teachers insist on them sitting still. They learn best when they’re moving around.
There was the answer! Our son was obviously an aural learner—he loved music and talking! We discovered that he was often being pulled out of class for other activities during social studies and was then told by the teacher to go home and read the material. He was struggling because he wasn’t hearing the class discussion. Once we understood this, we encouraged him to read his assigned material aloud and then discuss it with us. His grades shot back up.

I have a friend down in Honolulu. He was called one day to the hospital by one of our native sisters who had a child there with polio. She said, “Bishop, hurry up to the hospital and give my child a blessing.” That was one morning. He never showed up all day. The next afternoon he went up, and she started giving him a tongue lashing. “You, my bishop, your own boss. I asked you to come and bless my child seriously ill, and you didn’t show up.” He waited until she had finished and then he said, “When I hung up the receiver yesterday I started to fast. I’ve been fasting and praying. Now I’m ready.” That was early in the afternoon. He blessed the child. The child went home that evening, released from the hospital. “This kind cometh not out save by fasting and by prayer.”

Consider this example from the life of Elder Dallin H. Oaks:
When he was a young man, he looked forward to serving a full-time mission. But one week after he graduated from high school, war broke out in Korea, and young Dallin Oaks was sent into military duty and was unavailable for missionary service.
Many years later, when Elder Oaks was 48 years old, he was appointed to the Utah Supreme Court. At that time, Elder Oaks and his wife, June, made a plan for the rest of their lives. They determined that he would serve for 20 years on the court and then retire at age 68, after which they would submit their mission papers and serve, as a couple, the full-time mission neither of them got to serve in their youth.
Well, it didn't quite work out that way. Just four years later, Elder Oaks was called to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles--not exactly the kind of thing you plan ahead for. He would still be serving the Lord, just not in the capacity he anticipated. Then, when he was 66, his wife, June, died of cancer. And two years later, he married his current wife, Kristen.
Elder Oaks observed, "How fundamentally different my life is than I had sought to plan! My professional life has changed. My personal life has changed. But the commitment I made to the Lord--to put Him first in my life and to be ready for whatever He would have me do--has carried me through these changes of eternal importance."[9]

Illustrations by David Malan
Just before the San Salvador El Salvador Temple was dedicated, my family and I decided to serve at the open house and help those who were not members become acquainted with the gospel of Jesus Christ as they visited the temple. I was assigned to be a guide and speak with people about each room in the temple, about the sacred covenants we make there, and how our lives change when we keep those covenants.
My shift came, and I started my tour. I had just barely gone out of the room when someone asked for an additional guide since a large group had just arrived. I was told to go back to the greeting room to have another group assigned to me.
When I reached the room, I was again asked to change my assignment and show the video to people who were just arriving at the temple. I felt sad that I wasn’t able to speak with people and tell them about the temple.
About a half hour later, a group from the United States arrived and didn’t speak any Spanish. Several volunteers were running around looking for someone who spoke English and could guide this group. That’s when I understood that the Lord sends us where He needs us, not necessarily where we want to be. I was the only one who knew how to use the video and give the words of welcome in English. The Americans were glad and when they were leaving, they thanked me for receiving them so warmly.
At the end of the day, I felt thankful to the Lord for showing me that when we do things the way He prompts us, we will feel satisfied with our work.

One spring day, we were playing in our front yard. A very old, rusty, and dented van pulled up and parked on our street. A tiny old lady got out. She didn’t seem very strong. She opened the back of her van and gathered in her arms many heavy, new, yellow-page phone books. She began to deliver them to the houses on our street.
We watched as she delivered the few she could carry and then went back to her van to get more. It took her quite a while to do just a few. They looked heavy!
Mom thought we could let her use our red wagon to put the books in. She could pull it around our neighborhood. The four of us went over to talk to her. She said that the wagon would be helpful because the books get heavy, especially when she delivered them in office buildings.
We ended up giving her our red wagon to keep. Even though we liked playing with it, we knew that she needed it more than we did.
Several days later, as we were driving to school, we saw our tiny friend with the wagon, delivering more books. We felt really good knowing that we were trying to be like Jesus!

When Elder David O. McKay was in Hawaii way back in 1921 he was “very strongly impressed” that the greatest need for the Saints in Hawaii was a Church School of higher learning and he decided to “write a letter to the first presidency recommending that one be built.” Thus a goal was established to build a college in Laie. However, the Church did little to realize that goal for about 30 years, until David O. McKay became President of the Church. Then in 1955 the Church established the Church College of Hawaii and that goal that President McKay had made 34 years earlier was finally fulfilled. As a result we have the privilege of studying and teaching at the most International University in the United States and one of the most beautiful campuses in the world. I am personally grateful that President McKay understood the importance of setting righteous goals.

Hiki turned over on the broad shelf of snow that was her bed and buried her face deep in the fur sleeping bag to keep warm. She had not slept well, and the morning was much too fast in coming. As her mother lighted the seal oil lamp, Hiki peeked from under the fur to see the light sparkling on the snow ceiling of the igloo. She loved the way it glistened and imagined it was smiling at her, but this morning she didn’t smile back. Today I will walk on the bottom of the sea alone and I am afraid, she admitted to herself.
Many times when the tide was out she had gone with her mother under the sea ice to gather mussels. Always the giant shadows from the candlelight, the far away rumbling of the sea, and the strange undersea world had frightened her. But Mother had always been close-by to reassure her.
Today Hiki must lower herself under the ice alone. At the thought she buried her face even deeper into the fur blankets. She had never in her eleven years been sick. She had never even thought she would want to be sick, but this day she wished for a sore throat or a headache, anything that would keep her at home.
“Hiki,” Mother called, “it is time to arise.”
Hiki peeked out of the fur once more. Her mind raced, trying to find a reason to stay in the warm bed, but she could think of nothing.
All of her friends had gathered mussels alone on the ocean floor. Hiki had heard them tell of the fun it was, but to Hiki it could never be fun.
“Hiki?” Mother called again. “There is much to do.”
Slowly Hiki crawled from the sleeping bag. Quickly she put on her clothes made of caribou skins and her socks of baby sealskins. She began chewing on her caribou hide boots to thaw and soften them so she could put them on.
“It’s so nice to have a daughter who is now old enough to help,” Hiki’s mother said, smiling and patting her daughter’s shoulder. “Today I will sew while you go for the mussels.”
Hiki wished she could tell her mother how she felt, but she couldn’t. She wanted her mother to be proud, and who could be proud of an Innuit girl who was afraid to enter the under-ice world alone?
Hiki lingered over her seal meat breakfast much longer than usual. She poked a hole in the snow walls and looked out, hoping to see a terrible blizzard, but the day was beautiful with few clouds and little wind.
“A nice day for making snow statues,” Hiki commented.
“After you bring the mussels,” Mother said. “You must hurry now or you will miss the tide.”
Slowly Hiki put on her fur coat and mittens. Then taking a candle, matches, shovel, long ice chisel, and a pan, she removed the ice block from the tunnel that led into the igloo and crawled out. Once outside she listened as Mother slid the ice block back into place. Never before had she felt so alone.
Carefully she placed her tools on a small sled. Then, pulling the sled, she started for the ice-covered beach. With each step her heart beat harder and her breath came faster. Her hands began to perspire inside her mittens and her knees felt weak. She reached the beach much faster than she wanted to, then stepped beyond the beach ice to the thick, snow-covered sea ice. It was bumpy and covered with ridges caused by the terrible pounding of the sea. Hiki brushed away the snow on several of the ridges until she found one that had a big crack. Taking her chisel, she chipped at the crack until a hole about two feet wide was made.
As the last piece of ice fell, the girl jerked away. There was no longer anything between her and the ocean floor. I must go down, she agonized. But what if the tide comes in before I get out? What horrid creatures are lurking on the sea bottom? What if I get lost and can’t find the hole to get out?
Hiki’s stomach rocked and churned. She knew that she must go down to the sea floor, but also that she couldn’t do it alone. For a moment she closed her eyes tightly. “Please help me to do what I must do,” she prayed.
Then, taking her equipment, the girl lowered herself under the ice before her fear could stop her. Hiki’s hands shook, but after three tries she managed to light the candle. Carefully she picked her way over the pools of water and slimy seaweed until she saw a string of blue black mussel shells embedded in the sandy seafloor.
“This is a good place,” Hiki muttered, a feeling of confidence replacing some of the fear. “There are enough mussels here to fill my pan, and I will not have to go far from the opening I made.”
As she spoke, the words echoed eerily through the ice-covered cavern. The echo was strange and scary, but somehow it was more comforting than the stillness. She placed the candle between two rocks and hurriedly gathered mussels until her pan was almost full.
Several times as she worked she was startled by a glimpse of her own shadow, big and black against the smooth sea walls. But by the time the pan was full, the fear had eased. She stood for a moment and listened to the angry rumbling of the faraway sea.
“The tide is coming in,” she said, and hurriedly tossed the last two mussels into the pan. Gathering up her tools, Hiki found the hole and, with a sigh of relief, lifted herself back into the cold-white world she loved.
“It is done,” she whispered.
Looking proudly at the overflowing pan, Hiki sat down on the small sled. For a moment she did nothing but enjoy the warm feeling of accomplishment.
“I have done what I feared to do,” she declared, and then her face broke into a soft smile. Closing her eyes tightly she whispered, “Thank You for helping me. Next time it will not be so hard.”

One night, I became very sick and spent most of the night moaning. I wasn’t able to keep anything down and my stomach was doing somersaults. It took a while, but I finally got up enough courage to ask my dad for a blessing. It was the first father’s blessing I had requested personally, and my dad was not expecting it. He found his little container of oil and blessed me that I would be well and be able to sleep peacefully. As soon as he finished, I felt so much better that I started to cry. The Spirit has never touched me so completely as it did then, and my testimony grew a lot.

I believed the prophet Malachi when he said that the Lord pours out blessings to those who pay tithing (see Mal. 3:10). I had no problem believing that. But when it came to actually paying tithing, I had trouble.
On payday I would set aside money for tithing. However, payday often came in the middle of the week, and when I needed money later on I would “borrow” back money from my tithing. I told myself I would replace the money and give my tithing to the bishop on Sunday, but usually I was unable to return the money. So I would plan to pay the tithing I owed from my next paycheck. I tried to do this, but then very little would be left of my paycheck! Things went on like this for the first year I earned my own income.
Then one day I had a realization. A sales representative came to our house. He explained that I could pay for an appliance on an installment plan—receiving the item now and paying for it later. As he spoke, a question entered my mind: “Does the Lord give blessings on an installment plan?”
The next day in my institute class, the very first verse of scripture we discussed answered my question: “I, the Lord, am bound when ye do what I say; but when ye do not what I say, ye have no promise” (D&C 82:10).
Every commandment brings blessings—and always in full. But we must keep the commandment, not just plan to keep it. That night I prayed for forgiveness for paying my tithes in such a lazy manner.
Now that I am paying my tithing faithfully, I have found that I am happier living on 90 percent of my income with the Lord’s blessings than I ever was living on 100 percent of my income without them.