Gospel Story Finder

Consider this tender example. It was fast Sunday as Vance and I knocked on the door of a small, humble home. We and other deacons in the quorum had come to expect the words “Please come in,” yelled warmly in a thick German accent loud enough to hear through the door. Sister Muellar was one of several immigrant widows in the ward. She couldn’t answer the door very easily, as she was legally blind. As we stepped inside the dimly lit home, she greeted us with kind questions: What are your names? How are you doing? Do you love the Lord? We answered and shared that we came to receive her fast offering. Even at our young age, her meager circumstances were readily apparent, and her faith-filled response was profoundly touching: “I placed a dime on the counter earlier this morning. I am so grateful to offer my fast offering. Would you be kind enough to place it in the envelope and fill out my fast-offering receipt?” Her love of the Lord lifted our faith each time we left her home.

When we visited Suriname, we met most of the members and learned that the missionary couple serving there, Elder and Sister Limburg, had taught them the gospel using a series of simple teaching and learning methods. They had no momentous or spectacular events or activities, only daily spiritual experiences resulting from their sensitive response to the promptings of the Spirit.
A new missionary couple, Brother and Sister Don Rapier, arrived in Suriname one day ahead of Elder Didier and me, so they met the Saints for the first time along with us. We held four sacrament meetings in homes of the Saints on the Sunday we were there. Elder Rapier shared his feelings about blessing the sacrament in the humble home of one of our new converts. He said:
“This was the most humble circumstance that I had ever been in in my life. The house was made of mostly short pieces of lumber. No electricity, no running water. The roof was corrugated sheets. The house and the yard were clean. The place where we held our sacrament meeting was under the overhang in front of the house. The members and the Brethren sat on wooden boards that were laid on bricks. The sacrament table was a small wooden stand that was set on top of a piece of linoleum covering the dirt floor. The sacrament cloths were very simple and very clean.
“As I knelt down to bless the sacrament, I was overwhelmed with the spirit of love that I had quickly developed for this people. I thought surely our Savior was pleased that He was being remembered in such humble circumstances. I thought of our chapels at home. I could never have appreciated the sacrament there like I can now after this special experience. I also observed that it might take several years before these sweet, humble members would fully realize the significance of having two General Authorities, one an Apostle, in their home, blessing them and their family.”
Brother Rapier’s experience touched deeply each one of us who was there. After the fourth sacrament meeting, my mind reflected upon the words of the Lord: “Wherefore, be not weary in well-doing, for ye are laying the foundation of a great work. And out of small things proceedeth that which is great” (D&C 64:33).

Margreta found the treasure! Tonight she would show her younger brothers and sisters where it had remained undiscovered for years, even though many of the family had searched for it.
She sat on the wooden chair in the kitchen, looking out the window at the landscape. She was glad her family lived in western Finland. She loved to walk with her father across the fields in winter, when the frozen grain stubble crackled and their breath hung misty and white in the evening air. Once a moose had walked out of the woods, crossed the far road, paused, then strolled toward the lake. She also loved the long summer days, fragrant and soft, when she helped her mother garden and sew.
“Hurry along, Margreta,” her mother said now. “Please set the table and finish cutting the bread. Our two guests will be here for dinner soon.”
Margreta’s family spoke Swedish and Finnish—and two other languages when they visited family and friends. But when they were home, the family spoke Swedish.
She spread an embroidered cloth on the table, then placed plates of bröd med smör (bread with butter) on the cloth. Tall glasses for the lingonberry juice came next. The last time the two young men had come for dinner, they’d said that they’d never tasted lingonberries before. One of them said that the juice tasted like something called cranberry juice. Both said that they liked it.
Margreta’s thoughts went back to the treasure. The family first heard about “Vilhelmina’s treasure” many, many years ago. Grandaunt Vilhelmina had brought the trunk with her to Finland when she returned from her travels to help a sick friend. She told the village that her Swedish trunk held something of great value to her and that she wanted to share it with family and friends. But before she could tell them of the treasure, she became sick and died suddenly.
Margreta thought about where the trunk sat now in Great-grandmother Ulrika’s home, where Margreta loved to visit. Even though her great-grandmother was frail and very elderly, the fragrance of warm bread still mingled with fragrant blossoms from plants that covered the windowsill. Poles suspended on rafters in the kitchen held round loaves of rye bread baked in the brick oven and then stored for winter meals. A spinning wheel, the footboard worn thin from years of spinning wool, sat next to a rocking chair. A woven, colorful spread lay across her great-grandmother’s bed, and handwoven curtains and bright wall hangings gave the modest home a warm, homey feel.
A braided rug filled one corner of the parlor. On the rug sat an old pump organ, and next to the organ sat Grandaunt Vilhelmina’s Swedish trunk. When Great-grandmother pumped her feet on the organ and played the keys, Margreta sang as she ran her hands over the sturdy trunk lid and the leather straps that held it closed.
Through the years, family and friends had searched closely through every item in it and had even peeled back its paper lining, hoping to find the treasure Vilhelmina had spoken of. Some thought it might be gold coins; others thought that it must be a treasure map. Sometimes when Margreta visited Great-grandmother Ulrika, she opened Vilhelmina’s trunk. Margreta loved to look through the lace doilies and linens, now yellow with age. A book, written in a foreign language, lay at the bottom of the trunk. Margreta once asked if the book was valuable or if a treasure map was hidden somewhere in the pages. Great-grandmother told her that the family had gone through the book a page at a time and had found nothing. Two sheets of paper filled with Vilhelmina’s swirly handwriting had faded words Margreta could barely make out. Her grandaunt must have been trying to translate parts of the book, but the little that she had finished was now crumbly with age.
Margreta put aside her thoughts of the trunk and got out bowls and platters for the food her mother was cooking. Her father brought in two more chairs to the kitchen table.
“I’m hungry!” Hans, Margareta’s younger brother, exclaimed as he brought in a load of firewood.
“Don’t step on my dolly!” little Sophia cried.
When the two began to argue, Margreta stepped in, brushed off Sophia’s doll, and soothed her brother. Before Margreta found the treasure, she would have joined in the argument. But now she remembered some of the words written on Vilhelmina’s papers, and she thought of the king who built a tower so that the people could hear his words as he spoke to them. He counseled them that the children should not fight and quarrel with each other, that they were to love one another, and serve one another.*
Margreta heard a knock at the door just as her mother finished making the risgrynpudding (rice pudding). The last time the elders visited, Elder Gonzales had mentioned his family enjoyed rice with beans and chili peppers. Elder Chan had said his family liked rice in a bowl with fish. And both had said that rice pudding was wonderful!
After dinner, the family and the Elders gathered around the table. Margreta could hardly wait to show the treasure in the Swedish trunk. She knew now that it wasn’t gold coins or a treasure map. The real treasure was the book at the bottom of the trunk!
Elder Chan and Elder Gonzales were excited about the book and told Margreta and her family that it was written in English. Then Elder Chan handed Margreta a book about the same size. “Here’s the same book your family has, but this one has been translated into Swedish,” he said.
Margreta’s eyes sparkled as she thanked him. She opened the book and began to read: “I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents …”‡

Washington, D.C. is a city of monuments. Every building seems to have historical significance. Statues and memorials are so abundant that it becomes difficult to keep track of them all. And yet there are places in the city that, like the men or events or ideals that inspired their edification, can never be forgotten. Places like the Lincoln Memorial, the Washington Monument, the Capitol, the Supreme Court Building, the White House, the Smithsonian Castle, the museums and galleries, and more.
For Americans, a drive through Washington is at once a lesson in history and in patriotism. For thousands of tourists from other lands, Washington fosters a kinship that increases respect for a great nation and initiates memories that may last a lifetime.
But especially for those who live near the capital, a sightseeing visit to the downtown area is a feast. Often those who dwell in the suburbs forget the heritage that lingers nearby. Rushing on business, hustling off to school, or becoming involved in their smaller residential areas, many Washingtonians neglect the legacy in their own backyards.
But not the Fairbanks family.
The Fairbanks live in Bethesda, Maryland, just a stone’s throw from downtown Washington D.C. And the Fairbanks love to ride bicycles. As a family, they have benefited from the exercise and recreation cycling has given them. But they have also found their bikes to be a key means of access to the city. “There’s a bike path all the way into town,” explained 18-year-old David, the oldest son. “It follows the old Chesapeake and Ohio Canal route along the banks of the Potomac River, down into Georgetown, and eventually out onto the Mall.” (The Mall is the large, grass-covered rectangle running two miles from the Lincoln Memorial to the Capitol.)
From Bethesda, the route is mostly downhill, shady, and picturesque. “We’ll ride into town sometimes for exercise or fun, and then mom will come pick us in the station wagon,” Lisa, 16, added. “But if she can’t come, then we have to ride uphill all the way home.”
Sometimes the entire crew (half a dozen in all) makes a Saturday excursion to the landmarks in town. “I remember dad showing us the statue of Abraham Lincoln and telling us how he fought against slavery,” eight-year-old Galen said.
“Do you remember how many times you wanted to stop for ice cream on the way there?” Jeff, who is 14, kidded him. Washington in summer is a humid, sweltering steambath, and bicyclists soon learn to carry water with them or to stop at concession stands that line the Mall.
“A lot of times we’ll stop at a fountain or a pool to cool off, too,” Lisa said. There are fans of water outside the National Art Museum that mist the air with chilled vapor, and the Reflection Pool down the hill from the Washington Monument offers another site where the sun-soaked cyclists can escape the heat.
On special occasions some of the family members may take a few minutes out from a pedaling excursion to ride the elevator to the top of the Washington Monument. From the observation deck of the 555-foot pillar, it’s possible on a clear day to see all the way to Kensington, Maryland, where the Washington Temple raises its spires in solitude through the trees. “Lots of people know where the temple is,” Jeff said. “It’s really becoming a landmark, too. A lot of people have found out about the Church because of the missionary work members have done inviting people to the visitors’ center.
“The temple symbolizes a lot of things to me,” David said. “The way it rises out ot the woods reminds me of the goals the gospel puts into our lives, things like going on a mission. A goal like that towers over things that might seem important without the influence of the Church.”
The Church plays a major role in the family’s life. They are members of the Chevy Chase Ward, Washington D.C. Stake, where Jeff is teachers quorum secretary; Lisa (the only Laurel in the ward) was recently released from the Mia Maid presidency; David works regularly with the full-time missionaries; and Galen is a sterling Sunday School student. Both Brother and Sister Fairbanks are active in Church callings as well.
But Church involvement doesn’t stop when the Fairbanks step out the chapel door. They are a missionary family that doesn’t cease sharing the gospel. One of their primary means for so doing is the Fairbanks Family Band, a bluegrass ensemble that includes everyone from Galen on up.
“We’ve performed for other churches’ social gatherings, for community family weeks, even for a program honoring the family that was held in the President’s Park just behind the White House,” Brother Fairbanks explained. “We got a thank-you certificate from the President for that show.”
“We feel it’s our way of doing some missionary work,” Sister Fairbanks joined in. “We always make it a point to tell our audiences how important families are and we explain about the family home evening program of the Church.”
When the Fairbanks aren’t cycling or playing music, you can still usually find them together. When David graduated from high school, his friends came over for a celebration dinner. Brother Fairbanks served as waiter, and the rest of the family helped prepare the meal.
Our friends always want come visit us at home,” Lisa said. “It’s probably because we make them part of the family when they come.” It might also be because of the ice cream everyone’s helping to churn on the back porch, or the fresh rolls Lisa and her mother just pulled from the oven, or because of the friendly warmth that pervades the entire household. Even when they chop wood or do housework, the Fairbanks do it together.
In a city full of monuments, they are building a living monument that shines—a family full of love.

In September 1845, the John Williams, a ship carrying two missionaries from the London Missionary Society, visited Tubuai to speak with Elder Pratt. While Elder Pratt carried on a lively debate with one of the missionaries, the other sought out those who had accepted Elder Pratt’s message. He “upbraided them for being baptized,” Elder Pratt reported. The missionary attempted to prove with scripture that they had been deceived, but Telii stood up to him and “maintained the point from scripture so well,” Elder Pratt said, “that he could not confute [disprove] her from it.”10

Mother couldn’t help noticing the serious, thoughtful look on Eric’s face as they drove home from church. “How was Primary today, Eric?”
“Fine.”
“What did you learn today?” Mother asked.
“We talked about choosing the right in our class, and Sharing Time was about temples.”
“I can’t think of anything more special to talk about than temples,” Mother cheerfully replied. But she noticed that the faraway look was still in Eric’s eyes as they pulled into the driveway. “After you change your clothes, would you please help me set the table for dinner?” she asked.
As they were setting the table, Eric asked, “You and Dad were married in the temple, weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“So that means I’m sealed to you for eternity?”
“Right again,” Mother replied.
“I won’t get to go inside the temple until I’m grown up, will I?”
Mother reminded Eric that his brother, Nathan, who was twelve and a deacon, had gone to the temple the month before and had been baptized for the dead, and how he, Eric, could do that, too, when he was twelve and held the Aaronic Priesthood. She also told him that when he was nineteen and ordained an elder, he could go through the temple for his own endowments before leaving on his mission.
Eric smiled at Mother, “I’m really looking forward to doing both of those things, but it’s not the same as what Joey did. When Sister Jones asked today in Sharing Time if anyone had a special experience to tell about the temple, Joey told about the missionaries teaching his family and about their baptism. He said that a year after they were baptized, they went to the temple as a family and were sealed together. He told about how beautiful the temple is inside and about how special it was to be dressed all in white and kneel down by the altar with his mom and dad and brothers and sisters.
“Mom, that sounds so exciting! I wish I had a story about the temple that I could share.”
Mother’s eyes sparkled. “You do, Eric. I’ll tell you all about it after dinner.”
Mother always fixed someone’s favorite dinner on Sunday, and of course the best part was dessert. Today, though, Eric was anxious for a different kind of after-dinner treat. It made his day when his older sister, Angie, and Dad volunteered to clean up the dishes so that Mother could tell him the special temple story right away.
They went to the family room, and Mother pulled her book of remembrance from a shelf and turned to a picture of a man with white hair and a white beard. She told Eric, “Welcome Chapman was my grandmother’s grandfather. While still a young man, Welcome heard rumors of a Joseph Smith, who was living in western New York, and who claimed to have a golden book that was given to him by an angel, and to have had visions and revelations. He also claimed that he had seen Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father. He said that They had instructed him to organize a new church.
Eric looked up at the picture on the wall of the Salt Lake Temple with a new feeling of reverence. He felt proud that one of his ancestors had cut stone for the beautiful temple. He also felt proud as he thought of the good and faithful life Welcome had lived.
Eric gave Mother a big hug and kiss and thanked her for telling him about Grandpa Welcome. “You know, Mom, not only do I have a temple story to share, but I also have a neat Grandpa that I didn’t know about before. I want to live my life like Grandpa Welcome did and do what Jesus wants me to do so I can go to the temple someday too.”

I’m serving with my husband in Estonia as the first Finnish missionary couple here. When we visit and teach the Estonian members of the Church, we must sometimes travel long distances in the bus. Often I take the Finnish Valkeus magazine with me to read. At times, it has also had a few articles in Estonian in the local pages.
I’m especially grateful for the April 1993 issue, which has many beautiful pictures of Christ. I was looking through the issue one day on the bus when a middle-aged woman sat next to me. Seeing the pictures of Christ, she asked me where she could buy a magazine like that, since local magazines are not so beautifully illustrated. I had the opportunity to tell her about the Church.
While looking at the pictures, she said, “We Estonians need magazines like this.” I then found an article in Estonian by Marina Saarikki that discussed priesthood authority and started to read it out loud to her. In the middle of the reading, my fellow passenger said, “It is true.” We rejoiced in the presence of the Holy Ghost, and I invited her to attend our meetings.
Sister Mirja SilvennoinenTallinn, Estonia

Following my release from my first mission in 1923, I returned home to Whitney, Idaho, on Christmas Eve. It was a joyful reunion with my ten brothers and sisters, and especially with my father and mother in a home that had been as near ideal as a Latter-day Saint home could be.
Father and Mother always made it a practice to hang the stockings, one on each chair, for the children and to place their limited gifts on or under or near each chair. This was quite a task because they made it a practice to hide the presents to be sure that none of the children saw them before Christmas morning.
Father and Mother took me into their confidence that Christmas Eve, which I shall never forget, and we stayed up all during the night. In fact, we didn’t retire at all. We filled the stockings after going to the granary and elsewhere on the farm to get the presents which had been secretly hidden by our devoted and beloved parents. This took a good part of the night. The rest we spent visiting together, with Father and Mother telling me of the progress made by each of the children while I was away, and with me reporting to them and responding to their questions regarding my wonderful mission of 30 months in the British Isles. It was a choice evening. My love for my parents had never been quite so great before as it was that night.
It was agreed that the children could arise early Christmas morning. I don’t remember the hour, but I think it was 5:00 A.M. They were each to go in the kitchen, as I remember it, for a glass of milk and a piece of bread and butter and honey before they came into the living room to partake of the goodies from their stockings and to enjoy the excitement of their presents from Santa. It was a happy morning. I could not hold back the tears as I watched with pride the reactions of my six brothers and four sisters and the loving expressions of my noble parents as they watched their posterity partake of the Christmas spirit and as they felt of the unity which prevailed in our family circle.

Some years ago, my wife gave me a copy of one of Wiggins’s books, called The Marks of an Educated Man. She knew that I needed it, and she gave it to me for a birthday present. So I read it. There was a little story in there that intrigued me. It told about a college professor from an agricultural college who went into a farming community to try to induce the boys from the farm to attend the college. In that particular locality, there was a farmer, John, who knew all about farming, and he boo-hooed the idea. He said, “Imagine—going to college to learn how to farm. If you want to learn how to farm, get out on the farm.” But his son had the idea that he would like to go to college and sold his mother on the idea, so you know what happened. Well, when the boy came back from college, the father said, “Now you take half of the farm, and I’ll take the other half, and we’ll see who knows how to farm—the man from the farm or the man from the college.”

One morning Father came in and said, “Ma, what are those boxes up in Son’s window?”
“Oh,” she said, “he’s just testing his seed.”
“Hmmm, a man who doesn’t know seed when he sees it has no business on a farm.” When the crop was gathered in, the father had sixty bushels to the acre, and the boy had ninety bushels to the acre. (I didn’t think there was any place they raised that much, but I found it up in Idaho.) The next morning after the count was taken, Father came down the steps all dressed in his best bib and tucker, carrying his little traveling bag. Ma said, “Where are you going, Pa?”
He said, “I’m going to college.”

Tommy and Betsy were excited and happy about going out west. “It is just like going on a picnic,” said Betsy.
“It would be if it weren’t so cold,” replied Tommy, as he snuggled down into the featherbed that his father had thrown over the supplies in the bottom of the wagon. It was like settling down into a giant pillow. Its feathery softness kept Tommy and Betsy snug and warm, even though the wind was blowing, snow was falling, and ice was forming on the edges of the wagon cover.
The road was ice-covered. As they started down the steep slope to the river, Father called to Tommy and Betsy, “You had better get out of the wagon and walk. It will be safer that way.”
Tommy and Betsy hated to leave the cozy warmth of their featherbed, but they did not say so. Instead, they climbed out of the wagon and, lowering their heads into the wind, walked the remaining distance down the hill to the river. While they were waiting for their father and mother, it started to hail. The hailstones were big, and to Tommy and Betsy it felt as if it were raining bullets. Betsy was frightened; both she and Tommy were freezing. Tommy said, “Let’s jump up and down and laugh at the hailstones. At least that will help us get warm.” And that was the way their father and mother found them—laughing at the hailstorm.
When Tommy and Betsy saw Father leading the frightened oxen and Mother walking by his side, holding a pan to protect his head from the hailstones, they were glad that they were found laughing instead of crying. Happily they climbed into the back of the wagon and settled once more into the cozy warmth of their featherbed.
In a moment or two, Tommy raised a corner of the wagon cover and peeked out. To his amazement he saw wagons coming from every part of town. “How can they all cross the river?” he wondered aloud. “The ferry is locked in ice.”
His father, who at that moment was near the back of the wagon, heard Tommy and answered him. “We will go across the river on the bridge our Heavenly Father has provided—a bridge of ice a mile long.”
Tommy looked across the river. It was so far to the other side! Could a river so big freeze solid enough to hold up a heavy covered wagon? He was breathless with fear that when his father moved the oxen onto the ice it would crack, but it did not! Tommy and Betsy sighed with relief as one wagon after another followed until there was a whole train of them moving slowly across the river. The ice would hold!
For a moment all was quiet, and into their hearts came a feeling that their Heavenly Father really loved them and that he would watch over and protect them on their journey west. It was then that a woman started to sing, and soon others joined in. The singing continued until the wagon train arrived at Sugar Creek.
Sugar Creek was the place where the Saints expected to camp until the weather was warmer. The people who had arrived there the week before heard the singing, and they built campfires—many of them—to welcome the travelers and so that all could get warm when they arrived. Tommy and Besty were thankful for the campfires. They stood in front of the one nearest their wagon and turned first to one side and then to the other, until they were toasty warm. Tommy left the fire first to help his father feed the oxen and milk the cow.
“Betsy,” called her mother, “please bring a loaf of bread out of the bread box so we can have bread and milk for supper.”
The loaf of bread was frozen solid. Her mother tried to cut it with a knife. Then she tried to break it with a hammer, but she only succeeded in making Betsy laugh. When her father came with a pail of milk, he said, “I’ll get the saw,” and they all laughed when they saw him try to cut that little loaf of bread with his big saw. He succeeded in breaking off small pieces. Tommy and Betsy put these pieces into the warm milk.
That night when Tommy and Betsy snuggled down into their warm featherbed, they thought of all that had happened during the day. Betsy thought of her kitten, of the chair with the big round back, and of the clock they’d left back in Nauvoo. In her mind she could hear the clock saying “Sleep, Betsy. Sleep, Betsy,” just as it used to do. And Betsy was soon asleep.
With Tommy it was different. He thought about the wicked men who had driven them from Nauvoo, and he hoped these men would not follow them out west. The more he thought, the more wide awake he became. Because he was so wide awake, he heard all the noises of the camp. It sounded as if many people were going from one wagon to another. Then he heard the ice on the wagon cover crack as Father raised a corner and said, “Tommy, Betsy, wake up!”
Tommy was up in an instant. “Is something the matter?” he asked.
“Sister Johnson has a new baby girl,” replied his father. “Your featherbed would help the mother and the baby keep warm on this bitter cold night.”
By that time Betsy was awake, and both she and Tommy helped their father pull the featherbed out of the wagon. Afterwards, her father bundled Betsy up in some quilts and she went back to sleep.
Tommy was too excited to sleep. Instead, he stood by the fire, which was blazing brightly. He had been there just a minute or so when his mother came out of Sister Johnson’s wagon carrying the baby. “It will only be a minute before the featherbed is ready, and then we will tuck her in next to her mother, and she will be snug and warm,” she said. “In the meantime, it is much warmer here by the fire than it is in the wagon.” Tommy looked at the ice on the wagon cover and knew that this was true.
The next morning when he and Betsy asked about the baby, their mother said, “Instead of just one new baby, there were nine babies born last night.”
“Nine new babies!” Tommy and Betsy could hardly believe their ears.
Mother looked from one to the other and said softly, “I know of at least one of those babies who is doing well because two kind children gave up their precious featherbed so the baby could be warm.”
Tommy and Betsy smiled at each other, and a warm glow of happiness filled their hearts.

Like Sister Chieko N. Okazaki, I have discovered that some lives are woven together in a divine pattern of friendship and kindness (see Ensign, May 1993, page 84).
I was 15 years old when I came in contact with a pair of missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in my hometown of Tilburg, the Netherlands. My parents were charmed with these two young men, and when the missionaries asked if they could take me to church, my parents agreed. I was raised in a Christian home, so I did know of a Heavenly Father. But I had never thought about life or about his plan for us. At church and from the missionary discussions, I soon discovered the true gospel. My life changed, and I asked my parents for permission to be baptized. They refused, but that did not stop me from living according to the laws of Heavenly Father.
About this time, I became acquainted with Ans, a young woman who was a little bit older than I was. Later she told me that she had been searching for the truth and was so impressed by the enthusiasm I radiated that she decided to investigate the Church. She lived in another town, so our contact stayed rather superficial. However, I later learned that she joined the Church.
During this same time period, I took my friend Angela with me to a Young Adult camp. The experience convinced her to investigate the Church, and she was baptized several months later. She moved to the United States, but we stayed in contact and our friendship continued.
Unfortunately, my life took another direction after I introduced Ans and Angela to the gospel. I moved to Dordrecht and distanced myself from the Church and was not baptized. But no matter what I thought of the Church or what I was doing with my life, both Ans and Angela stayed in touch with me. They avoided talking about the gospel, but they were there for me when I had questions. I had not lost faith altogether, and it continued to work on my conscience. Then Ans moved closer to where I lived, and our friendship blossomed. She visited me often and showed her love for me in small, subtle ways.
I am now married to a wonderful husband and have two sweet children. About a year ago I came across a book in the public library about the history of the Church, and I checked it out. I was very touched by the book’s description of the hardships the pioneers endured; they were willing to go through many things because of the gospel. Reading the book revived my testimony. I knew the Church had to be true!
Great was their surprise when I told my friends that I wanted to be baptized. Ans and I shed many tears of happiness after my baptism. Angela could not be there, but I felt her support and encouragement.
I am very grateful to Heavenly Father for these friends. Our lives have been woven together over the years, and the pattern is getting more clear all the time. I truly believe what Sister Okazaki said: “We can never afford to be cruel or indifferent or ungenerous, because we are all connected, even if it is in a pattern that only God sees” (Ensign, May 1993, page 85).
My investigation of the Church lasted 15 years. And though the missionaries who first taught me were disappointed to see my testimony wither, their work wasn’t in vain. If they had not sown the seed, I wouldn’t be who I am today. I will never be able to thank them enough for what they did. The seeds they sowed I shared with others—and they, in turn, continued to nourish the seed in my heart until it flowered in joy and our hearts were woven together in faith and love.

Be grateful and forgive. It was late. My husband and I were both exhausted, the house was a mess, and our toddler was teasing the baby. Then suddenly my husband and I had a discussion that quickly escalated into an argument. Feelings were hurt. I soon found myself in one room and my husband in another room. Silence stretched across the house.
I put the children to bed, and still no words had been spoken. Our home had become simply a house: empty, cold, and silent. I couldn’t sleep. My pillow became wet with tears, and my thoughts kept turning to my wonderful husband of six years who was sitting alone in the living room.
I began praying for guidance. I wanted him to make the first move and say he was sorry, yet I wanted the loving atmosphere of our home back even more. As I prayed, my mind filled with beautiful memories of my husband, our marriage, our temple covenants, and all my blessings. A thought came to me—What would the Lord have me do? My tears increased, and before I knew it I was kneeling beside my husband, gently waking him.
Hugging me, he said, “Please don’t cry.” We both said we were sorry over and over and told each other how much we loved each other. Immediately a sweet spirit filled our home again.
In my mind I thanked Heavenly Father, who had led me to listen with my heart, to be humble, and to count the ways my husband blesses our life together. Since that night my husband and I try to be more careful when exhaustion sets in, and we try to count our blessings and be more patient.—Kelly Smith

His acquaintance with the Church began in 1962, when Mensah was introduced to the Church by an English woman named Lilian Emily Clark. After reading about Dr. Mensah’s appeal for support in a local magazine, she wanted to help. Emily never joined the Church, but she did have Church literature and books she was no longer using that had been given to her by sister missionaries while she lived in Cornwall, England.
Acclaimed as a “highly spiritual man who could heal people’s ailments with prayers”1 Mensah soon persuaded others to join him in organizing the Church. In Ghana, however, building up a congregation presented a financial challenge for Mensah’s group. He prayed in faith but had no success. The kind of assistance needed was not forthcoming from the Church. God had another plan for this small group.
In 1964, Joseph William Billy Johnson joined Mensah’s group. Johnson was a captain of the Army of Jesus in the Aladura Church, a position equivalent to the calling of an elders quorum president in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. That year, an associate gave him some Church tracts. After reading them, Johnson began sharing the gospel with others and he wrote to Church headquarters. “He received from President David O. McKay [1873-1970] encouragement to continue studying the scriptures and to be patient and faithful until missionaries could be sent to Africa.”2
How these two religious leaders came to agreement to work together organizing such an unfamiliar church is linked to a miraculous event.
Six months before meeting with Johnson, Mensah had a dream that someone named Johnson would be able to help establish the Church. Mensah became aware of Johnson through his brother, Isaac Mensah, after Johnson had given him financial assistance through his position of captain. After Mensah’s dream, he invited Johnson to meet with him in his home.
According to Johnson, Mensah “asked me to pray with him so that the Lord might sustain the LDS Mission in Ghana because he had been facing trials since he started the work.”3 While praying, Johnson had a vision in which he saw an unfamiliar book—the Book of Mormon. When he asked about the book, Mensah pulled out a Book of Mormon from under the bed in the room where they had prayed.
As Johnson recognized the book in his vision, they both experienced a rich outpouring of the Spirit of God. Johnson accepted a gift of a Book of Mormon and the invitation to help build the Church while receiving continuing revelation that what he was doing was truly the Lord’s will.
Despite achieving success in growing their congregation while waiting on the Church to be officially recognized in Ghana, problems within the leadership threatened the church because Mensah continued to teach protestant doctrine while Johnson did not. Johnson, wanting to teach the gospel as taught by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, found most of their church members agreed with him.
Seeing the leadership begin to sway towards Johnson, Mensah demanded he should leave and “never come to the church again.”4 When Johnson left, most of the congregation followed him and Mensah joined with a Pentecostal group. They temporarily reunited to keep the converts together and in 1969 Johnson left to establish his own congregation of converts in Cape Coast.
On June 8, 1978, President Spencer W. Kimball (1894-1987) extended priesthood ordination to all worthy males regardless of race. On December 9, 1978, Johnson, Mensah, and other pioneers were baptized into the Church. The next day the Cape Coast Branch was organized with J.W.B. Johnson as branch president.

When the class came back after lunch, the money jar was gone. The small fruit jar with a slit in the lid had been sitting on Ms. Adams’s desk for the past week. Her students had been dropping in pennies, nickels, dimes, and even a few quarters to be used to help a family in town pay its medical bills.
“I’ll bet Steve took the money,” Mike muttered just loudly enough for the rest of the class to hear him.
“Yeah, he probably did,” Ted agreed.
The class turned to look at Steve sitting near the back of the room. They waited for him to say something, but he just glared at them.
“Stop that right now!” Ms. Adams reprimanded them. “We don’t know who took the jar, and it’s wrong to accuse anyone.”
But everyone thinks I’m the thief, Steve thought.
On the bus ride home, a lot of students were looking at Steve and whispering. As he walked down the aisle to get off at his stop, Mike jeered, “What are you going to do with the money, Steve—spend it on candy and soda pop?”
The other kids all snickered. Steve began to answer Mike but instead quickly got off the bus and ran home.
“What’s wrong, son?” his mother asked as he slammed the door and threw his books in a chair.
Steve told her about the money jar. “Mom, I’m not happy at this school. I wish we’d never moved here. No one likes me. I’ve tried to make friends, but I just don’t fit in.”
“I know it can be hard when you have to leave old friends and make new ones.” Mom put her arm around him. “But you have to keep trying. Remember that most people are really good. You just have to give them a chance. You’ll see.”
“But how can I prove that I didn’t take the money jar?” He slumped into a chair.
“Maybe you can’t prove it,” Mom told him. “But you know that you didn’t steal the money, and that’s what’s really important.”
“I guess so,” Steve sighed, “but no one will ever want to be my friend if I can’t prove I’m not the thief.”
“All I can say now is to just hang in there. I have a hunch something good will happen.” Mom stood up and got her purse. “I haven’t forgotten that I owe you this for doing your chores.” She handed him a dollar bill. “Remember, it will have to last a long time.”
During school the next day, all Steve’s classmates shunned him—or worse. At times the taunting was almost more than he could bear. Still, his teacher did what she could to ease his load, and he thought a few of the kids were at least suspending judgment.
Just before lunch, as Ms. Adams was asking the class to start again with a new jar, Mr. Jones, the principal, walked in. He held out the missing money jar. “A friend stopped by yesterday, and I borrowed your money jar to show him what a good job this class is doing. Then I got busy after he left, and I forgot to bring the jar back. I’m sorry if the delay has caused any problems.”
“We are very glad to get it back,” Ms. Adams said, smiling at Steve. “We thought it had been stolen. I think that we’re learning a valuable lesson in why we believe that people should be considered innocent until they’re proven guilty.” She glanced at Mike, who looked very ashamed of himself.
Mr. Jones left, and Mike immediately raised his hand and apologized to Steve. And at lunchtime the others who had taunted him told him they were sorry for what they’d thought and said. Almost all of them suddenly wanted sincerely to be his friend.
When the class came back after lunch, they had another surprise—there was a dollar bill in the money jar!
“Well, what do you know,” Ms. Adams laughed. “This class is full of surprises. I wonder if we’ll ever find out who put in the dollar bill.”
“I’ll bet it was Mr. Jones,” someone said.
“Yes, you’re probably right,” others agreed out loud.
Steve just smiled. I know who put the dollar bill in the jar. And like Mom said, that’s what’s really important.

In January of 1985, when I was employed as a part-time teacher in the Provo Missionary Training Center, I attended a small meeting for the teachers in our MTC zone. At the start of this meeting one of the teachers gave a spiritual thought. He was older than most of us, a graduate student, and married with a few small children. He shared with us the details of his struggle to raise his personal bar of righteousness as it pertained to Sabbath observance.

He spoke of his love of televised sports and of his habit of watching Sunday football games. With great emotion he told of how this habit had been highly detrimental to the spirit in his home; how he had let down his wife and toddler children who would rather have his undivided attention on this sacred day. He then lit up and told of how he had quit watching Sunday games three months earlier and of the great peace and joy he and his family had experienced in the ensuing months as he instead used the time in more uplifting activities--like reading to his children, playing appropriate games and going on walks together as a family, working on his church calling, and discussing goals and making plans with his wife. Then, likening his experience to a course in school, he said that his "final exam" was being held during the coming weekend--on Super Bowl Sunday--and how he was looking forward to passing this test with flying colors. Key to his success was a change in attitude, where he and his wife focused on engaging in the countless appropriate "DO's" of Sabbath observance rather than pining for a few worldly "DON'Ts." Through this experience he learned that keeping the Sabbath holy was not a burden, but a blessing, for truly, "The sabbath was made for man, and not man for the Sabbath."[7]

On your mark, get set, go!
And the winner is …
… Nathan!
You get to go to the Provincial Track Meet! You’ll race against the fastest kids in British Columbia.
No way! I can’t wait.
Later that week …
Your coach just sent over the schedule for the meet.
Oh no … the meet is on Sunday!
Should I go? What if this is my only chance? I might not make it again next year.
Sorry, Coach. I don’t do races on Sunday. I want to keep the Sabbath day holy.
I’m glad I put Christ first. I know I made the right choice.

Before I begin my formal remarks, I am going to tell you a little story about why I feel so strongly about this place. It is not only because as a student here for a year after my mission I found my professional calling to be a teacher and a scholar at the feet of truly, truly inspiring teachers like Larry T. Wimmer and others, but it is also because I met Sue here.
I want to tell you this little story about why I get a chill that just covers me when I walk on this campus. I had met Sue, and we were in the same family home evening group. We went for a walk one night, and I had the very distinct impression from the Spirit: “This is your eternal companion.” Fortunately, she had the same feeling.
Just a couple of days later I was walking along a diagonal sidewalk toward where in those days the sidewalks met in a big X, right about where the Harold B. Lee Library annex is now. I was walking along toward that X when the national anthem began playing, so I stopped. When it finished playing, I walked along the sidewalk and came to where the sidewalks crossed in an X. I ran into Sue right there in the middle of the X. It was on a Wednesday afternoon, and there were thousands of students in that area. And I ran into my eternal companion in the center of the X! I didn’t say this to the Lord, but I got it.
Just a few weeks ago we celebrated our forty-fifth anniversary. She is the love of my life. I came here to find her because she wasn’t in Boston. She was here. I am so grateful. And whenever I walk on this campus I feel the same way.

Years passed, and I got my mission call. Before leaving to go to Argentina, I dropped by Will’s house to say good-bye and tell him I’d miss him. He wasn’t home at first, but his mom was. Surprisingly, she shared with me how much she appreciated the friendship I had offered Will. His dad had abandoned them when Will was two, and with no male role model for him, she felt helpless as she watched him grow up. She felt she was losing touch with her son. After her husband had left, she had prayed that her son would make a friend, a friend who would help keep her son out of trouble.
“You were that friend,” she told me. “Thanks for helping me raise my son. Thanks for answering my prayers.”
I couldn’t help but hug her. She was the mother of my best friend through high school. The mother of a friend who had always been there for me. All this time she thought Heavenly Father had answered her prayer, and I thought He had answered mine. I know God hears our prayers. And sometimes, some very special times, He uses us to answer them too.

LeGrand Nonales Terceño, as he was playing “I Love to See The Temple” on the piano under the beautiful Acacia trees outside the temple, was amazed when one by one little children drew nearer to him and sang the words of the song. Some of them grabbed their parents’ hands and asked them to sing along.
Some visitors requested him to play their favorite hymns while waiting to enter the temple. One guest said, “You’re inviting the Spirit with your music.”
LeGrand shared, “That lifted me up. I felt that moment Heavenly Father was smiling over us.”

Ask Jeff Ryan, 17, about alligators, and he could tell you a lot. One showed up for his younger brother’s baptism. The alligator wasn’t really invited, but Jeff and his family live on a lake shore near the Florida Everglades, and the alligator just happened to live in the same lake.
Actually, Jeff could tell you about a lot of things. Some people have been blessed with the gift of singing, or putting mechanical things together, or playing tennis, or knowing when a friend needs help. Jeff has been blessed with a gift for learning. The more you get to know Jeff, the more you realize he’s got an insatiable curiosity about the things around him—and he works hard to learn as much as he can.
When Jeff was four years old, someone asked him to say the alphabet. “Do you want it backwards or forwards?” responded the pint-sized scholar. He had just tested out in vocabulary skills at a 12th-grade level.
It isn’t always easy being so smart. As a child, he was turned down by three public schools that didn’t have facilities to deal with gifted children. As it ended up, Jeff was taught at home until the third grade.
He started high school at age 12, graduated at 14, then started college. Jeff has really enjoyed going to college and making friends there. Even though he’s younger than the other college students, Jeff is tall for his age and fits right in. He has earned a bachelor’s degree at Nova University in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. His goal is to earn a master’s degree by age 18, then go on a mission when he’s 19.
“I’ve always wanted to go on a mission,” says Jeff. “It would be a nice thing to serve the Lord and other people.”
Although Jeff is gifted academically, he doesn’t keep his nose in books all day. He has friends and lots of hobbies, and he enjoys doing things with his family.
Some families go on picnics together. Jeff’s family goes snake hunting together. Looking out in the Everglades not far from Jeff’s house, with trees scattered here and there in the swampy, spongy land, you figure snakes would like this country. They do.
“I learned about snakes by catching them, watching them, reading books about them, and keeping them as pets for a while,” says Jeff. “I’ve stayed away from the poisonous snakes, though.”
The Ryan family has also gone hunting for panthers—well, panther tracks, actually, which they fill with plaster of paris to make casts. They’ve gone hunting for fossilized seashells too. And Jeff loves to go scuba diving in the warm Florida waters.
“If we lived in the western United States we’d probably be mountain climbers or hikers, but they don’t do that here. So we enjoy what we have around us,” says Jeff’s mother.
Scouting provides a lot of opportunities for Jeff to explore, too. “Our Scoutmaster is really dedicated to helping us learn,” says Jeff. “I like the outdoors and being with the guys, going out and testing our skills and abilities against each other. The troop is second nature now, because I’ve been with them so long and enjoy it so much.”
Jeff is junior assistant Scoutmaster of his troop and recently earned his Eagle Award. For his Eagle project, he and a young woman from his stake planned a three-day stake youth conference.
“I’ve made a lot of good friends at youth conferences,” he says. “Those conferences have probably been the biggest testimony builders in my life. It helps to interact with kids who believe the same things you do and feel the same way, and who you can share good, clean fun with.”
In the evenings, Jeff works at the photography counter of a local drugstore. Photography is his latest hobby, which makes his job fun. He’s saving money for a mission.
“I just realized how much it’s actually going to cost to go on a mission,” says Jeff. “With saving for school books and tuition, it’s not going to be easy.” He’s starting a business of his own so he can earn money. He’ll be matching up students with financial aid that’s available.
The Church is important to Jeff. He was the only Church member in his high school, and the only seminary student in his ward. He graduated from seminary this year. The first year of high school he attended early-morning seminary with two other youth from the stake. “It was a nice way to wake up,” says Jeff. The next year his mom became his home-study teacher. “We’d get into discussions about the scriptures and learn along with each other.
“Ever since I can remember we’ve been studying the scriptures as a family together in the mornings. The scriptures have given me a lot of guidance in my life and helped me with my problems,” says Jeff.
Despite all his accomplishments, Jeff doesn’t seem overly impressed with himself. His mom says that he realized that his ability to learn wasn’t something he could take credit for; it was a gift from Heavenly Father.
“The Church has shown me that you can stay above the world and still enjoy yourself,” says Jeff. “I’ve tried to turn to the Lord and the scriptures to feel good influences in my life. I’m trying to accomplish as much as I can, based on the abilities I’ve been given.”