Gospel Story Finder

“Do I have to wash all these dishes?” Jenny asked as she put on an apron.
“Sorry, honey,” Mother said. “Elizabeth was so fussy that I spent a lot of time taking care of her. I wasn’t able to do much cleaning today.”
Elizabeth was Jenny’s baby sister, and she had been very fussy lately. Mother said Elizabeth was “teething,” which meant she was getting new teeth. Jenny was sorry Elizabeth was uncomfortable, but still, it didn’t seem fair. It was Jenny’s turn to do the dinner dishes, not the breakfast, lunch, and dinner dishes.
Jenny sighed and turned on the water. She filled the sink with lots and lots of bubbles. She liked the way the bubbles shimmered. She pretended the bubbles were snow and piled them into mountains. Then she scooped some up in her hand and pretended it was an ice-cream cone. Finally she blew them off her hand and watched them float above the sink. It was fun to play with the bubbles, but it wasn’t getting the work done. And Jenny had homework to do. She didn’t want the dishes to take all night.
Jenny reached for the nearest pans to put them into the water. “Oh, no!” she thought. “Not the muffin tins!” The muffin tins were always hard to clean. She would have to scrub out each section one at a time and keep checking to make sure they were completely clean.
As Jenny worked, she started thinking about muffins. Her mother had made banana muffins for breakfast that morning. Banana muffins were her favorite kind, and this morning they had been hot and delicious. Jenny had never made muffins before, but she knew her mother had to get up early to make sure they were ready before school. And her mother probably hadn’t gotten much sleep last night because of Elizabeth’s crying. Jenny rinsed the muffin tins carefully and set them out to dry. Somehow, washing the muffin tins didn’t seem like such a chore anymore.
The next thing that needed washing was a large pot. “Ah, yes,” Jenny thought, “Mother cooked macaroni and cheese in this pot.” She lived close enough to her school to walk home for lunch. When she had come home today she had brought her friend Melinda. Jenny’s mother had made them macaroni and cheese with cut-up hot dogs. While they ate, the girls told Jenny’s mother all about the art project they had worked on at school that morning. After they finished lunch, they hurried back to school.
Jenny was glad that she was able to come home during the day, and she was also glad her friends felt welcome in her home. Jenny scrubbed out the macaroni-and-cheese pot carefully. She wanted to make sure it was clean and ready for future lunches with her friends.
The last big dish to wash was the rectangular casserole pan. It still had some scalloped potatoes left in it from dinner. Jenny took a clean spoon, scooped out the potatoes, and popped them into her mouth. Delicious! Jenny knew that the scalloped potato recipe came from her grandmother. Jenny started thinking about her grandmother as she washed the pan. She loved to visit Grandmother. They would often make bread together. And then, while the bread was rising, Grandmother would tell Jenny wonderful stories about her childhood.
Jenny had just finished rinsing all the dishes and was draining the sink when her mother came into the kitchen.
“Finished so soon?” Mother asked. “I hurried back as quickly as I could to help you. I’m sorry that there were so many dishes to do tonight.”
“I don’t mind,” Jenny said. “Doing the dishes gives me time to think about things.”
“Like what?” Mother asked.
“Like family, friends, and good food. You know, it’s actually kind of nice that we have so many dirty dishes to wash.”
“It is?” Mother asked in surprise.
“Sure. Having a lot of dirty dishes just goes to show we have a lot of blessings.”
Mother nodded. “That’s true,” she said. “And one of those blessings is a daughter who cheerfully washes the dishes.”

Elder McConkie and Elder Haight were assigned to the twelve-stake conference in Santa Barbara, California. We met to plan the conference in Elder Haight’s office. I was the junior member of the team. Elder McConkie’s only request was that we do what would be most convenient for the people of the twelve stakes. So we planned two four-hour leadership meetings on Saturday, one in Chatsworth and one in Santa Barbara, one hundred miles away. Sunday would find us doing two two-hour meetings on the University of California, Santa Barbara, campus. We would return the one hundred miles to Los Angeles and arrive home about midnight. Elder Haight, ever solicitous of Elder McConkie, protested, but bowed to the senior apostle.

I saw him that week in the General Authority dining room. “John, let’s go preach the gospel,” he said with obvious enthusiasm. He anticipated the chance to once more teach and exhort the Saints.

On the Friday night before the conference, Shirley and I met Bruce and Amelia McConkie and David Haight at the Burbank airport. Elder McConkie was completely exhausted. He had just had his chemotherapy shot. (Incidentally, Sister McConkie says that his doctor, who was not a member of the Church, did not quite know how to take Bruce. She said he would walk in on Friday for his shot, roll up his sleeve, and say, “Seven more days of life, Doc!”)

After we met at the airport that night, Elder McConkie went straight to bed without dinner. Over dinner, Amelia shared with us his cooperative disdain for the illness which was obviously consuming him. I think it was she that bore the brunt of his pending date with the Savior. For him, this is the way he would describe it, “It makes not a particle of difference whether I preach the gospel here or in the world to come. I will preach the gospel.”

Many felt he was never more powerful than he was at that conference, nor was there a finer regional conference than that on Saturday and Sunday in Chatsworth and Santa Barbara. He was back where his father Oscar McConkie had presided in such power, which I remember well because I was one of the young people who was greatly influenced by his father. The stake president in Santa Barbara, Gerald Haws, was one he had installed, and Jerry’s father had been a district president in the same area serving with Oscar McConkie.

Experiencing some difficulty with the sound on Sunday, he grasped the microphone on the podium and pulled it close to his mouth. “I didn’t come all this way not to be heard,” he announced. Everyone heard and everyone understood his message of salvation.

We drove back to Los Angeles and awaited the late arrival of our flight to Salt Lake City. In the airport many recognized him and Elder Haight and spoke to both of them. He could travel to no location in the world without being recognized. He and all of the rest of us were tired as we arrived in Salt Lake City at midnight.

On Tuesday following that exhausting weekend, I saw him at the office. “How are you feeling?” I asked. He jumped instantly into the air, clicked his heels, and exclaimed, “Great!”

You saw and heard him at general conference. You saw a man as close to having one foot on the earth and another in paradise as you are likely to see. Once more he raised his voice to proclaim his testimony of and allegiance to Jesus the Christ. Soon he would join his Savior, but he must endure to the end. This he did with courage and power beyond anything I have witnessed. He never returned to his ministry after that talk.

This summer I had the opportunity of attending a high priest group meeting in a small community in southern Wyoming. The lesson that week was on justification and sanctification. It was evident as the lesson was beginning that the teacher was well prepared to instruct his brethren. Then a question prompted a response which changed the whole course of the lesson. In response to the question, the comment of one of the brethren was, “I have listened with great interest to the lesson material. The thought has crossed my mind that the information presented will soon be lost if we do not find application to put the material presented into practice in our daily lives.”

Then he went on to propose a course of action for the quorum. The night before, a citizen of the community had passed away. His wife was a member of the Church, but he had not been. This high priest had visited the widow and offered his sympathy. Leaving the home after the visit, his eyes wandered over the beautiful farm of the deceased brother. He had put so much of his life and labor into building it up. The alfalfa was ready to cut; the grain would soon be ready to harvest. How would this poor sister cope with the sudden problems now falling on her? She would need time to get herself organized for her new responsibilities.

Then he proposed to the group that they make an application of the principle that was being taught—by working with the widow to keep her farm operational until such time as a more permanent solution could be found by the widow and her family. The balance of the meeting was spent in organizing the project to assist her. The principles of the lesson found immediate application.

As we left the classroom, there was a good feeling among the brethren. I heard one of them remark as he passed through the doorway, “This project is just what we needed to get this quorum working together again.” A lesson had been taught, a brotherhood had been strengthened, a service project had been organized to assist someone in need.

As a young bride, newly arrived in Cambridge, Massachusetts, I experienced some cultural shock. In those days Boston billed itself as the hub of culture, which included the leading families of a society very unfamiliar to me. In our first Relief Society meeting in a little old house on Brattle Street in Cambridge, I listened as a strong, faithful, wise woman (a long-time resident) implored us:
“Now don’t you Utah girls come here and hold your noses for four years wishing you were back in the only true West, where things are done right. Absorb this wonderful culture! Learn New England cookery. Get to know your Yankee neighbors. That may take some patience, but it’s well worth it. Catholics are people. Take the subway over to the Esplanade and hear the Boston Symphony, free, this summer. Do it; then you, as well as your husbands, will have something to take home.”
I believed her. Her sound advice changed my responses, and changed my life. When our four years were over, my husband brought home a Ph.D., and I came back loving New England—its speech patterns, seafood, Catholics, and all. This kind sister taught me about differences and a most impressive lesson on tolerance, and I learned that tolerating differences can lead to love.

One inspiring story about leadership in the home is about a mother named Katie Davis Majors, a young woman from Tennessee who had always dreamed of traveling the world and doing something meaningful with her life. So, at the age of 18, she decided to take a gap year and volunteer at an orphanage in Uganda.

During her year in Uganda, Katie fell in love with the children she was caring for and with the country itself. She decided to stay in Uganda permanently, and she eventually founded a non-profit organization that helps provide education and healthcare to children in need.

But even more than her work in Uganda, Katie is known for her leadership in her own home. She and her husband have 13 adopted children, many of whom have special needs. Katie is a devoted mother who has created a warm and loving home for her children, despite the many challenges they face. Katie’s leadership in her home is characterized by patience, kindness, and selflessness—three additional qualities on our Top 10 list. Katie has taught her children the importance of hard work, perseverance, and compassion, and she leads by example, putting their needs before her own.

Katie’s story is a powerful reminder that leadership isn’t just about what you do outside the home—it’s also about how you lead within your own family. Her example shows that the qualities of a great leader can have a transformative effect on those around you.

Archie noticed the red-orange reflection in the mirror as he walked through the family room on his way out the door. He had seen that color thousands of times in his life. He had grown fondly accustomed to the vibrant orange hue that surrounded his roundish face. Every time Archie looked in the mirror he was reminded of the fact that he was not only a redhead, he was the personification of the brightest, most intense, flaming red that ever graced the top of a young man’s head.
He recalled several years earlier when he was living with his parents in Africa that people would pat him on the head because they thought red hair was an omen of good luck—a symbol of good fortune.
His pleasant reflection was startled by the “MEEOOOP!” of the horn from the enchanted yellow bus that would carry him to his first day of junior high.
Archie anxiously gathered his books and papers and rushed to the front door where he was greeted by a proud reception line composed of his mother, his two little brothers, his grandmother, and his dad. After all, it isn’t every day that the oldest son in the family takes off for the first day of junior high. A little embarrassed and hurried, Archie kissed his mom on the cheek, waved to his grandma and brothers, and shook his dad’s hand as he galloped off to his new adventure.
Archie slipped through the folding doors of the bus, only to find himself staring into the faces of dozens of different and older students who would also be attending Jefferson Junior High School.
With a sigh of relief he focused on Jimmy, his best friend, who had saved a seat for him by the window.
Archie plomped into the seat as the bus rumbled down the road. Jimmy said, “Greg said that we’d better watch out today at school or he and his ninth grade friends will sit us on the fountain or write on us with lipstick.”
Archie asked, “Why do they do that?”
“He said it is called initiation to junior high. Sort of like when you have to do something scary to join a club.”
While Archie’s face showed no fear, he suddenly became intensely aware of the bigger kids at the back of the bus who were laughing and joking.
Finally the bus halted in front of the big sign that said Jefferson Junior High. As he and Jimmy jumped down from the bus, his combined excitement, joy, fear, and anticipation made his heart thump twice as fast as normal.
As he reached the top of the stairs he pulled open the big metallic doors that led into a whole new world. He gazed down the hall and saw hundreds of jostling, laughing, bustling students who all seemed to know where to go and what to do. Even his friend Jimmy had wandered down the hall on his own. Now Archie was alone in the strange and exciting new environment. As he walked down the hall he felt as if everyone was staring at him. Just then he saw one of his pals from grade school.
Walt yelled across the hall, “Well, if it isn’t red Archie!”
Archie cringed when he heard the word red, and his face blushed to fit the description. Suddenly he wished that he had a hat to cover his bright thatch of red hair.
Just then the “ZZIINNGG!” of the bell sounded to go to class. He hurried down the hall to his locker and spun the dial to his combination, but nothing happened. Again he tried … 37 to the left … 15 to the right … and 22 to the left. His locker still wouldn’t open!
Frantically he pulled on his locker door but to no avail. “ZZIINNGG!” went the second bell, and Archie realized that he was tardy for the first period. He gave up on his locker and ran down the hall to his first class. As he-entered the room everyone looked at him and he hurriedly went to one of the empty desks and sat down. The teacher called the roll, “Steve Cranbrook … Archie Crenshaw … Richard Daines …” until he had called out all twenty-six students in the homeroom.
Mr. Williams, the teacher, closed the rollbook and said, “I remember the first day I went to junior high. I was so scared that I had to walk around the block twice before I dared go in. Then I couldn’t remember where my locker was and was late to every class for the first week. The worst thing was that everyone teased me.”
As Mr. Williams talked, Archie felt a grin blossom on his face. The teacher went on to explain how the first day is always the worst, and after that you get to know your way around and have a good time.
From that moment on, Archie felt a lot better about being in junior high. He didn’t even mind if kids called him Red. In fact, his bushy red locks became his trademark. Archie became confident and happy (and finally figured out how to open his locker). And it all started with Mr. Williams in social studies class.
Archie’s parents were both proud and happy that their son was doing so well in school. Nearly every day Archie had something good to say about Mr. Williams and what he had learned in social studies.
Both Mr. and Mrs. Crenshaw were interested in meeting Mr. Williams, the man they had heard so much about from Archie. Finally the day came for parent-teacher conferences for Jefferson Junior High. Archie couldn’t wait for his folks to go and talk to Mr. Williams. He even drew them a map of how to get to his room so they wouldn’t get lost!
Archie’s mom and dad walked into room 29 with the sign that said Mr. Williams and suddenly understood everything they had heard about him. As they went in Mr. Williams gave them a glowing grin that was accented by the brightest, curliest, flaming red hair imaginable.

One day my mom sent me to the store to buy some milk. I rode my bike to the store. When I got there I could not find the money she had given me. I looked for it all the way back home. I was nervous telling my mom, but she gave me a hug and told me to say a prayer and go look again. I asked Heavenly Father to help me find the money. When I went out and looked again, I found the money next to the sidewalk close to our house. I know that Heavenly Father answers prayers and shows us the way when we need help.

We recently held an open house in the Arizona Temple. Following a complete renovation of that building, nearly a quarter of a million people saw its beautiful interior. On the first day of the opening, clergymen of other religions were invited as special guests, and hundreds responded. It was my privilege to speak to them and to answer their questions at the conclusion of their tours. I told them that we would be pleased to answer any queries they might have. Many were asked. Among these was one which came from a Protestant minister.
Said he: “I’ve been all through this building, this temple which carries on its face the name of Jesus Christ, but nowhere have I seen any representation of the cross, the symbol of Christianity. I have noted your buildings elsewhere and likewise find an absence of the cross. Why is this when you say you believe in Jesus Christ?”
I responded: “I do not wish to give offense to any of my Christian brethren who use the cross on the steeples of their cathedrals and at the altars of their chapels, who wear it on their vestments, and imprint it on their books and other literature. But for us, the cross is the symbol of the dying Christ, while our message is a declaration of the living Christ.”
He then asked: “If you do not use the cross, what is the symbol of your religion?”
I replied that the lives of our people must become the only meaningful expression of our faith and, in fact, therefore, the symbol of our worship.
I hope he did not feel that I was smug or self-righteous in my response. He was correct in his observation that we do not use the cross, except as our military chaplains use it on their uniforms for identification.

One of the most special moments that took place at family home evening was when our son, Renan, was preparing to be baptized. Our two older daughters, Cynthia and Lilian, offered to teach the lessons for the month preceding his eighth birthday. My husband and I loved watching them teach the meaning and purpose of baptism—the same lessons we had taught them as they prepared for baptism. Four years later Renan followed the examples of his older sisters and taught lessons about baptism to his younger sister, Ellen.

Like some of you, I know what it is to face disappointment and youthful humiliation. As a boy, I played team softball in elementary and junior high school. Two captains were chosen, and then they, in turn, selected the players they desired on their respective teams. Of course, the best players were chosen first, then second, and third. To be selected fourth or fifth was not too bad, but to be chosen last and relegated to a remote position in the outfield was downright awful. I know; I was there.
How I hoped the ball would never be hit in my direction, for surely I would drop it, runners would score, and teammates would laugh.
As though it were just yesterday, I remember the very moment when all that changed in my life. The game started out as I have described: I was chosen last. I made my sorrowful way to the deep pocket of right field and watched as the other team filled the bases with runners. Two batters then went down on strikes. Suddenly, the next batter hit a mighty drive. I even heard him say, “This will be a home run.” That was humiliating, since the ball was coming in my direction. Was it beyond my reach? I raced for the spot where I thought the ball would drop, uttered a prayer while running, and stretched forth my cupped hands. I surprised myself. I caught the ball! My team won the game.
This one experience bolstered my confidence, inspired my desire to practice, and led me from that last-to-be-chosen place to become a real contributor to the team.
We can experience that burst of confidence. We can feel that pride of performance. A three-word formula will help us: Never give up.

Finally, my life as a scientist has deepened my faith in God in many ways. But many do not view faith in God and science as compatible endeavors. Several years ago, I was invited to a conference for promising young scientists in Alzheimer’s disease research. It was a competition and we each submitted our best grant ideas and then we met together to evaluate and rank each other’s proposals. The winner would take home a $50,000 grant to carry out their proposal. The meeting organizers and participants worked together over two days, and we got to know each other really well during the meetings and discussion as we evaluated and critiqued each other’s work. At the closing dinner I was seated with several other participants and one of the senior faculty who was on the board for the conference. After some brief pleasantries, the board member looked at me and said, “Brigham Young University, huh?” (That’s where I was employed as a faculty member at the time.)

“Yes,” I replied.

“So, you believe that stuff?” they said. (Remember this in front of a whole table of people.)

A bit surprised, I said, “Yes, I do.”

They looked me in the eyes, and then said, “But Keoni, you seem so smart. How do you believe that stuff?”

I paused, thought for a moment, and replied, “Yes, thanks. I have had several experiences in my life that make me a person of faith, and specifically a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

The person rolled their eyes and said, “Ugh…like what?”

At that moment, the meeting organizer tapped his glass with his knife and announced that my proposal was ranked number one in the competition. That was the end of our conversation.

There are voices all around us that would make light of believing. They are practiced, polished and persistent. As you face these kinds of challenges in your life, please remember President Nelson’s powerful words, “I promise that you will experience spiritual growth, freedom from fear, and a confidence that you can scarcely imagine now. You will have the strength to have a positive influence far beyond your natural capacity. And I promise that your future will be more exhilarating than anything you can presently believe.” [5]

I know that that promise is real. I have experienced it. Since that day, where I was challenged at that dinner table, I have had a scientific career with success that I can hardly believe: millions of dollars of grants and over a hundred research papers and work from my lab that matters that significantly influenced our knowledge of Alzheimer’s disease. I am even blessed to be part of a team that is developing a promising new drug that humans are taking right now. It’s amazing and I know that it’s because of that promise of the Lord.

Music has a sweet power to promote unity and love in the family. Not only is it an important component of family home evenings, but it can exert a continuing influence for good well beyond times when children are small. For my gift to the family last Christmas, I prepared a compact-disc recording of musical memories. I sat at the piano and recorded a variety of music that I had sung or played to the children through the years. They liked it. Some of the grandchildren told me that the CD was “cool.”
To illustrate the enduring benefits of worthy music in the home, I have asked our available daughters to sing for you tonight. Since their childhood, they have enjoyed singing together.
Daughters, I’m going to introduce you. Perhaps each of you can wave to the congregation as I mention your name: Marsha Workman, Wendy Maxfield, Gloria Irion, Brenda Miles, Sylvia Webster, Julie Wittwer, Laurie Marsh, Rosalie Ringwood, and Marjorie Helsten.
Our son’s wife, Britney, would like to have been here, but she is excused. She had a baby 11 days ago. Two other voices are missing—our deceased daughter, Emily, and her angel mother, Dantzel. Perhaps they are looking in from their windows in heaven. Our son, Russell, and I also enjoy singing with them, but we will not impose that upon you tonight.
To illustrate the multigenerational merits of worthy music in the home, our daughters will be accompanied by two of their daughters: Katie Irion Owens on the piano and Rachel Miles on the flute. They will sing and play for you “Jesus, the Very Thought of Thee.” After their music, I will resume my message.

Illustration by Allen Garns
As a young mother I struggled to find moments of peace during the hectic days when life revolved around caring for five active and demanding children. Five minutes here and 10 minutes there were all I managed to carve out, but I cherished each small slice of quiet.
Frequently I turned to my Heavenly Father in prayer, asking for strength, patience, and peace. Sundays were especially frantic with nursing a baby, dressing a toddler, and supervising the older children in getting ready for church. Ironically, it was on a busy Sunday that I found my solution.
As I listened to the sacrament prayers that day, the words took on special significance: “… that they may always have his Spirit to be with them” (D&C 20:77).
I was entitled to have the Lord’s Spirit to be with me. How had I never before realized the significance of that promise?
The sacrament became the quiet, contemplative moment in my otherwise noisy life. In the ordinance of the sacrament, I found the peace I had sought.
Though I might have left sacrament meeting with a squirming toddler after partaking of the bread and water, I made sure I was there for that special time of remembrance. I looked forward to those precious moments with a fervency I had never experienced before.
Now that my children are grown, I enjoy the luxury of many more quiet moments. Nevertheless, I still cherish those moments spent taking the sacrament.

The shrieks of delight told me the party had started. Needing a break from studying my Gospel Doctrine lesson for the next day, I went to the living room and looked in. There they were, most of my daughter’s track team, eager to celebrate “taking state.” They had just come from the meet, and some were still dressed in their uniforms.
The ten o’clock news announced the sports, and every eye was turned toward the TV. Yes, there was the announcement that they were now number one. What a pleasure to see our school’s name flash across the screen!
After the news, the coach brought out his part of the evening’s entertainment, a video of the track meet. I watched for a few minutes and then went back to my studies. I could hear the enthusiasm of the team members as they watched the video of the meet. “Look at her go! Run! Run!” “Why did you drop the baton?” “She catches it! Go. go!” “Turn it back, and let’s see that again.” “Wow! You really do know how to pour it on.” “She wins!” “Boy, that looks terrific on color TV.”
I closed my bedroom door, so I’d be able to concentrate. Some time later I suddenly noticed how quiet the house had become. Again I went to the living room and looked in. The track meet video was over, and two of my daughter’s teammates were adjusting another video, this time a movie.
I had picked up my studies once again when Kate burst into my room and closed the door behind her. Her quick, agitated movements told me that something was not right.
“Hello, Kate. How’s the party going? It sounds like fun.”
“Okay, I guess. I’m not at the party anymore.” An apologetic sadness came over her face as she looked away.
“So tell me why you’re not at the party anymore. It is rather late and quiet. Have they gone home?”
“They’re still here. The party’s no good anymore. I’m going to my room to study.” Tears welled up in her eyes.
“What happened? You’re the hostess. This is your party. Why are you going to study now?”
“Mother, I can’t stay in there. They’re showing a video movie rated R. How can I stay there? I have never seen an R-rated movie and never want to. How can I stay there?” she demanded.
Whatever answer I gave I would be responsible for. While her father was out of town I was the head of the family, and I needed help. Should I ask them all to leave? Or should I tolerate this movie in our home? Either way, what would be the implications for my Kate? What should I do?
Stalling for time, I began to question her. “Are you sure that it’s R rated?”
“They told me it is.”
“Do they know that you left? Did you tell them you would not stay and watch?
“Yes, I told them. They didn’t seem to care. No one even asked me to stay or tried to talk me into staying.” More tears welled up. “What shall we do? What do you think Dad would do?”
I agreed that it was a good and heavy question. I said a silent prayer.
“They already know I’m not staying to watch. I’ll just study, and when they’re through they can take their old movie and go home.” Kate seemed decisive.
Voices came from the living room. “‘Bye, Julie. See you Monday.” Kate went to tell her best friend good-bye. I followed her, thinking I should tell them to leave and wishing her father were home.
Then someone began playing the piano. A few voices took up the melody, and then more voices joined in. From the door Julie saw the coach disconnecting the video machine, and she and Kate walked back into the living room.
We sang and told stories and laughed. The track party was a success.
I later asked why Julie had started for home. Kate replied, “Julie said that when I wouldn’t watch the R-rated movie, she decided that she wouldn’t watch it either. She said that when I had the courage to leave, she also found the courage to leave. That’s what made them change their minds about watching the R-rated video. I guess that this was a time when just one person could influence the crowd for good. And, Mother,” Kate cried jubilantly, “I was the one—and I did!”

It’s awful to be the first one to know good news and not be able to tell it.
When I heard Papa telling Mama that we were going to move to New Mexico, I was so excited I wanted to talk to Caroline and Ed and everyone else about it. But talking was something I couldn’t do. No matter how hard I tried to make the words come out, my tongue did not work right and the sounds were garbled and mushy, not sharp and clear the way I was thinking them. Only my brother Ed could tell what I meant most of the time.
Because I couldn’t talk, I wasn’t allowed to go to school. Caroline was in the third grade already and Ed in first. I had a hard time filling in the long hours until they came home. One day when I was playing behind the sofa, dressing and undressing my doll, I overheard Papa and Mama talking. I really paid close attention when I heard Papa tell Mama that their prayers to have a place of their own had finally been answered. “Just think, hon,” Papa was saying, “160 acres of our own to raise anything we want. We’ll grow corn, cantaloupe, potatoes, beans, tomatoes, and even some watermelons for dear Dora. She loves them so. We’ll have cows for milk and pigs for pork, chickens—”
“Is there a school?” Mama asked anxiously. “I want the children to go to school.”
“Just down the road a ways—close enough to walk to, I’m sure.”
“What about church?”
“Don’t worry about church,” Papa laughed. “It was some LDS folk down there that wrote to President Smith and told him about the available land. There’s already a meetinghouse in Harmony, and even if there wasn’t, there’s enough people going from here to start a ward—over eighty.”
“That many?”
“Figure it out. Twelve families, each with at least five children. That’s the requirement. I guess they figure anyone with that many children won’t pick up and leave.”
“Is anyone we know going?”
“The Coldwells and the Lenstroms.”
“No better folks than that anywhere. It sure would be nice to have room for the little ones to run. Is there a house?”
“Has to be. Someone has been living there. I imagine it will need some fixing up if they lost it by default.”
“Could that happen to us?”
“Of course not. That only happens if you’re shiftless and lazy. All we have to do is make the land productive and live there. After seven years it’s ours, free and clear. Oh, it’ll take lots of work, but we’re young and strong. We’ve got the boys to help me, and you and the girls can have a garden and bottle food for the winter. I tell you, hon, it’s the chance of a lifetime.”
“It’ll be nearly a year before we can bring in a crop,” Mama reminded him. “How can we manage until then?”
“We’ll have some money from selling our things, and I can get some bricklaying jobs. Even homesteaders need chimneys and fireplaces.”
“The winter’s ahead and we can’t take much with us,” Mama warned.
“Yes, but that far south is bound to be warm even in the winter. It’ll be good not to be shoveling snow.”
No snow! I thought. I’ll miss lying down in it and leaving a snow angel shape by brushing my arms and legs up and down to make the wings. And I’ll miss the noisy chase of fox and geese games and the sleigh rides with bells jangling on the horses’ harnesses.
Still and all, to take the whole family and move to a different state where there would be room to grow watermelons seemed like such an exciting thing to do that I almost couldn’t breathe thinking about it. I couldn’t wait till Ed came home. What I couldn’t get him to understand, he’d find out from Mama and Papa, and I knew he’d take me with him to tell all our friends.
At church on Sunday everyone was talking about the call to go to New Mexico. Brother Golden took me on his lap as usual, and while I brushed and braided his long red beard, he talked to Mama and Papa about the best place to buy a good cover for the wagon. I remembered the first time that he’d picked me up several years before, and I’d reached up to feel his stiff, prickly beard.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“Can’t you get rid of it?” I tried to say. He must have thought my mumble meant yes because he just laughed, patted my head, and said, “You’re an angel.”
I wasn’t much of an angel, but maybe I looked a little like one because I had a headful of yellow curls, blue eyes, and a smile that made a dimple hole in my cheek.
When I went to Sunday School class that day my teacher was giving out red leather Bibles to some of the children who had 100 percent attendance for a year. I wanted one of those Bibles so bad I could hardly stand it, but there was no way I could get one now. I’d be gone in less than a month.
After class I went up to the front of the room just to look at the one beautiful book that was left. As I reached up to touch it, the teacher turned around from cleaning the blackboard and looked at me.
“You’re moving away, aren’t you, Dora?” she said.
I nodded my head.
“I’ll miss you in my class. I can tell when I see you listening that you are very close to our Heavenly Father.”
I nodded. She was right. I was close to Him. I knew He understood me even when no one else did.
“Would you like to have that Bible to take with you?” she asked kindly.
I bobbed my head up and down so fast I could feel my curls bouncing. She handed me the book, and I hugged it to me.
I reached up and kissed her cheek and skipped from the room, so happy I wanted to sing.
“Thank You, oh, thank You,” I murmured, glancing heavenward.
Papa made me a little wooden box with a hinged lid for my birthday that October when I was seven. It was to hold my precious things to take with me, he said. I packed it and repacked it many times, trying to find the best way to get the most in; but I never could get it to hold everything I wanted to take.
Papa and Mama were busy getting the wagon ready to go, and my friend Eileen was watching me pack the box for the last time.
“Where do you think the best place is for the chickens?” Mama asked.
“Chickens?” Papa said. “We’re not taking any chickens.”
“Of course we are. Three or four of the best layers and Caroline’s rooster, so we can raise some chicks in the spring and maybe a couple of hens to eat along the way.”
Papa sighed. When Mama had that sound in her voice, he knew it was no use to argue.
“I guess we can put them in a crate and tie it to the side behind the washtubs. You’d better put chicken feed on your list.”
“I already did.”
“I think I’ve figured out how to load the stove so we can cook on it while we’re traveling,” Papa told her.
“That’ll come in handy. Will we have plenty of water?”
“Four barrels: two in front and two behind. That should be enough to get us through the driest places.”
I carefully placed the soft leather Bible in one end of my box. Pressed between its pages were beautiful red leaves I had gathered from the autumn trees. I’d tied a string round and round both ways so they wouldn’t fall out. I dropped the seeds in next, in the little crack that was left behind the book: two red beans and four watermelon seeds and then the long strand of tiny glass beads I had strung myself. Sister Johnson had given them to me in a slim bottle with a cork one day when Mama was visiting her. While they talked, I had picked up the beads one at a time with the thin needle and slipped them along the thread, choosing the colors to suit me as I went.
I tried to fold the doll quilt small enough to fit into the box, but it was no use. I handed it to Eileen instead and indicated it was to be hers.
“For keeps?” she asked, and I nodded my head.
She rubbed it against her cheek. I’d made it by sewing together scraps from the new baby clothes, and I knew I could stitch another after we’d moved.
“Will the doll fit?” she wanted to know, and I answered by placing Henrietta on the soft bed I’d made with her folded flannel nightie. Henrietta was a beautiful painted-eye doll with china head, hands, and feet, and a stuffed cloth body. Some girls had shut-eye dolls, but I wouldn’t have traded because I loved Henrietta.
“What about those?” Eileen asked, pointing to the rest of my treasures beside her on the step.
I shook my head and handed them to her one by one—an old hat and pair of shoes I used to play dress-up, some more doll clothes, a worn-out Mother Goose book. When I came to the bag of marbles, I dumped them out, selected five or six of my favorites, and pushed them into the folds of the doll dresses in the box. The rest I returned to the bag and gave to Eileen.
After she ran off home with her hands full, I noticed again the pain in my head. It had started two or three days before as a tender spot behind my right ear and now was a sore and throbbing lump. I went inside to talk to Heavenly Father and ask Him to make it better.
By morning I was burning up with fever and crying with pain. Mama took one look at the spot I pointed to and said, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? We’ll have to get you to a doctor fast!”
The doctor decided just as quickly that he should lance the boil, and before long he had drained it.
“There, doesn’t that feel better?” the doctor asked.
I tried to say it sure did, but he couldn’t understand my mumble.
“Can’t this child talk?” he asked Mama.
“Not too good,” she said.
He took a look in my mouth and said, “Why, she’s tongue-tied! This should have been taken care of a long time ago. It’s a very simple procedure.”
He explained to me that my tongue was fastened down on the bottom where it should not be. All he had to do was cut it loose a little, and then I’d be able to talk like everyone else. I couldn’t believe it.
For a few minutes life was wonderful. The pain was gone in my head and the doctor could help me talk. When we get to our home in New Mexico, I’ll be talking like everyone else, I dreamed. I can go to school with Ed and, best of all, no one will tease me.
I did not know yet that it would take lots of pain and effort before I could talk and years of hard work before we had a place of our own.
The doctor asked Mama when would be a good time for the operation, and she said, “You’d better do it now; we’re leaving tomorrow.”

1 I’m glad you asked for a blessing, sweetheart. Daddy’s calling Brother Simon to come help.
2 I hope you don’t mind my coming, too, Mei Lin. When I heard that one of my girls was sick, I just couldn’t stay away.
I’m glad you came.
4 Thank you, Brother Simon. Thanks, Dad. When you put your hands on my head, I could feel your love.
5 And Heavenly Father’s and Jesus’ love too. The priesthood is their power, not ours, and they’ve revealed that it must always be used with love.
6 My head feels a little better already, and I feel a lot better inside.
So do I, sweetheart.
And so do I.

When my mission call came, I read the letter until I got to where it said ‘Birmingham.’ I thought, well, it’s going to be cold there in England. Then I read again and I saw that it said Alabama Birmingham Mission. I had to go find a map of the United States so I could see where I was going.”
That’s how Elder Terrence John Brooks of Perth, Australia, discovered he would be heading north to serve in the South.
“I got to Alabama in February 1984. So far I’ve served in Sylacauga, Florence, Bessemer, and now I’m in Montgomery.”
And in Montgomery a surprise was in store.
“When I got my mission call to Alabama, I laughed,” said Elder Graeme Thomas McKim of Adelaide, Australia. “It was the last place I was thinking of and there was sort of disbelief. But I was really happy. I thought it would be an interesting foreign country. My friends couldn’t believe it. I got heaps of Alabama jokes poured upon me in Southern accents. My mum was a little bit apprehensive; but she was just happy, as was the rest of my family, that I was going on a mission.
“My first assignment was in Troy for four months. Then came transfers.”
And, of course, Elder Brooks and Elder McKim ended up as companions. Now they make the rounds door-to-door in Montgomery, causing a few double takes when people hear their conversation.
“Most people think we’re English,” Elder McKim said.
“Someone told me I had a nice South Dakota accent,” Elder Brooks chimed in. “A man in Florence asked me if I could understand English better than I could speak it.”
The elders are quick to add, however, that they are in the South to preach the gospel, not to talk about their homeland.
“The fact that we are ‘foreign’ stirs a desire in people to speak to us,” Elder McKim said. “They want to know what we think about America. They want to know about Australia. They are curious about the way we speak and why we are here, even more so as we labor together. It’s the same with the members, too. We are the first Australians many of them have ever known.
“But laboring here in Montgomery with another Australian only makes a difference as far as the initial reaction,” Elder Brooks said. “It doesn’t make a great deal of difference as far as teaching the gospel is concerned.
“To me the most spiritual thing a person can do is to find, teach, and then to baptize someone, to watch them grow, to go through their adjustments and trials with them. To go through these trials and come out with a testimony of the gospel is the greatest thing that can happen.”
Elder McKim agreed. “I’ve had several spiritual experiences since coming on my mission, but the one that comes to mind happened in Troy. We’d been working all day, but we hadn’t been very successful. Then one woman invited us in. At first she was cool toward us, polite. But we talked to her and taught her a lesson and noticed that tears were coming to her eyes. The Spirit was very strong.
“At the end of the lesson, she told us that for weeks she had been depressed and that the night before, at her lowest ebb, she prayed that the Lord would send someone to help her. The next day, there we were! It was such a great experience for me because I had heard so many stories like that before in magazines like the New Era. You hear these stories, and you think it would never happen to you. But it did!”
Elder McKim, 19, was actually born in Glasgow, Scotland. “We moved to Australia when I was five. My parents are converts to the Church. Most of the children were born after my parents were sealed in the London Temple. My father was a stake patriarch in Glasgow. He was set apart by President Kimball, who was at the time a member of the Quorum of the Twelve.
“I was brought up in the Church, and when I was a little boy I knew I was going to go on a mission. But as the time grew near, I planned to put it off until the end of the college year. Then one night I just had this feeling that I had to go on my mission and I wasn’t to put it off. I talked to my bishop and put my papers in. And I’m glad I did. My mission has drastically changed my life and my ideals. Things which I thought were important are so trivial now. And things which I really didn’t think of before are now so important.”
Elder Brooks’s story is quite different.
“I am a convert to the Church of four and a half years, the only member in my family. I became interested in the Church through a girl I dated that was a Mormon. My testimony came slowly over a period of ten months. I really didn’t want it to be true because it meant I would need to change my life-style. But the more I was exposed to the Church the more convinced I became that it was true. The things that rang true were that there is a prophet on the earth today and that there is modern revelation. As a child I always wondered why the Bible stopped where it did and why we didn’t have someone like Moses on the earth.
“Since I was 23 when I joined the Church I thought I’d be too old to go on a mission. But I went to a Young Adult conference in Brisbane, and after talking with some friends there I was motivated to go. I worked as a civil servant before my mission, and I had saved enough money to support myself as a missionary.
“My mission has changed my life, too. I used to be shy, almost embarrassed to talk about the Church. That shyness has left me and I feel now that I can talk about it with anyone. When I told my parents I was going to go on a mission they were quite upset—they were concerned about my job. But when I received my call they were really happy for me. So in a period of about six weeks there was a real transition in my family’s attitudes. And now they are actually having a friendship with the missionaries at home. I don’t know if they’re being taught or not, but there was a time when they wouldn’t even let missionaries in the door.”
Both Elder Brooks and Elder McKim say they’ve had to adapt a little to life in the States. “The biggest adjustment is to cars being driven on the wrong side of the road!” Elder McKim said. “Several times my companions have saved my neck as I’ve gone to walk out in front of an oncoming car,” Elder Brooks agreed.
They’ve also had a few strange looks from fellow missionaries when they talk about Australian children eating fairy bread (bread and butter with candy sprinkles), or when they reminisce about hot summer Christmases celebrated with a barbecue at the beach.
“One preparation day we had an Australian day for missionaries in our zone. We invited them to an Australian party and tried to make it as authentic as possible, with food like fish and chips served on newspaper. It was especially fun for me and Elder Brooks, and the other missionaries seemed to enjoy themselves,” Elder McKim said.
In the early days of Church history, the gospel restored in New York and eventually headquartered in Utah sent missionaries from America to other lands around the globe. As the Church continues its worldwide growth, young men like Elder Brooks and Elder McKim will increasingly represent a new generation of missionaries, those who leave their homes to help share the gospel in a foreign land—America.

While growing up, Isaac Nii Ayi Kwei Martey was introduced to the Hindu religion by his father. He came in contact with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints while he was staying with his uncle in Cape Coast. He met LDS missionaries as they were rescheduling an appointment with a neighbor. He approached them and consented to listen to the restored gospel. Isaac had in mind to thwart the message of the restored gospel. When the missionaries visited with him, they gave him the Book of Mormon and he loved the teachings he found there. He genuinely wanted to learn more.
He decided to take the challenge of praying about the Book of Mormon. He persistently prayed to know if it was true and he got his confirmation three weeks later. After the witness of the Holy Ghost, he was faced with a new challenge.
He informed his mother about his desire to get baptized and join the LDS Church, but she threatened to disown him if he ever did. All his relatives were against the idea of him joining the Church. Isaac had been admitted to study for his bachelor’s degree at Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology. Isaac told the Cape Coast missionaries of his plan to attend church at Kumasi without the knowledge of his family. Isaac had studied with them for a little over a year without getting the opportunity to attend church. While in Kumasi, he looked for the LDS Church but could not find it. A student colleague directed him to the LDS Church about a month later. Isaac again met with the Kumasi missionaries. They were impressed with his knowledge of the restored gospel, but this was no surprise, as he had been taught much by missionaries while in Cape Coast.
The missionaries fixed a baptismal interview date with Isaac. He agreed and got baptized on October 16, 2010. However, he kept all this from his family. Isaac had the privilege of performing a proxy baptism in the temple when he came to Accra for Christmas vacation. He shared his experience in the temple: “When I got to the temple, I felt so much about being different and I remember reading a talk in the waiting room by President Monson. ‘Dare to be a Mormon; Dare to stand alone. Dare to have a purpose firm; Dare to make it known’ (“Dare to Stand Alone,” Liahona, Nov. 2011, 61).” This impression compelled him to inform his mother about his newfound Church membership and the blessings he had acquired. Breaking the news, his mother was furious initially, but subsequently, she began to understand and accept his decision to be a Latter-day Saint. However, his extended family was unforgiving of his decision.
Isaac’s faith in the gospel began to enlarge, even to extent of desiring to serve a full-time mission. He decided to save some money toward such ecclesiastical ambition. His mother pleaded with him against it while his other relatives warned him to rescind his decision when he told them about his desire to serve the Lord for two years. Isaac stood firm and proceeded to work toward his mission goal rather than heeding to whims and caprices of family members.
He submitted his missionary forms and received the call to serve in Nigeria Port Harcourt Mission. Seven days after arriving at the missionary training center, he was informed that his mother had passed away. Having already lost his dad as a 15-year-old, his mother’s death made him an orphan. It was a really difficult time for him, and he was faced with the choice to either return home or continue with his mission. He prayed concerning this and sought counsel from his leaders. He finally decided on continuing his mission. He informed his family about his decision, and as expected, it was not well received. An uncle told him that if he went ahead with his mission, he should not consider himself as family to him. Even though he had the option to return home for his mother’s burial, he resolved to keep serving the Lord after he had read few passages in the scriptures:
“And another also said, Lord, I will follow thee; but let me first go bid them farewell, which are at home at my house.
“And Jesus said unto him, No man, having put his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God” (Luke 9:61–62).
He served his mission faithfully and extended for a few more weeks before returning. Even though he hasn’t been accepted by his extended family, Isaac firmly believes that the Lord is mindful of the little things we do on this earth and the unending blessings we gain as we obey His commandments. “We all have different challenges, and the Lord has prepared our backs to these challenges that we face. … All He requires from us is a broken heart and a contrite spirit,” he says. Even though he is unsure of what lies ahead for him, he knows that if he relies on the Savior, he will be able to achieve all things.

Bryon Sorenson, now serving in the Oregon Mission, draws on his Playmill experience by asking people if he can come in and play their piano. Once inside, he plays LDS hymns and introduces the Church. Bryon baptized a talented young man named Randy Davenport who acted at the Playmill last summer. “I decided,” Randy says, “that if the Playmill could do for me what it did for Bryon, I wanted some of it.”

Some years ago, Elder ElRay L. Christiansen told about one of his distant Scandinavian relatives who joined the Church. He was quite well-to-do and sold his lands and stock in Denmark to come to Utah with his family. For a while he did well as far as the Church and its activities were concerned, and he prospered financially. However, he became so caught up in his possessions that he forgot about his purpose in coming to America. The bishop visited him and implored him to become active as he used to be. The years passed and some of his brethren visited him and said: “Now, Lars, the Lord was good to you when you were in Denmark. He has been good to you since you have come here. … We think now, since you are growing a little older, that it would be well for you to spend some of your time in the interests of the Church. After all, you can’t take these things with you when you go.”
Jolted by this remark, the man replied, “Vell, den, I vill not go.” But he did! And so will all of us!