Gospel Story Finder

The Book of Mormon promises that those who read its pages will find peace and healing. I’d like to end by sharing the story of someone who found exactly that. This message came to me as the result of my first missionary experience, just 4 weeks ago in the MTC, when I posted a missionary message on Facebook as directed by my trainer. Within hours I received a surprising reply from a student in a high school French class more than 35 years ago.

He said, “I was just thinking of you, and here you popped up on Facebook. I want you to know I’ve been sober for 30 years and have been married in the temple.” Of course, I messaged him back, and (with his permission) here is his story.

After years of alcohol and drug abuse, he hit bottom. His parents put him in rehab, and he was able to stay sober, but mentally and emotionally he struggled even more.

He was deeply paranoid and diagnosed with schizophrenia. He was sure he had acquired AIDS from a tattoo needle and that the police were coming for him for some unknown crime, so he insisted on sleeping in his neighbor’s yard.

In desperation to grab hold of any truth, he read many religious books, including the Koran. He then decided to become a Buddhist. He found that nothing brought him peace. Then one day, his girlfriend said, “Why don’t you try the Book of Mormon?” I will share his words for what happened next:

“I was resistant. But then what did I have to lose. So, I got a book and started reading. I just got small tastes of something real, something I couldn’t explain. Something I hadn’t felt before. Don’t get me wrong. My life was still in shambles, but something kept urging me, and I had to follow. It wasn’t a particular verse or story. But I started to come alive. I am convinced that my dedication showed God I was serious by literally never letting the book leave my side.

My life got better, although I was not officially “happy,” so to speak, until even years later. The Book of Mormon gave me my life back. I have not worried about AIDS or the police in many years.

Something about the book made me feel safe.

Today, I still try to read what I have found every day – it opens a literal portal to the spirit world and makes the impossible happen. I still have a lot of struggles and am still learning how to live by faith. If I was with your students in Hawaii, I could tell them that this book is about safety.

Safety in the spiritual sense as well as the physical. Tell your students modern life is about spiritual war, and this book is literal shield. Life can be terrifying, but we have help. "Thanks for listening. I’m honored you would want to share my story.”

It started with a discussion about pollywogs, and it ended in a full-scale rebellion.
“Man, it was scary for awhile,” remembers teachers quorum president Ferron Coombs, 14. “They herded us all together and turned on some high-powered fire hoses. That cooled everything down in a hurry.”
The mutiny occurred aboard the USS Manitowoc (LST—1180), which was enroute from the Panama Canal to Ecuador to deliver donated medical supplies and equipment. The LDS young men were part of a group of 27 Canal Zone Explorer Scouts and seven adult advisers who made the voyage at the invitation of Rear Admiral Robert H. Blount.
The cruise wasn’t all work and no play, however. Since the ship would cross the equator on October 10, appropriate initiation ceremonies were planned for the “pollywogs.” A pollywog in the U.S. Navy is someone who has never gone across the equator on a navy ship. Once you’ve been initiated, you’re a shellback. The pollywogs included the Explorers and their adult advisers as well as the majority of the ship’s crew. Roy Meyer, 15, one of the LDS Explorers on the Manitowoc, describes the initiation activities as wild. According to Roy, “The night before we actually crossed the equator, there were all kinds of pollywog uprisings and rebellions. Anyway, since there were only 22 crewmen who had been across before, we outnumbered them more than ten to one. After we knocked off from our chores in the evening, the pollywogs tried to capture the shellbacks and harrass them because we knew they’d get back at us during the regular initiation.
“Boy, we had mutinies going on all over the ship, but they paid us back in full the next day.” In the finest tradition of the sea, the 22 “trusty shellbacks” of the Manitowoc crew insured that all participating pollywogs received their just rewards for various uprisings, rebellions, and other unspecified “crimes.” That’s when the firehoses were used to “control” the unruly pollywogs. Even the adult advisers were found guilty of various offenses.
“Yeah,” laughs a young man whose father is a U.S. Air Force officer, “they really got my dad. I had already been initiated, so I got to watch him be judged. They issued a subpoena for him that accused him of being a ‘High Flying Fowl from the U.S. Hair Farce,’ and the Royal Judge of King Neptune’s Court decided that was a very serious crime. Dad really got sentenced.”
After the initiation ceremonies all the shellbacks—old and new—joined together to give the ship a thorough and much-needed cleaning.
At the completion of the cruise, each new shellback received an official certificate of membership into the Royal Domain of King Neptune.

I have always been drawn to associate with older people (now I am one). I remember in the Quorum of the Twelve, LeGrand Richards didn’t walk as fast as the other Brethren, and I would always wait and open the door for him and walk back to the building with him. One day one of the Brethren said, “Oh, you’re so kind to take care of Brother Richards.” And I thought, “You don’t know my selfish motive”—as we would walk back, I would just listen to him. I knew that he could remember Wilford Woodruff, and he would speak. One-on-one teaching is very powerful. Generally one-on-one teaching is what happens when you are corrected.

Elder Craig A. Cardon of the Seventy is one of thousands of Latter-day Saints who trace their ancestry back to Phillipe Cardon, a Waldensian convert who immigrated to Utah in 1854. Elder Cardon has witnessed the Lord’s work unfolding in the land of his ancestors, first as a missionary in the newly opened Italian Mission in the 1960s and then as president of the Italy Rome Mission in the 1980s.
When Elder Cardon was called to be a mission president in 1983, all but one of the chapels in Rome were rented buildings. In those days new Church buildings were paid for partly by donations from members in the area. Because funds were needed to construct several buildings, it looked impossible on paper for the members to be able to contribute so much. After the matter was given prayerful consideration, the Italian members were invited to take the money they would have spent on Christmas that year and donate it to the building fund. Instead of gifts, families would place a brick under their Christmas trees to represent their sacrifice.
“What happened on that occasion was miraculous,” says Elder Cardon. “The contributions exceeded the need. Because of this and the Saints’ continued tithing faithfulness, the Lord poured out a rich spiritual blessing upon the mission and upon the Saints throughout the area as they willingly responded to do all they could to establish the Church. I am convinced that their commitment was a central part of what allowed the Church to continue to grow to the point for a stake to be organized and now a temple constructed in Rome.”7

Religion was an important part of our lives in Nigeria. My husband, Okoro, and I had great faith in Jesus Christ and loved Him. After we moved to Sweden, all our time was consumed when our twins were born three months early. We lived for four months in the hospital and didn’t go to any church at that time.

Later, we wanted to go to church again, but we did not find a church that felt right for us. We wanted a church that our whole family could attend for all our lives and forever. This desire continued for two years, but we were bothered that we had gotten out of the habit of going to church and praying together as a family.

When the children were a year old, I was out during a terrible snowstorm so I could attend school and learn Swedish. I heard someone call out from behind me. When I looked back, I saw two beautiful young women. I didn’t understand what they were saying, but I did recognize the words “Jesus Christ.”

When they realized I did not speak Swedish, they asked, “Do you speak English?” When I told them I did, they said, “We want to talk to you about Jesus Christ.”

“What about Him?” I asked. “I know Him!”

They laughed and were so excited that they walked up to me. I was impressed and eager to know what they had to say. They said they were missionaries of Jesus Christ, and I agreed to meet with them again and talk more about Jesus. As I left, I felt happy. When I looked back at them, they were just standing there radiating the same joy I was feeling.

When she found the Church, Sister Okoro-Omaka “shed beautiful tears because I was so happy to be coming back to my Savior.”
When I came home from school, I said to my husband, “Sweetheart, guess what. I have found the church where we are going to be members!” I was shivering, I was so excited. I did not know where all these feelings were coming from, but I was happy deep in my heart about meeting the missionaries.

Soon we began learning about the restored Church of Jesus Christ with the missionaries. I shed beautiful tears because I was so happy to be coming back to my Savior. I had no questions about what they taught us until we came to the Book of Mormon. I had a hard time believing anything about it. The missionaries, however, asked me to read the Book of Mormon and pray about it. I prayed sincerely every day for weeks to know if it was really the word of God, but I never read it.

After several weeks without an answer from God, I boarded a train for a trip to Stockholm. On the way, I pulled out the Book of Mormon and began to read.

I read the introduction and the Testimony of Three Witnesses and Eight Witnesses, and I read about Joseph Smith. I was reading it and reading it and reading it. By the time I got to Stockholm, I was crying, shivering, and covered with goosebumps. I felt overwhelmed with the Spirit of God. I knew from personal revelation who Joseph Smith truly was—that he was a prophet and a servant of God. I knew that the Lord had restored the gospel of Jesus Christ to the earth through him.

I then believed all that the missionaries had told me. Once I had read the Book of Mormon for myself, I knew it was true. I told the missionaries I wanted to be baptized. My husband brought our whole family to show their support for me.

After my baptism, we started praying together again as a family, and I began teaching them about what I was learning. Eventually, Okoro asked to meet with the missionaries again. He embraced their teachings, read the Book of Mormon, and prayed about it. He received the same answer I had, and he also asked to be baptized. At last, our whole family was united in our forever Church.

For Brother and Sister Okoro-Omaka, reading the Book of Mormon was key to their conversion.

Because of construction, over 2,000 Muslims in Ghana didn’t have a place to celebrate their religious holidays in 2022. Leaders of the Takoradi Ghana Stake let them worship on the grounds of the stake center. Top: Brother Emmanuel Botwe (left) helped coordinate between the two groups.

That blessed tradition continues today in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Take, for example, the generous Saints of Ghana. Because of construction, local Muslims didn’t have a place where large groups could gather for worship during some of 2022. In April of that year, Latter-day Saints graciously allowed 2,000 followers of Islam to use the Takoradi Ghana Stake center for Ramadan meals and prayers. Two months later, Latter-day Saint leaders welcomed the group as they celebrated Eid al-Adha. These are two of Islam’s biggest holidays.6

Our Muslim friends were grateful. “We are all brothers and sisters. We are from one heritage,” said the local Muslims’ chief imam, Alhaji Mohammad Awal, alluding to Abraham’s sons Ishmael and Isaac.7

Emmanuel Botwe, called to lead communication in the Takoradi Ghana Stake, said he has cultivated relationships with other faiths in the area since 2018. He has invited them in to play football and attend a religious symposium, stake conferences, and the dedication of a new meetinghouse.

“We all have to respect and care for each other regardless of our differences,” Brother Botwe said. “That has prompted me to reach out—especially to our Muslim brothers.” Muslims make up only 19 percent of Ghana, a predominantly Christian country. “We are all sons and daughters of our Father,” he continued, “so we need to see eye to eye with them.”

Brother Botwe’s outreach balances kindness with principle. Muslims traditionally celebrate Eid al-Adha by sacrificing an animal such as a ram or goat. They do this in memory of God allowing Abraham to sacrifice a ram instead of his son Isaac.

“We told [our Muslim friends] that it’s not possible for them to slaughter the ram at our church premises. We explained our belief that the ultimate sacrifice has been done by the Almighty. And they respected our wish,” Brother Botwe said. “After the service, they moved to the mosque, where the sacrifice was done by the chief imam.”

For Brother Botwe’s kindness, the chief imam gifted him some of the ram meat. Brother Botwe graciously accepted.

“When you start by respecting their values and beliefs, respecting them for who they are—and not condemning them, not belittling them, even if you disagree with them—mutual respect will be there,” Brother Botwe said.

Ludovic picked up some folding chairs and carried them across the street. It was Sunday, and church would be starting soon. The house where they had church in Togo didn’t have enough seats. So Ludovic always brought chairs from his grandfather’s house.
“Why would you leave a nice church to go to a small shack?” someone called after him. “Your church doesn’t even have benches!” someone else said, laughing.
Ludovic pretended not to hear. I just have to keep doing what’s right, he thought.
Ludovic first learned about the Church when he was 10. Now he was 12. He and his family had been baptized recently. He held the priesthood and helped pass the sacrament. He even saved some of his lunch money to buy bread for the sacrament each week. Ludovic was happy to serve Heavenly Father.
When it was time for church to start, the small room was full. Some people sat in the chairs Ludovic had brought. Other people stood.
The meeting started with a song. “Israel, Israel, God is calling,” Ludovic sang. He loved to sing at church.
After church, Ludovic hummed as he put the chairs away. He hummed as he walked home. Then he had an idea! He got out his toy piano keyboard. Maybe he could figure out how to play “Israel, Israel, God Is Calling”!
Ludovic hummed the notes and played different keys until he got it right. Soon he taught himself to play the whole song.
Then he remembered that his family had some recordings of Church hymns. He listened to them and learned to play other songs too. Ludovic practiced and practiced.
“Why don’t you play in church while we sing?” Ludovic’s dad asked one day.
Ludovic’s stomach did a flop. “I’m too shy,” he said. “What if I mess up?”
“Then you will keep going,” Dad said. “You are a better pianist than you think.”
The next Sunday, Ludovic didn’t carry just chairs. He carried his toy keyboard to church too. When it was time for the opening song, he nervously put his fingers on the keys. Then he started to play. Everyone sang along. And it sounded so good!
Ludovic played in church each Sunday after that. Sometimes he messed up. But he didn’t quit. When the song was too hard to play, they sang without the piano, and Ludovic led the music.
Ludovic smiled. It didn’t matter to him that they had church at someone’s house. It didn’t even matter that people made fun of him. What mattered was that Ludovic was using his talents to serve God.
A missionary taught Ludovic to read music so he could play the piano better.
Ludovic is grown up now. He and his wife, Benedict, both love music.
Ludovic owns a real piano at home and plays the organ at church.

Stacie Lloyd, 18, Draper 8th Ward, Draper Utah North Stake. Stacie entered BYU in the fall as a freshman. She needed to earn as much money as she could for college. She and her parents agreed that she would pay tuition, and they would help with housing and food.

Stacie had a regular job in a flower shop, but it was a slow time for florists and she was needed only in the afternoons. She got a second job working in the mornings at a local restaurant as a prep girl, making the salads and cutting up vegetables and garnishes. Since she is paid hourly, she didn’t always know precisely how much her paychecks would be. Here is what Stacie estimated her income and expenses would be for one month, and then what actually happened:

Estimate
Actual
Income
$495.00
$526.35
Expenses
tithing
49.50
52.64
savings
315.00
326.69
lunches
20.00
22.00
miscellaneous
25.00
33.69
gas
13.00
4.00
fun
35.00
35.00
clothes
35.00
37.00
total
$492.50
511.02

Stacie followed her plan fairly closely. She only had a few minor problems. She had used up her lunch budget by the middle of the month, so she chose to cut out going out to lunch to meet her plan. In the future, she may have to increase the amount she needs for lunches. Also in the miscellaneous section, she knew she had some expenses for girls’ camp and planned for them. What she didn’t plan on was the birthday cards she bought that month. That put her over in the miscellaneous section. She got a break on gas because she didn’t use the car as much. Stacie’s “fun” category was a little higher than normal because she and her friends had planned to go to a concert and she budgeted in the price of the ticket.

Stacie looked over the month and said, “It was good that I took my savings out first because I spent nearly every single penny I had left until my next paycheck. If something else had come up, I would have been stuck.”

Stacie also just opened her first checking account. She said, “I’ve heard the bad side, that you just write out checks all the time. But I keep forgetting my checkbook, and I don’t have cash very often. I know if I have cash I just spend it. My checking account actually kept me from spending sometimes.”

Now that she’s ready for college, Stacie says, “I wish I had started saving when I was in the ninth grade when I really didn’t have that much to spend my baby-tending money on. I wish I had always put half into savings.”

Agnes Caldwell thought that she had the smartest, thriftiest mother alive. Agnes knew that it was no easy task for her widowed mother, Margaret, to raise three boys and two girls by herself.
Just before Agnes was born, her father, William Caldwell, was lost at sea. A few years later, her mother had the enormous job of getting her family safely from Scotland to America and then to Salt Lake Valley.
In 1856, when Agnes was nine years old, she and her family boarded the ship Thornton and arrived in America seven weeks later. In Iowa, they joined the James G. Willie Handcart Company. Their company suffered greatly on their way to the Valley as they pushed and pulled their heavily-laden handcarts through terrible snowstorms and freezing temperatures. Agnes knew that her mother’s hard work and careful planning saved their lives many times.
One day when they had very little to eat, Agnes’s mother sold a quilt and a bedspread and used the money to buy food. She often traded trinkets and gifts to the Indians for dried meat, which proved to be a great help, especially when the cold wind was blowing and they couldn’t build a fire. On such days, she would give each of her children a piece of dried meat and some bread. Sometimes she took a small piece of meat and made a stew, thickening it with a little flour and some salt. It tasted so good on a cold night!
Agnes marveled as she watched her mother find a way to bake food out on the prairie. Mother dug a hole in the ground, placed the food in a heavy iron kettle with a tight lid, then set it in the hole and covered it with burning buffalo chips or small pieces of wood. She prepared many tasty meals in this way.
One day, while stopped in Laramie, Wyoming, she and others in the company visited an officer at a command post. She wanted to trade some jewelry and silver spoons for flour and meat. The officer said that he could not use any of these items but told her where she could make the trade. After Mother left, he told the others they were foolish to make this dangerous journey. He tried to persuade some of them to stay with him in Wyoming, but they insisted that they wanted to be with the other Latter-day Saints in the Rocky Mountains. When Mother returned, he gave them a large cured ham and wished them well in their adventure to Utah.
Agnes wrote of one incident that took place shortly before they got to Salt Lake Valley: “Just before we crossed the mountains, relief wagons reached us, and it certainly was a relief. The infirm and aged were allowed to ride, all able-bodied continuing to walk. When the wagons started out, a number of us children decided to see how long we could keep up with the wagons, in hopes of being asked to ride. At least that is what my great hope was. One by one all fell out, until I was the last one remaining, so determined was I that I should get a ride.
“After what seemed the longest run I ever made before or since, the driver, who was William Henry “Heber” Kimball, called to me, ‘Say, sissy, would you like a ride?’ I answered in my very best manner, ‘Yes sir.’
“At this he reached over, taking my hand, clucking to his horses to make me run, with legs that seemed to me could run no farther. On we went, to what to me seemed miles. What went through my head at that time was that he was the meanest man that ever lived or that I had ever heard of, and other things that would not be a credit nor would it look well coming from one so young. Just at what seemed the breaking point, he stopped. Taking a blanket, he wrapped me up and lay me in the bottom of the wagon, warm and comfortable. Here I had time to change my mind, as I surely did, knowing full well by doing this he saved me from freezing when taken into the wagon.”

The second thing you can do is to be a friendshipper. A friendshipper is a person who tries to be a friend to people and invite them out to church activities. Sometimes it’s hard to go to a new place when you don’t know anyone there. But if you have a friend, it makes it much easier. This lesson I learned with one of our daughters.
As school was about to begin for the year, she was a little nervous because she had to go to a new school. Sister Dunn and I told her everything would be fine, but on the morning when she had to go she was frightened. She didn’t know if she would be accepted or if she would make new friends or if her teacher would like her. She announced, “I don’t think I had better go to school today.”
I said, “Why not?”
She answered, “I think I’m going to get sick.”
We decided that it would help if I took her to school. But when we got there she didn’t want to get out of the car, so I helped her out. As we walked up the sidewalk she grabbed my leg, and by the time we were inside she had both legs. She was really scared. Then a wonderful thing happened. Along came a friendshipper. She saw my frightened daughter and came running up and said, “Hi, Kellie. How are you?” And in about five seconds my daughter forgot all about being afraid. I remember that as she left me she stopped a few paces away and said, “You can go now Dad—I don’t need you anymore.” This wonderful little friendshipper took Kellie’s hand and now everything was all right.

“There’s the steeple!” Natalie called out. She loved going to church. Sunday was her favorite day of the week, except for one thing—she was sad that her brother, Michael, chose not to go to church with the rest of the family.
As Natalie sat quietly during sacrament meeting, she thought about Michael. When he used to come to church, Natalie liked to sit next to him while she looked at her picture books about Jesus. After sacrament meeting, Michael would take her hand and walk her to Primary. “See you later, Sis,” he would always say. But Michael hadn’t been to church in a long time.
Natalie wished she could tie him up with her jump rope and pull him to church in her little red wagon, but she knew he wouldn’t like that. What else could she do?
In Primary, Sister Chang greeted her class cheerfully. “I am so glad you are all here today,” she said. “It makes me happy to see your smiling faces. But who is missing?”
Natalie looked around the room. She raised her hand. “Jed,” she called out. “Jed isn’t here today.”
“You are right,” Sister Chang said. “Jed wasn’t here last week either.”
“Maybe he’s sick,” Lisa suggested.
“Maybe he’s on a trip,” Boyd said.
“Maybe he just didn’t want to come,” Natalie said quietly.
“We need to let him know we love him and miss him when he’s gone,” Sister Chang said.
“How can we do that?” Natalie asked.
“We’ll tell him,” Sister Chang said. “Little things can often make a big difference. I made a card for you to sign, and you can each draw a special picture for Jed.”
Natalie decided to draw a picture of a mountain and trees because she knew that Jed liked the outdoors. And then Natalie asked her teacher if she could draw another picture to take home.
When Natalie got home from church, she found Michael in his room listening to music. “Hi, Sis,” he greeted her. “What’s up?”
Natalie handed him a folded piece of paper. “I made you a card.”
“For me?” Michael smiled. “Why? It’s not my birthday or anything.”
“Sister Chang helped me write the inside. It says, ‘I miss you when you don’t come to church with us. I love you.’ And I signed my name.”
“Thanks,” Michael said softly. “It’s a nice card. You did a good job.”
“You’re welcome.” Natalie gave her brother a hug and hurried off to help Mom fix dinner. She felt happy inside. She loved her brother so much, and now he knew it too.
The following Sunday, Natalie was so excited when Michael decided to go to church. She held his hand as they entered the chapel. She sat quietly next to him during the service. Natalie saw Jed sitting two rows up and gave him a little wave.
Natalie loved going to church, especially when all her friends and family were there. She decided that from now on, if she missed someone, she would say so, because sometimes little things can make a big difference.

Plop! Plop! Bennett felt drops of paint hit his face as he pushed the paint roller up the wall.
“Oh great,” he grumbled. His arms ached, he was thirsty, and now he was covered in sticky paint spots. He turned to Mom.
“I don’t really want to do this anymore. Can we go home?”
Mom stopped painting and wiped her forehead with her arm.
“There’s still a lot of wall left to paint,” she said. “And we haven’t been here that long. If you could keep helping, that would be great.”
Bennett looked at the grimy wall. It seemed to stretch on forever. At first he had been excited to help with this service project, but now he was just bored and tired. Several other people were helping paint, but Mom was right—there was a long way to go!
“Fine,” he mumbled, picking up his paint roller.
“Why don’t we play Name That Song?” Mom said. She started humming.
Bennett smiled a little. He was really good at this game! He knew the tune right away.
“That’s ‘Nephi’s Courage’!” Bennett said. “We sang it in Primary last week.”
Mom reached over to give him a messy high five.
“I like that song because it talks about some of the hard things Nephi did,” she said. “Like getting the plates, even when he had to keep trying over and over again.”
“And building a boat!” Bennett said.
Mom nodded. “When we get tired today, maybe it would help if we think of what Nephi would do. We could try having a Nephi attitude.”
Bennett liked the idea of being like Nephi. Nephi was strong and brave and good.
Bennett imagined Nephi painting with him. He imagined Nephi standing on his tiptoes to help him reach the highest bricks. He imagined Nephi racing him to see who could paint the fastest with the least drips. He thought Nephi would probably like working hard to help someone else.
Little by little, Bennett and Mom kept painting the wall, playing Name That Song as they went along. Sometimes they took a water break under a nearby tree with the other helpers. As the sun got high and hot in the sky, Bennett realized that they were almost finished!
“Sorry I was grumpy,” Bennett told Mom as they sat in the shade. “I guess I feel like Laman and Lemuel sometimes.”
Mom laughed. “We all do! And I really appreciate your help. Thanks for not giving up.”
Bennett looked at the wall. Almost all of the grime and graffiti was now covered with fresh, clean paint. It made the whole block look brighter! Bennett grinned. He had helped make that happen!
There was just one part left to paint.
“C’mon, Mom,” Bennett said, taking a last gulp of water and picking up his paintbrush. “Let’s go and do!”
“You are a great power for good. You will make the world a better place.”

Mary arrived in New York, and the immigrants continued West onto Council Bluffs, where they were outfitted with handcarts. Mary had only meager means, and handcarts were the best option for her. She and her friends were assigned to the Israel Evans Handcart Company.
Mary was a very small person. Pushing handcarts was very physical work. There were straps attached to the handcarts that made it possible to “put your back into it,” as you might say.
For Mary and her dear friends, the journey was a series of miracles. While pulling and pushing the handcart, Mary would become so exhausted and disheartened that when the camp would stop at noon and again at night she would fall to the ground in a weakened condition, and her companion Ann James would pray over her, asking God to give the frail little body the physical power and courage to reach Zion. These prayers were answered, for each time Mary was rejuvenated, and miraculous strength was added so that she could continue to another stopping place. It was actually as great a miracle in the eyes of these three struggling women as the daily supplying of manna to the children of Israel. They each bore testimony of these events for the rest of their lives. They arrived on September 12, 1857, weary, ragged, hungry, and footsore—but so grateful to have finally made it.
This experience of my great-great-grandmother was just the opposite of what Alma warned against. Ann James, who prayed over my ancestor, was like the angel that Elder Carlos A. Godoy talked about in this past general conference. Ann saw someone in great need who had no one to help her. Ann James very easily could have thought to herself, “I am also tired and alone—who is going to help me?” But instead, during the time she could have been taking rest that she needed, she tended to someone else in dire need.
When Mary died, as they were preparing her body for burial, they noticed she had deep scars on her shoulders from the straps that she used to push and pull her handcart.

Rachel and Michelle decided one Saturday that it would be nice to take a walk with their stuffed animals. They got permission from both their parents, but Rachel’s mom said, “Only if you don’t cross any streets. Stay on the sidewalk.” So Michelle and Rachel started off on their walk, pushing their stuffed animals in Michelle’s old baby stroller. They came to a cul-de-sac and walked around it on the sidewalk. Returning home, they could not cross the mouth of the cul-de-sac without going across the street. Rachel said, “I don’t think we should cross the street,” but they didn’t want to walk clear back around the cul-de-sac either. They decided to obey their parents, so they went back around the cul-de-sac, staying on the sidewalk. They were glad that they had obeyed their parents. We hope that all of you reading this will obey your parents too.

Melinda Marx lived in a brick apartment building in a big city, and she often played in the hall near the front door. She liked to watch the people going in and out, in and out. Eight families used the door, and she knew all of them.
She knew where each of them lived too. “So how are you today, Miss Merry Sunshine?” David Sullivan would say as he rolled his wheelchair out to get his mail. He lived in A-2, and every day he had a different name for her.
“Let me through, kid—I’m late enough for work now!” Mr. Warrel would growl, his big bushy eyebrows wiggling. He lived in A-5, right across from Melinda and her mother and the baby. He frowned and complained a lot.
“Want to play jump rope with us?” the Johnson twins would ask as they swung on the hall door. They lived in A-7 with their mother, who worked at a bakery, and their father, who was looking for a job.
“It’s a disgrace! A disgrace!” Miss Bates would exclaim each time she went in and out, her brown curls bouncing up and down. “Children cluttering up the hallway—a disgrace!” She lived in A-4, and she thought everything was a disgrace.
“Watch out! I don’t want to step on you!” Mr. Spreely, from A-3 would shout when he passed through. He always shouted because he was almost deaf.
“You ought to get out in the sunshine more, Melinda,” admonished Mrs. Treski, from A-8, as she left each day to go jogging. She had glasses that bobbed on her long thin nose as she jogged, and she ran in place as she talked, her words going up and down as she did.
Yes, Melinda knew all of these people. She liked some of them a little, and she liked some of them a lot. But Mrs. Pasquali, in A-1, was absolutely, positively, without a doubt the very nicest of all. She had loved Mrs. Pasquali since the day the little lady moved in, and Mrs. Pasquali loved Melinda too.
“You remind me of my own Rosanna when she was your age,” Mrs. Pasquali would say, her brown eyes sparkling. She had a brown face, too, with gray hair twined around her head in a braid. Her face was lined and worn, and she walked with a limp. Mrs. Pasquali had the happiest laugh in the whole world. Even the metal mailboxes in the front hallway seemed to chuckle right along with her.
She had the most interesting apartment, too, Melinda thought. It was full of wonderful, marvelous inventions. The best one was a record player that didn’t need to be plugged in.
“You just wind it up like this, and you have beautiful music,” Mrs. Pasquali would say. She really did have beautiful music—exciting songs with strange words sung by people with deep, full voices. Mrs. Pasquali seemed to have absolutely everything.
Except money. She didn’t have much of that. “But who needs money if you have love?” she would ask, hugging Melinda. Somehow she always got along just fine. Often her cupboard would be almost bare, but she always managed to find a box of rice or a bit of macaroni when things were bad and her pension check was late.
But then one day it happened! Mrs. Pasquali had no money at all, and none would come until the next day. She had no food, either. Not one scrap. “Dearie me,” she said, peering into her empty cupboards.
Melinda felt tears come to her eyes. Then a happy thought came to her. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Pasquali,” she told her with a merry smile. “You can have some love stew!”
“Love stew?” Mrs. Pasquali stared at Melinda. “What’s that?”
“It’s wonderful,” Melinda said. “You invite people you love to come to dinner, and then you all just sit down and eat love stew. It’s delicious!”
“How can I invite people to dinner?” Mrs. Pasquali asked. “I have no food to feed anyone, and I hardly know anybody. I haven’t lived here very long.”
Melinda spied a huge pot and struggled to put it on Mrs. Pasquali’s stove. “That’s no problem,” she said “I know everybody in this building, and they all love you. I’ll tell them to come here at six o’clock tonight for some love stew.”
Mrs. Pasquali wrung her hands. “But, Melinda, when they come and find I have nothing to feed them, they’ll laugh at me.”
Melinda patted the huge pot. “This will hold the love stew!” she said. “Now I’ll go invite the guests.”
Melinda knocked at the apartment of David Sullivan first. “There is only an empty pot on the stove,” she finished telling him, “but I told Mrs. Pasquali we’d all eat love stew.”
David Sullivan wiped his eyes. He’d been peeling onions, he said, and they made his eyes water. “Hey, Princess, I’d love to come! Count me in.”
Melinda had tears in her eyes, too, but they weren’t from onions. She turned to go up the stairs. The front door banged open, and Mrs. Treski came bouncing in, carrying two jugs of milk.
“Love stew?” she cried, when Melinda invited her. “Sounds very healthy! I’ll be there. Six o’clock on the dot!” She bounded up the stairs.
Melinda looked after her and grinned. Now to invite Mr. Spreely.
The smell of meat cooking drifted out from his apartment. “What?” he kept shouting. “Love stew? Where? When? Who?”
“What’s all this racket?” Miss Bates cried, opening her door across the hall.
“It’s a disgrace! A disgrace!” She agitatedly waved her hand. “What’s going on out here?”
Melinda hadn’t been sure whether she wanted to invite Miss Bates and Mr. Warrel. But yes—even if they were cranky and complaining sometimes, Melinda was sure they liked all the people in the building. And so, twisting her braids, she told Miss Bates about Mrs. Pasquali’s love stew.
“Love stew? I declare! I accept your invitation. It would be a disgrace not to accept it!”
“Six o’clock?” boomed Mr. Spreely. “Yes, yes, I’ll come!” Both doors banged shut.
“Don’t block the stairs, little girl,” said Mr. Warrel, hurrying past Melinda. He was carrying a grocery bag with celery leaves sticking out of the top.
“I was just going up to ask you to come to dinner,” Melinda said. “It’s at Mrs. Pasquali’s. The lady in A-1.” She told him the whole story.
“Well,” he said. He stood a moment, thinking, and Melinda realized that he was rather handsome when he wasn’t complaining or wiggling his bushy eyebrows in a frown. “I usually watch the news then,” he mumbled, “but I’ll come.”
Melinda’s mother agreed to come, too, and to bring the baby. She had planned boiled potatoes for their dinner, she said, but she would rather eat love stew.
Melinda hurried off to the top floor.
“Glad to come,” Mr. Johnson answered. He promised to bring his wife and the twins as soon as Mrs. Johnson returned from work at the bakery.
Just before six o’clock, Melinda went down to Mrs. Pasquali’s apartment to help her set the table. She put water in the huge pot and turned on the burner under it. Then Melinda found her favorite record and was cranking up the record player when there was a knock at the door. Mrs. Pasquali rushed to open it.
“I declare!” cried Miss Bates, hurrying inside and over to the stove as the music started. “I haven’t heard that song since I was a girl!”
“Let me have a look at our dinner!” cried David Sullivan, entering next and wheeling himself toward the stove.
The rest of the guests all arrived together. “I want to see the love stew too!” shouted Mr. Spreely, bobbing impatiently behind the Johnson family. “Excuse me,” said Melinda’s mother, “I want the baby to see that magic pot.” Mrs. Treski opened the refrigerator door to put the milk in to keep cool.
Soon everybody was laughing and talking. Some of them started singing along with the music. Mrs. Pasquali’s merry laugh rang out above the happy sounds.
Melinda scurried about between the kitchen and the guests and the dining room table. Finally she called out, “Dinner’s ready!”
Mrs. Pasquali’s laughter turned into a deep sigh as everyone crowded around the table.
“Make way for the love stew!” cried Mr. Warrel, carrying the huge pot from the stove. He placed it on a thick pad.
Melinda put a potholder on the lid and said, “Come dish it up, Mrs. Pasquali.”
Still looking anxious, Mrs. Pasquali lifted the lid.
The pot was full! It had meat and potatoes and carrots and onions and celery and gravy and a wonderful aroma! There was bread and milk, too, and even a freshly baked pie for dessert. Mr. Spreely offered thanks for it all.
Everyone ate and ate, then bustled around and cleaned up the dishes. A little stew was even left over for Mrs. Pasquali to eat the next day.
“How can I ever thank you?” Mrs. Pasquali asked timidly as her guests started to leave.
“Just bring something to our next love-stew dinner,” said Mrs. Johnson as she helped her husband guide the twins out into the hall.
“Yes, it’s a tradition we have here,” Melinda’s mother explained, hurrying away to put the baby to bed.
“We do it when one of us is lonely,” Mr. Spreely shouted.
“Or sick,” chimed in Miss Bates.
“Or bored,” added Mr. Warrel.
“Or celebrating something special,” David Sullivan put in.
“It keeps us on our toes,” Mrs. Treski joked as she started out for her nightly jog.
“Love stew is a wonderful tradition!” Mrs. Pasquali exclaimed, giving Melinda a big hug. Melinda just grinned and hugged her back.

“When I was a new bride, … I was invited to a lunch for all of the Relief Society sisters in my ward who had read either the Book of Mormon or a short Church history book. I had become casual in my scripture reading, so I qualified to attend the luncheon by reading the short book because it was easier and took less time. As I was eating my lunch, I had a powerful feeling that though the history book was a good one, I should have read the Book of Mormon. The Holy Ghost was prompting me to change my scripture reading habits. That very day I began to read the Book of Mormon, and I have never stopped. … Because I started reading the scriptures daily, I have learned about my Heavenly Father, His Son Jesus Christ, and what I need to do to be like Them. …

When André Green of Folcroft, Pennsylvania, became a deacon, the bishop advised him to do good works beyond the usual duties of a deacon. André took the bishop seriously and at school asked his teacher and principal if he could use the New Testament as his next major reading assignment. At first, he was denied permission, but by proving that he was already doing other large reading projects, he was given permission to do an oral and written book report. Besides receiving an A+, the report was displayed before the entire school.

We found a place to stay in Ogden with a family named Ferrin. Mother got better and cooked for this household of grown men in return for our board and room. I fell in love with one of the Ferrin brothers, Jacob Samuel. We were married in the Endowment House, and we moved to Provo with my brother Heber.
Later my husband and I moved to Arizona, where we were once again pioneers in an unknown territory.

The trail seemed new to Zeb, who was only six when he traveled it to Utah. So, like a tourist, he watched for famous landmarks along the trail. At one, Devil’s Gate in Wyoming, he examined the spot where the snowbound handcart companies holed up in November 1856. Those pioneers had left behind much of their baggage and buried many prized possessions until someone from Utah could pick them up. According to Zeb, he and the Utah Boys “dug out a piano, and several sacks of salt, which had been cached 4 years ago. They were not damaged in the least.”

I had an experience recently which further illustrates these principles. A father who was very wealthy asked if I could talk to his family. His daughter had recently been through a divorce. I went to see her and her children. Her father could have provided for all of their needs and cares, but he said it was time for them to live more modestly and to help support themselves, to be more self-sufficient, to be able to stand on their own. This experience is similar to the Lord’s asking His Father, “Why hast thou forsaken me?” for the family’s reaction was, “Why would Father do this now when we need him the most?” But you see, he was preparing them that they might be strengthened by providing for their own needs, so that when they did gain their inheritance, they would be able to endure to the end and remain self-sufficient.

There are times that we, as parents, must be able to cut our own children loose in order that they may learn to make decisions for themselves and have the strength to stand on their own.