Gospel Story Finder

Most of us at one time or another have been in a situation that was new to us, where we felt strange and insecure. This situation happened to our family about five years ago after President Thomas S. Monson extended the call to me to serve as a General Authority of the Church. This call necessitated our family’s move from the beautiful place we had enjoyed for more than two decades. My wife and I still remember the instant reaction of our children when they learned about the change. Our 16-year-old son exclaimed, “It is not a problem at all. You may go; I will stay!”
He then quickly resolved to accompany us and faithfully embraced this new opportunity in his life. Living in new environments over the past few years has turned out to be an enjoyable learning experience for our family, especially due to the warm reception and goodness of the Latter-day Saints. As we have lived in different countries, we have come to appreciate that the unity of the people of God throughout the earth is something real and tangible.

That night Danny and I went over to Luke and Jeanette’s. I didn’t much feel like going, but I thought it might get my mind off my unanswered prayers.

Luke answered the door. “Howdy. C’mon in.”

I went upstairs to Jeanette’s room. Luke and Dan stayed in the front room watching TV.

“Hi, Mauri.”

“Hi.”

“Know what? Luke’s grounded again. He was out until four in the morning last night. Mom and dad were so mad. He does it all the time even though he keeps getting grounded. Do you know what’s even worse than that? Mom’s afraid he drinks and steals stuff.”

I knew Luke had stolen stuff because Dan had told me he did, but I didn’t tell Jeanette that. I wondered if Dan did. He hid it pretty well if he did. He’d been in by midnight the night before, so he wasn’t out with Luke.

Jeanette and I talked and listened to records. It was lousy being a freshman sometimes. You were too old to play outside, and too young to date—in our town and our church, anyhow—so we just talked and listened to records most of the time we were together. Sometimes we went with some other girls to the movies, and sometimes we rode horses. Jeanette’s family didn’t have any, so we rode ours. Anyway, we didn’t get bored too much.

Luke popped his head in the door and said, “You guys want to come to the drive-in with me and Danny?”

Jeanette said, “Luke, you can’t go. You’re grounded.”

Luke grinned. “Not till mom and dad get home.”

“I’ll tell them. Luke, you do this all the time.”

“C’mon, Jeanette, you and Mauri come with us. We’ll even buy you popcorn. Can’t beat that offer.”

“Well, okay. What’s playing?”

Luke said some movie that I knew was rated R. Dan and I weren’t supposed to go to R-rated movies. Some example Dan was.

“Do you want to, Mauri?”

“I’ll go if Dan goes.”

“He’s going,” said Luke.

I couldn’t believe it. I ran downstairs ahead of Luke and Jeanette.

“Dan,” I whispered, “are you really going?”

Dan looked away. “Yeah.”

“So am I.”

“Wait a minute. You are not.”

“I go if you go.”

“Mauri, no way. You’re not supposed to.”

“Neither are you.”

“Yeah, but you’re only 14.”

“That makes a heck of a lot of difference.”

“You bet it does. You’re not going.”

“Dan, you’re supposed to be going on a mission. Have you changed your mind? Missionaries don’t go to R shows.”

Dan looked away.

Luke had walked in the room just as I finished. He laughed. “What’s this I hear? Dan go on a mission? You’re kidding.”

“No,” I said, “he said he was going, but I guess he’s changed his mind.”

“Sure he has,” said Luke.

Dan looked at Luke. His brown eyes were hard like I’ve never seen them before.

“I’m going.”

“C’mon, Danny. Really?”

Dan just nodded.

“Well,” Luke said, “I don’t believe it, but I guess we’ll see. You have a year to change your mind, old buddy. I have a year to try and reform you.”

“C’mon, Luke,” Jeanette said, “you guys quit arguing. If we don’t leave now, we’ll be late.”

Danny looked at me. “Let’s go.”

“Some example, Dan,” I whispered under my breath as we walked out the door.

After Luke dropped off Danny and me that night, we went inside and sat down at the kitchen table. Dad had probably been asleep for hours.

“Do you think Luke will get in trouble?” I asked.

“Maybe, I don’t know. He’s pretty used to it by now.” Danny had gotten a pitcher of milk from the fridge. He was drinking right out of the pitcher, but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t care.

“I’m going to bed. G’night.” I started walking out the door into the hall and turned around. I said, “I wish I hadn’t gone.” Dan looked out the window into the night. “I wish you hadn’t gone either, Dan.”

I felt so guilty that night about going to that show that I didn’t even try to pray. Why would God answer me, now that I was a heathen? That night I dreamed about that stupid German story.

A canoe trip to an island in a nearby national park sounded like the perfect opportunity to get closer to my son. The Aaronic Priesthood leaders and the young men in our ward had been planning the trip for months, and I was able to accompany them.
My son McKay was in great condition, participating in three sports in high school. That’s probably one reason the leaders put us in the same canoe—they knew he could paddle hard if the need arose. I had some experience guiding a canoe, so we seemed like a good team.
I was also eager to have the time on the lake to talk. McKay had been through a lot since the death of his mother, and I hadn’t always been able to respond in the best way to his needs and interests.
We had training, we had life vests, we knew how to swim, and we had experienced leaders guiding us.
What we hadn’t counted on was the wind. We had paddled for several miles, then cut across the middle of the lake and were nearing the shore when an unusually strong headwind kicked up.
The other canoes were able to make it to shore, but McKay and I were in the final boat. The waves were picking up, and we were turning off course as we paddled and paddled, trying to make any progress at all. I was becoming exhausted and alarmed. I dug into the water and pulled with all my might, trying to steer us back on course, but we seemed to stay exactly in the same position.
We were in danger of capsizing when finally I admitted aloud that I didn’t know if I had the strength to continue. Then my son said, “You’re looking at the waves, Dad. You won’t get anywhere doing that. You’ve got to keep your eyes on the shore. See that tree on the hill? That’s our goal. Focus on that, and we’ll make it.”
He was right. Once I focused on the tree, I could stay on course. My arms felt renewed strength. McKay called cadence for the strokes—“Pull. Rest. Pull. Rest.” And steadily, we moved.
We reached the shore, others reached out to help, and we sat and caught our breath. That night in our tent we talked, father and son, about our experience.
Together, we remembered what President Thomas S. Monson has taught about the lighthouse of the Lord: “It beckons through the storms of life. It calls, ‘This way to safety; this way to home.’”1
That afternoon, a tree on the shore had been our lighthouse. When I was close to despair, my son had wisely counseled me not to look at the waves but to keep my eyes on the shore. And we had pulled together, in more ways than one.

“Nathaniel, would you be a narrator in the Primary program in sacrament meeting?” Sister Mitchell asked before sharing time started.
Nathaniel hesitated. He really wanted to say yes, but sometimes he stuttered, especially when he was nervous. How could he narrate the whole program?
“Maybe,” he said. “But I s-s-tutter.”
Sister Mitchell smiled. “I know. We’d love your help, though. You’re the oldest one in Primary, and the other kids look up to you. I know you can do a great job.”
“Th-th-anks.” Nathaniel was glad that Sister Mitchell believed in him. Still, he didn’t know if he should say yes. What if he stuttered in front of the whole ward?
Later Nathaniel and his family gathered in the living room to talk about what they’d learned in Church that day.
“How was Primary, Nathaniel?” Dad asked.
Nathaniel sighed. “Sister Mitchell asked me to be a narrator in the Primary program. I want to do it—especially since I’m l-l-leaving Primary soon. But I d-d-don’t know if I can.”
“Hmm,” Dad said. “Are you worried you’ll stutter? It’ll be OK, even if you do.”
Mom put her arm around him. “It’s your choice,” she said. “We’ll pray for you.”
“Thanks,” Nathaniel said.
He thought about it the whole next week. By Sunday he’d made up his mind.
“I’d like to be a n-n-narrator for the Primary pr-pr-program,” he told Sister Mitchell in Primary.
“That’s great,” Sister Mitchell said. “Thank you! That will be a big help.”
For the next month, Nathaniel worked on his part. He said his lines over and over until he’d memorized them. But sometimes he still stuttered.
One afternoon he was practicing a really tricky word. “I c-c-can’t d-d-do it!” he yelled in frustration.
Mom walked in and sat down on the couch next to him. “I know it’s hard, but you can do it,” she said. “Do you know the story about President Heber J. Grant learning to play baseball?”
He shook his head. What did baseball have to do with stuttering?
“When President Grant was young, he wanted to play baseball. None of the other boys wanted him on the team because he couldn’t throw the ball very far,” Mom said. “So he saved up his money, and he bought a ball. Then he practiced until he could throw the ball as well as anyone. Eventually he made the team.”
“But playing baseball’s n-n-not the same as s-s-stuttering,” Nathaniel said.
“No, it isn’t,” Mom said. “But President Grant had a challenge just like you do, and he practiced and practiced. And you know what? He did great even though it was hard for him.”
“Mom, I want to do m-m-my best, and I have been practicing a l-l-l-lot. But what if I s-s-till s-s-tutter?”
Mom smiled. “Doing our best doesn’t mean doing things perfectly. When we work hard and ask Heavenly Father for help, we are doing our best. It’s OK if you stutter, but don’t let it stop you from trying. Dad and I will be proud of you no matter what.”
Nathaniel kept practicing his lines every day. And he prayed for help to be brave. At the final practice for the program, he said his part and only stuttered a few times. He was ready.
The day of the program, Nathaniel said a quick prayer for help. When the program started, he felt warm inside. He knew he could do his best—stuttering or not.

There is a living God who loves us and is constantly nearby and available. Doubt need not be part of our lives. The reality of God’s influence is felt by all Church members who comply with divine laws. It can also be tangibly felt by nonmembers, when it is his will. This is evidenced by the following experience in the São Paulo Temple.

The temple was opened to the public during the month of September 1978 before being closed in preparation for the dedication. Among the many visitors who felt the influence of this special temple was a certain nonmember newspaper reporter.

During the tour he eventually arrived at the door of the celestial room. Those few people who were accompanying him saw him abruptly stop and bow his head. He remained in that position for some time, with his eyes closed and head bowed. Then he slowly moved his head from side to side and at the same time opened his eyes, as if to inquire by this gesture “Who is there?” or “Is anyone there?”

After some time his head was raised and his eyes opened. His expression indicated that he knew something holy was there, and those about him witnessed the tears streaming down his face. He had felt the beautiful influence of the Spirit found so often in the temples. He knew something good was there and felt joy inside. It was a real, tangible feeling.

Grandmother Folger’s house buzzed with excitement. Matt Davis, one of her grandchildren, had just returned home from a mission in New Zealand, and everyone had gathered at Grandmother’s that Sunday afternoon for a family dinner. Eight-year-old Jonathan Pratt had just finished a piece of Grandmother’s chocolate cake and was talking with his cousins. Candace was telling a story.
“And then it broke …”
“Candace! Sometimes you are so stupid!” Jonathan exclaimed. “That’s not how it happened at all!” Candace’s face fell, and she looked down at her hands.
“Jonathan,” a voice warned.
He turned around to see his older sister, Christi. “What? What did I do?”
Christi motioned for Jonathan to come and sit by her. “Jonathan, what did you just say?”
Jonathan sighed. “Well, Candace was telling it wrong.”
“Still, Jonathan, it makes Heavenly Father feel bad when you talk about anyone being stupid or dumb. Not only is Candace your cousin, she is a child of God! Do you think Jesus Christ is happy when you call people ‘stupid’?”
Jonathan knew the answer. “No.”
“Then try not to, OK?”
“OK.”
A few days later Christi was driving through the green hills of Maryland. Jonathan was buckled into the seat beside her. The sun was low in the western sky, and the road was crowded with cars going home from work.
“Hurry, Christi! We’re going to be late for the game. Drive faster!”
“I am doing the best I can, Jonathan. We’re almost there.”
Jonathan craned his neck to see how close to the ballpark they were. Then he looked in the outside mirror and made a funny face at himself.
A red sports car cut in front of them, and Christi had to slam on the brakes. “Whoa!” she exclaimed.
The car buzzed on through a yellow light, leaving Jonathan and Christi stuck at the intersection with a red light.
“Ugh!” Jonathan cried. “Now we’ll be late for sure! That lady is so—”
Christi turned her head to see why Jonathan stopped. “What’s the matter?”
Jonathan shrugged his shoulders.
“Why did you stop?”
“Because I remembered that Jesus Christ doesn’t like it when I talk that way.”

Lemon Bread
It was almost an hour’s drive through a maze of snow-feathered trees to get to the Cornings’ home. Sister Corning was my first baptism as a missionary. I taught my first discussion in that small, backwoods house near Rollingdam, New Brunswick, Canada. After a lesson Brother Corning would get his old out-of-tune guitar, and we would all sit around the oil-burning stove singing folk songs. The air would soon be filled with the tangy, sweet smell of lemon bread baking. Sister Corning taught my companion and me how to make that special treat.
You will need:
1/2 cup shortening or margarine
1 cup sugar
2 eggs
1/2 cup milk
1 1/2 cups flour
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking powder
Rind of 1 lemon, grated
Juice of 1 lemon
1/2 cup sugar
Mix the ingredients, except for the juice and the 1/2 cup sugar, in the order given, then pour into a loaf pan. Put this into an oven preheated to 300° F and bake until done. (Stick a toothpick in the center of the loaf; if it is done, the toothpick will come out clean.) Mix the juice of 1 lemon with 1/2 cup sugar and pour over the bread while it is still hot.

Brother Raja Doraiswamy called Brother Sunil and asked if he could join him in ministering to Brother Paul Mahendran and Lawrence. Brother Sunil was tired but enthusiastically said he would be delighted to join. Paul was not available, so they decided to go to Brother Lawrence’s house.
Brother Lawrence had not been attending church for quite some time. Efforts were made to encourage him to come back, but Brother Lawrence needed more time. Brother Raja and Sunil met him and his wife. They invited them again to church. Brother Raja said, “If you can find the richness of the gospel elsewhere, you can go, but if you know the Church has all that you need for your salvation and happiness, then please come back.” His wife admitted that no other church gives peace than The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
As part of their ministering efforts, Brother Raja and Brother Sunil were inspired to share a part of the general conference talk given by Elder Uchtdorf titled “Believe, Love, Do,” discussing with this family about imperfect people, but they are welcoming, loving, kind, and sincere people as they strive to build and help one another to improve and draw closer to the Lord, our Savior, even Jesus Christ.
The invitation was given and testimonies borne. Questions like, “Why you did not come?” “Are you reading your scriptures?” “Are you praying?” etc. were not asked, but inspired testimonies were borne. An invitation was given for them to come back to church.
There were moments of anxiousness when Sunday came. Brother Raja looked around to see if Lawrence and his family were present. To his utter astonishment, he saw Brother Lawrence and his wife at church! His heart was lifted up in gratitude for being an instrument in God’s hands to help his brother come back. He remembered the verse “when thou are converted, strengthen thy brethren” (Luke 22:32). He just followed what Jesus wanted him to do. Likewise, Brother Sunil also was anxious to see if they had come. After seeing them he said, “Indeed I was very happy to see Brother and Sister Lawrence at church, and I feel confident that they will stay strong and active, showing examples to others around them.”
Both these brethren have not stopped dreaming. Their next ministering efforts is focused to bring back their sons and his sister’s family. Brother Raja always in his teachings and talks has emphasized M, meaning, “Ministering to members will bring miracles.” This testimony has come true and Brother Raja believes and is confident that if members do ministering diligently, then miracles will follow.
Brother Raja Doraiswamy and Sunil are from the Lingarajpuram Ward, Bengaluru Stake.

When President N. Eldon Tanner presided over the West European Mission some years ago, his slogan was “Have a good time.” One day he said to a group of missionaries in Germany, “I would like you all to have a good time.” After the meeting, one of the missionaries came up to him and said: “President Tanner, I don’t think that it is quite fair for you to tell the missionaries to have a good time. You know, the only way they can have a good time is to do their work.” President Tanner said, “Well, go have a good time.”

After World War II, my mother and father settled for a time in South Africa. My father was a seaman and the shipping company he worked for was based in South Africa and sailed the world. My parents had two very young children at the time and while my father was a world away from home on one trip, their younger child, Gillian, fell ill. She was less than a year old and sadly passed away during emergency surgery.
My mother was devastated. She was not only without the support of her husband, but also, because they were still not well established in South Africa, she had no extended family or even close friends to turn to. Fortunately, around the same time, missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints had recently knocked on her door and had been teaching her the gospel of Jesus Christ. I am so grateful for those missionaries.
They taught my mother that “little children are alive in Christ, even from the foundation of the world” (Moroni 8:12).
Something we never knew until we read about it in her diary decades later, is that in the days after the loss of her child, the mission president sent his car with a driver to take my mother to all the places she needed to go and to attend to all the matters that arose, including arrangements for a funeral. I am so grateful for that mission president.
His act of kindness to someone whom the missionaries were merely teaching has had long lasting effects unknown to him.

My wife, Brittney, and I began purchasing food storage early in our marriage. In the first months after our wedding, we bought a few storable items each time we went grocery shopping. By adding a little bit at a time, we accumulated a useful store of food. We didn’t know when we would need to use it, but we knew it was important.
A year into our marriage, we moved across the country for graduate school, and we brought our food storage with us. Financially, things were difficult. We had used all of our savings to secure housing, and Brittney received no income as a student teacher. We relied on my graduate school assistantship to pay the bills, but it didn’t go far.
Our finances took another turn for the worse the second night in our new home. Brittney woke up with severe stomach pain, and when it didn’t subside after several hours, we went to the hospital. She had her appendix removed later that day.
After she recovered, we sat down to budget our money. As we calculated the next four months’ bills—which included the emergency surgery—we discovered we could still get by without going into debt. In order to do so, however, we could spend no more than $25 each month on groceries. That was about one-fourth of what we were used to spending.
The food storage we had accumulated over the past year became invaluable. It was enough to cover our basic needs for four months, and we used the budgeted $25 to buy milk and other perishables. We didn’t eat fancy food, but we didn’t go hungry.
As we lived frugally and served others willingly, we received added blessings. One of my fellow students finished his degree and asked us to help his family move. While we were helping, he asked if we would like to take the food left in their freezer. Because of his kindness, we now had meat to supplement our food storage.
The Lord blessed us as we prepared food storage, paid our tithing, and showed willingness to serve. We made it through those months without borrowing any money. After that semester, my wife found a full-time job, and we could afford to spend more money on groceries. We built up our food storage again, and we continue to be blessed as we obey the Lord’s commandments.

Despite all these blessings, I still faced challenges.
Working as a live-in nanny didn’t go as smoothly as I was expecting. My host family didn’t keep up their end of our contract, and I ended up deciding to search for a new job and place to live.
There were many nights when I didn’t know where I would go. The search seemed endless, and tension with my host family made me question everything.
I knew that the first step was to pray to Heavenly Father about my situation. As Elder Clement M. Matswagothata, Area Seventy, taught: “Be prayerful as you look for ways to become self-reliant. I assure you that Heavenly Father will bring thoughts into your mind and will bless you.”
Every night, I turned to Heavenly Father in prayer, asking not only for a way out but for strength to act on promptings. I knew that “faith without works is dead” (James 2:26).
When I shared my situation with friends in the ward, a sister offered me a part-time job, helping me save extra money to support myself. I was so grateful that I’d connected with my ward and could rely on them during this difficult time.
Eventually, I found a new host family in Utah. After much prayer, I felt strongly that this was where I needed to be. I moved again, finding a YSA ward where I could continue to serve and grow.

Recently Tyler received his own set of scriptures. He asks his father to read the scriptures to him every night, even though his family also reads the scriptures together each morning. One day he took his new Doctrine and Covenants over to a friend’s house to show it to him. Tyler asked his friend, “Where’s yours?” His friend, a nonmember, said, “I don’t have one of those books.” Tyler replied, “Maybe you can get one. These are important covenants.”

On bright, sunny days, shadow tag was a perfect game to play. At the beginning of recess, Henry was chosen to be it. Henry chased the other boys and girls, trying to step on somebody’s shadow. He was just about to step on Laura’s shadow, when she cleverly hid it inside a tree’s shadow. But Laura couldn’t stay there; she had to count to ten, then leave the safety of the shadow. When she did, Henry quickly stomped on her shadow, and she became it.

“Maron, Maron,” her father whispered. “Wake quickly!”
Through the fog of sleep that held her, Maron heard her name but thought it was part of a dream.
“Please, my child.” The man shook her shoulder gently but urgently.
Struggling to open her eyes, Maron slowly became aware of her father. “But it is not yet dawn, and—” she started to say.
“Shhhh!” Her father gently laid his rough carpenter’s hand over her mouth. “You must be very quiet.”
What sleepiness Maron clung to fled as fear clutched at her stomach. “What is happening?” she whispered.
“Listen carefully, little one.” Her father squeezed both her hands in one of his. “I have just learned that some of Mocum’s warriors are planning to attack our people when we gather to listen to Teomnihah, the leader of our people in Kurom. I must get a message to him, but Mocum is watching me.”
“Speak no more, my father.” Maron sat up and began to pull her tunic over her nightclothes. “I will go. No one notices a girl of only ten years.”
“You are indeed a blessing to an old man,” her father whispered. ”I would send Melekib, but Mocum is watching him too.”
“My brother has done his part. Now I will do mine.” Maron finished lacing her sandals, then swung a cloak over her head and shoulders as she turned toward the door. “I will return before sunlight burns in the fields.”
“Maron.”
She turned to face her father. By the dim candlelight she could see a slight grin turning up the thin lips above her father’s bearded chin. I have done something foolish again, she decided, but what?
“Do you not wish to know where Teomnihah is?”
Maron lowered her eyes. “Yes, my father.”
“Your acts must never be more eager than your thoughts,” he warned.
“It is a fault of mine,” Maron whispered. “But I will give more to my thoughts. I will not fail you.”
“You must not, Daughter. Teomnihah must not speak to our people this day. Now go. Go to Kurom, to the house of Jorish. Go with the speed of a lion. And may God travel with you.”
“He will,” Maron whispered. “And with His help, I cannot fail.” Silently she exited into the moonlit countryside. Kurom was a sixteen-thousand-cubit journey to the east. From the moon’s position, she guessed it to be about three hours until dawn. She must hurry in order to be back before Mocum’s guards noticed she was gone.
Swiftly, but carefully, she moved along the footpath to the road. Just before reaching it, she turned into the trees, and raced beside the road, being careful to choose the way that allowed her the most cover. There would be many guards. How thankful she was for the dark brown cloak her mother had made.
As Maron thought of the importance of what she was doing, her feet seemed to take wing and glide over the rocky earth. Strength and determination to prove herself to her father surged through her. Never before had anything so important been entrusted to her. Always Melekib did the exciting things, while she helped her blind mother. Always she—
Maron jerked to a stop and merged into the shadows. Struggling to keep her rapid breathing silent, she made herself as motionless as the tree trunk that concealed her. Ahead on the road a guard approached, a sword girded at his waist and his hand resting upon the hilt. Had he heard her as she had heard him? Fear tightened her stomach as the guard’s eyes searched the trees along the road. When he turned her way, he stopped and seemed to look straight at her.
With no visible motion, but with all her might, Maron pressed into the tree, wishing she were part of it. After a long moment the guard slowly turned and went on his way, still searching the tree-lined road. Maron waited until she could no longer hear his footsteps, then spent her fear in running.
It was the fourth day of the new year, and there had been much trouble along with the New Year celebrations. For the past few years, the people of Mocum had become bolder in their persecutions of the people who followed the prophet Nephi. To celebrate this new year, Mocum’s men had stoned many Christians and plundered the homes of the righteous.
The memory of the raiders’ cries and torches and cruelty sent Maron’s feet racing even faster. But she could not keep their words from ringing in her ears: “Where is this Savior you brag about?” they shouted. “Let us see if He saves you now!” Just the memory of the horrid words sent pricks of pain through Maron’s racing heart. Her family had escaped to the caves near the land Bountiful until the celebrating ended. Since then Mocum had set guards around the land and over the Christians to keep those who waited for the Christ from seeking revenge on the nonbelievers.
“Mocum does not believe,” Maron whispered to herself as she ran, “that we Christians would never hurt anyone as we have been hurt.” Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back and made her feet move faster. Her sides ached and tree branches whipped her face as she stumbled on through the darkness, but she would not let herself rest.
To stop the dreadful memories, Maron began singing to herself songs about the long-awaited coming of the Savior. As she approached the protective shadows of the nearest building in Kurom, a strange feeling caused her to look up. The stars seemed oddly cold and sad, even though the moon was bright and the sky cloudless. As she pondered this curiosity, Maron suddenly became aware of something eerier: There was no sound but her breathing—no insect or bird noises, no animal sounds, no wind rustling the trees or weeds. Nothing. Nighttime was always a quiet time, but not this quiet. The silence was more frightening than any sound she had ever heard.
Urging her tired body on, Maron carefully skirted the main street of Kurom. Why had she been so anxious to come? Why had she thought it would be exciting? Maron bit hard on her bottom lip to keep it from quivering. She had not really thought of the danger or expected to have such strange feelings. “I must find Teomnihah!” Maron whispered to herself. “I must find the house of Jorish.”
There were no fires, no people, no sounds as Maron edged along the path to Jorish’s home. Tapping on the door, she called softly, “Jorish, Jorish.”
The door opened a crack. In the dimness Maron could see only the white of an eye peering out. “Who is it?” a harsh, whispery voice asked.
“Maron, daughter of Tat. I have a message for Teomnihah from my father.”
The door opened, and Maron slipped into the darkness. Finally a taper was lit, and Maron saw that the floor was covered with men on sleeping mats. The man who had opened the door turned to her. “What is the message?” he asked.
“Are you Teomnihah?” Maron asked.
“No,” the man said.
“I am.” A man sleepily turned on his mat to face Maron.
“I am Maron, daughter of Tat,” Maron whispered, though she didn’t know why. “My father sent me to warn you that you must not speak before our people today.”
“How did you get here?” Teomnihah asked.
“I ran.” Maron smiled proudly, forgetting her worries for a moment.
“Past the guards?” the man with the taper asked.
“I was careful,” Maron answered.
By now all the men were awake and stirring.
“You are a very brave girl,” Teomnihah said, “but Mocum has already gained control of the city and will allow no meeting.”
Maron’s heart fell. Her trip had been for nothing. Her message was not needed.
“Is there more news?” asked a man Maron recognized as Jorish. He stepped over the mats and men and came into the candlelight.
“No, only that Mocum has heavy guards around Bountiful. My father fears that he will make the Nephites his slaves.”
The men exchanged worried glances.
“I am afraid things are no better here. You must go back,” Teomnihah told her. “However, I do not like to see one so young go so far alone.”
“I will come to no harm,” Maron assured him quickly. “I came, and I will go back safely, for God is with me.”
Teomnihah looked at her intently. “Would that all Nephite fathers had daughters like Tat’s,” he said, smiling.
“At least let us feed her before she goes,” Jorish said.
Maron hadn’t noticed before how hungry she was. But as Jorish started pulling brown bread and cheese from a shelf, her stomach growled. The men laughed, and Maron felt her face flush with embarrassment.
A loud banging at the door silenced those in the room. “What goes on?” a deep voice asked.
Jorish looked at Teomnihah, then replied. “I am preparing the morning meal.”
“Cursed Nephites!”
Maron heard the man spit against the door before he continued, “Can’t even sleep like normal people. Always up before the sun. Let me see this breakfast party.”
Maron noticed the fearful looks on the faces in the room. She also noticed the men’s attempts to not let her see their fear. Teomnihah motioned, and the next thing Maron knew, she had been picked up and stuffed inside a large basket. Her head spun and her heart raced. The confusion and shuffling noises and a suffocating feeling all turned and churned and pounded inside her as a lid slammed over her head.
“Open!” the man outside growled. But before anyone inside could move, the guard began beating down the door. The sound of splintering wood pierced the basket where Maron huddled, and the intruder’s voice, now inside the room, cried, “Stop! Stop where you are or you will never move again!”

When missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints started teaching his family, Isaac Kojo Botwe made it clear from the beginning that he was not interested.
“I would abandon them in the sitting room, go into the boys’ room, and smoke my dirty pipe,” he says, laughing as he recalls what followed. Soon he decided that he really ought to listen to what the missionaries were saying. Not long afterward, he decided that he needed to give up that “dirty pipe” and live the Word of Wisdom.
Elder Mark Owusu, one of the missionaries who taught him, remembers that Isaac Botwe had his children gather his pipes, his tobacco, and his coffee—and then he set fire to the lot of it!
Isaac, his wife, Frances, and their children of baptismal age came into the Church together in 1987. Today, Isaac is bishop of the Takoradi Ward, Cape Coast Ghana Stake. His family has an extensive history of service to the Church. So, too, does Mark Owusu, who has served in a variety of teaching and leadership positions since his mission.

“Because a temple is sacred, the Lord asks that it be protected from desecration. Anyone may enter who is willing to prepare well for that privilege. The concept of preparation prevails in other fields of endeavor. I remember when I was but a young boy, I told my parents I wanted to attend the university. They said I could, but only if I worked hard in preliminary schooling and met all the requirements for admission to the university. Similarly, we must qualify for admission to the temple. We prepare physically, intellectually, and spiritually.”—Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, “Prepare for Blessings of the Temple,” Ensign, Mar. 2002, 18–19.

No one was at the church when, as Young Women president, I arrived to set up chairs in the cultural hall the night before a Young Women activity. I was seven months pregnant, and I had to set up the chairs almost all by myself. But soon my secretary and a counselor arrived and helped me finish. Then we started hanging decorations.
That’s when a lady poked her head in. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but the Relief Society has this room reserved for our yoga class tonight.”
We asked if there was another room they could use, but the other rooms were occupied. So we did the only thing we could: we took down the chairs. I went home that night feeling tired, knowing that in the morning I would need to set up chairs again.
But is it about the chairs? As I took down the chairs after the Young Women activity, I couldn’t help but smile as I thought about those fun and wonderful girls I have come to love dearly. I was grateful for the time I had spent with them.

I’m 16 years old and have been getting the New Era for over a year now. I never really read it until my mom read it one day and fell in love with it and told me there were neat stories in it. My mom is the president of the Young Women and encouraged all of us girls to read it.
I would like to thank Cyndi Erickson from Utah. Her letter was printed in the February 1988 Feedback section under the title “Don’t give up!” I’ve been going through some hard times, and when Mother read that letter in our Young Women meeting I got tears in my eyes. When I came home I read it again. Cyndi, I want you to know that you’ve touched someone’s heart. You’ve helped me put my life together, and I’m sure you’ve touched others too. I’m a new person now, and I love it. I love the Church, the gospel, Heavenly Father, my family, and the New Era!
Shelli BiglerWalnut, California

The woodland was under a heavy shroud of cloud cover that weekend. Rain filtered through the air, and the cameramen waited patiently to expose their film. It rained, and they prayed. And it rained some more. If the filmmakers were unable to complete filming in that one week during the spring of 1975, the project would have to wait a year until the surroundings were right again. The season would soon change, and to add to the problems, the lead actor had to leave the following Friday. On Monday morning the crew awoke before dawn and began to set up all their equipment, thinking somehow they could compensate for the weather. But suddenly it stopped raining. When the sun came up, they beheld the loveliest mist they had ever seen. The tall, wet grasses sparkled, and the birds burst forth in song, and they knew they had been blessed with a beauty they could never have produced themselves.
That morning the Brigham Young University Department of Film Production began filming scenes for the First Vision. Stewart Petersen, who played the Prophet Joseph, walked through those tall grasses with thoughts of that other “beautiful, clear day, early in the spring of eighteen hundred and twenty” (JS—H 1:14) when Joseph Smith humbly prayed for an answer to his question, “Which of all the churches should I join?”