Gospel Story Finder

Some members remained faithful despite years of isolation. Gunter Schulze, now bishop of the Dresden Ward, spent much of his time during that period finding and caring for isolated members—some in Poland, some in outlying areas of the German Democratic Republic. One of these was an elderly sister in Upper Silesia.
“We visited with her a long time,” recalls Brother Schulze. “Finally she went behind the stove and brought out a knotted stocking and began untying the knots, several knots. Then she held out her two hands like a scale and weighed money from the knotted stocking. She said, ‘This is my tithing. I have been saving it for over twenty-five years now. I knew the priesthood would come into my home again someday!’”

Early in our marriage my wife and I attended school in the northeastern United States, where winters are harsh and road salt is plentiful. After several winters, the body of our old car began to corrode, culminating with a passenger stepping through the floor of the car. With optimism I purchased some sheets of aluminum and pop rivets, and we called my parents to see if we could visit that weekend and work on the car.
We arrived late Friday night, and my father and I got up early on Saturday to work on the car floor. We pulled back the rubber mats and started looking for sound metal to which we could fasten the metal sheets. Our search revealed nothing but corroded metal. We looked at each other silently, replaced the mats, and went to breakfast.
After we made the slow and careful five-hour drive back to our apartment, the phone was ringing when we walked in. Mom had decided that she “needed” a new car and wondered if we would like her old one. My dad cautioned that the car was three years old and had many miles on it. My mom then joked that it couldn’t be too bad—it had been driven by a full-tithe payer. We laughed, and after we hung up the phone, we danced around the apartment in honor of this bit of manna from heaven.

In March of this year, my wife and I had the privilege of taking some invited guests on a tour of the new Kinshasa Democratic Republic of the Congo Temple during the open house prior to its dedication.
As we stood in the beautiful temple baptistry, one of these guests asked an intriguing question. He said something like this: “In our tribal traditions, our ancestors are so important to us—how is it that you connect your families together through the generations?” It was a beautiful teaching moment as we then shared how in a gift of love and service, many faithful members of the Church perform vital ordinances, such as baptisms, on behalf of loved ones who have died. We then took him to the sealing room where we showed him the altar where families are united for the eternities and had him look into the mirrors which face one another—symbolic of the eternal links made between past and future generations.
This good man had many follow up questions and left the temple deeply affected by what he had seen and felt. He eagerly took a copy of the My Family booklet so he could collect names and stories of his own ancestors. With great sincerity he expressed gratitude for being in the temple and left with a new understanding of God’s plan for eternal families and the importance of sacred temples in that plan.
Another guest was so moved by the feelings of peace he had felt while sitting reverently in the celestial room that he asked: “I am a Catholic, but can I still come back to the temple to pray with your members, because I have felt so good in this special place of worship?” We invited him to bring his family as often as he wanted during the open house but explained that coming to the temple after it had been dedicated would require him to be a faithful member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Age 17. From Texas, USA. Likes playing tennis and basketball, running track, and listening to music.
Recently, I organized a clothing drive with some youth from my stake and high school. We collected boxes of gently used clothes to send to clothing closets in the area to help families in need and kids with special needs or disabilities. My younger brother has an autoimmune disease, so I have a special place in my heart for kids going through similar challenges.
While the outcome of this service project was important to me, it was also about bringing people together and creating a sense of community and purpose. By working together, we were able to make new friendships and connections. I felt a sense of accomplishment from doing something good for others.
This experience reminded me of how important it is to love God by serving others. It’s easy to get caught up in our own lives and problems, but when we put others first and follow the Spirit’s promptings to serve, we can bring joy and love into the world.
“We can bring joy and love into the world.”

My best friend, Julie, is not a member of the Church. She is very religious, however, and has the ability to draw people to her. Almost all the LDS students in my school care for her very much and would love to see her come into the Church. Because they care for her, people often get into discussions with her and try to teach her what we believe.
There are some boys my age who talk to Julie a great deal about the Church. They know how wonderful she is and what a great asset the gospel would be for her in her life. One day when we were in junior high, Julie and I met after a class to go to lunch. She told me she had had another Church discussion and that she had been watching these boys and noticing how they behaved and treated other people. She saw how particularly mean they were to another boy in our grade who was less fortunate than the rest of us. And then she said something that I have never forgotten: “They tell me wonderful things about what Mormons believe, but they sure don’t act that way.”
Every time I think about this I cry inside. That day I learned better than ever what it means to be an example. I better understand what Alma meant when he was talking to his son Corianton and said, “When they saw your conduct they would not believe in my words” (Alma 39:11). People are watching us. It is so important to live the way we know we should.

When I had been on my mission in Germany about a year, I was assigned to work with a brand new missionary named Elder Keeler, who had just arrived fresh from converting, so he thought, all the stewardesses on the plane from New York to Frankfurt. Within a few days of his arrival, I was called to a meeting in another city and had to leave him to work in our city with another inexperienced missionary whose companion went with me. I returned late that night. The next morning I asked him how his day had gone. He broke into an enthusiastic smile and said he had found a family who would surely join the Church. In our mission, it was rare to see anyone join the Church let alone a whole family. I asked for more details, but he had forgotten to write down either the name or the address. All he could remember was that the family lived on the top floor of a big apartment house.

“Oh, that’s great,” I thought to myself as I contemplated all those flights of stairs. He also explained that he knew so little German that he had exchanged just a few words with the woman who answered the door. But he did think she wanted us to come back—and he wanted to go find her and have me talk to her that very minute. I explained that all the people who don’t slam the door in our faces did not intend to join the Church. But we went to find her, mostly to appease him. He couldn’t remember the right street either, so we picked a street it might have been and began climbing up and down those endless polished staircases.

After a frustrating hour, I decided I had to be frank (honest) with him. Based on my many months of experience, I said, it was simply not worth our time to try any longer to find her. I had developed a tolerance for the realities of missionary work and simply knew more than he did about it. His eyes filled with tears and his lower lip began to tremble. “Elder Hafen,” he said, “I came on my mission to find the honest in heart. The Spirit told me that, that woman will be a member of the Church.” So I decided to teach him a lesson. I raced him up one staircase after another, until he was ready to fall over from exhaustion, and so was I. “Elder Keeler,” I asked, “have you had enough?” “No,” he said. “We’ve got to find her.” I began to get angry, I decided to work him until he asked to stop—then maybe he would get the message.

Then at the top of a long flight of stairs, we found the apartment. She came to the door. He thrashed my ribs with his elbow, and whispered loudly, “That’s her, Elder. That’s the one. Talk to her!”

Brothers and sisters, not long ago that woman’s husband sat in my living room. He was in Utah for general conference. He is the bishop of the Mannheim Ward. His two boys are preparing for missions. His wife and daughter are strong, active members of the Church. That is a lesson I can never forget about the limitations of the skepticism that comes with learning and experience. I hope that I will never be so aware of “reality” that I am unresponsive to the whisperings of heaven.

Just last week the First Presidency and the Council of the Twelve were provided the opportunity to view the new Church history exhibit situated in the museum just west of Temple Square. I loved the replica of the entry to the Fourth Ward—one of the original wards in the valley. I noted with keen interest the lighted map which plotted the pioneer trek from Nauvoo. However, my heart was truly touched when I gazed at an actual handcart displayed in a place of honor. The handcart communicated to me a silent yet eloquent account of its long and momentous journey.
Let us for a moment join Captain Edward Martin and the handcart company he led. While we will not feel the pangs of hunger which they felt or experience the bitter cold that penetrated their weary bodies, we will emerge from our visit with a better appreciation of hardship borne, courage demonstrated, and faith fulfilled. We will witness with tear-filled eyes a dramatic answer to the question “Am I my brother’s keeper?”
“The handcarts moved on November 3 and reached the river, filled with floating ice. To cross would require more courage and fortitude, it seemed, than human nature could muster. Women shrank back and men wept. Some pushed through, but others were unequal to the ordeal.
“Three eighteen-year-old boys belonging to the relief party came to the rescue; and to the astonishment of all who saw, carried nearly every member of that ill-fated handcart company across the snow-bound stream. The strain was so terrible, the exposure so great, that in later years all the boys died from the effects of it. When President Brigham Young heard of this heroic act, he wept like a child, and later declared publicly, ‘That act alone will ensure C. Allen Huntington, George W. Grant, and David P. Kimball an everlasting salvation in the Celestial Kingdom of God, worlds without end’” (LeRoy R. Hafen and Ann W. Hafen, Handcarts to Zion [Glendale, California: The Arthur H. Clark Company, 1960], pp. 132–33).

I have gone back to these scriptures over and over again. They apply to so much more than just being single. We are constantly in different waiting periods in our lives—waiting on blessings or answers or major life changes. My husband and I right now have been waiting and hoping to have children. I’ve watched as sisters and friends have gotten pregnant and had children while we’ve prayed and waited for the same blessing.
This wait has been hard and often heartbreaking, but there have been many blessings and opportunities at the same time. I have been able to complete a graduate degree, grow within my career, create a home where family and friends feel loved and welcome, continue to serve in Church callings and volunteer, and seek personal revelation and direction. My husband and I are trying to use this time to become the type of people (and hopefully future parents) that God wants us to be. We can’t shorten the wait, but we can try not to waste it.
Sometimes it’s hard to keep this perspective. Like Paul wrote, sometimes we’re “full” and other times we’re “hungry.” It’s through Christ and His grace that we’re ever able to be both together, to find that careful balance between contentment and hope. Where so much of life is made up of waiting, I’m trying not to miss the blessings and lessons that can come at the same time.
Lori Fuller Sosa has worked on the Friend magazine for more than a decade and loves it. Since writing this article, she and her husband are now expecting a baby! They’re very excited and trying to make the most of this new wait.

I’ve spent some time working in Naples, Italy, sequestered in dusty archives, pouring through old manuscripts and books as part of my research as a historical musicologist. The old Italian music I study is strange to the city now and seldom heard. When the libraries close, early and often, I’m back on the streets, sometimes in sections of Naples that are very poor, with beggars everywhere.

In the summer of 1987 a young boy there asked me for money in a subway station, and I ineptly shook my head and glanced away. At first I blamed my poor Neapolitan dialect for not understanding him (except for his open hand), but when others also looked puzzled, I realized that he too was foreign. I watched him go as he walked the length of the station.

It was always the same. He took a few slow steps, bent his right arm at the elbow, and rested it on his bony hip, his left hand behind his back reaching through to grab his upper-right arm. His right hand was cupped near to his body and almost closed, weakly drifting back and forth. He shifted all his thin weight to his left leg, turned his other foot to its outside edge, and bent his back in a slow arch. He never looked those he confronted in the face; his gaze went past you, about chin height. He repeated the same incomprehensible words over and over, and after each rejection he scuffed his feet, shuffled a bit sideways, and moved on, first to this group, and then that—a businessman, a mother, some imitation punk rockers, a factory worker, a man in uniform. He went to each person in the crowded station, a captive audience for his pitiful performance, and no one gave him anything. A few laughed. The teenagers mocked him. Most just ignored him.

As I watched the scene unfold, I thought, “He’s about the same age as my own 11-year-old son, about the same height, same hair color, same complexion, same awkward, uncomfortable posture that all 11-year-old boys have.” Then suddenly, as I stood in that crowded Neapolitan mélange of humanity, I saw my son in his face as he stumbled into the press around me, and I panicked and wanted desperately to go after him. But my train arrived, and I got on, maneuvering next to the window to search for him. I saw him standing there, alone in the deserted station, and then he was gone.

The face of that young boy in a subway station will be one of those images that will never leave me. Like the face of my young brother, years ago, as I led him into a hospital room to say goodbye to our father, or the face of my firstborn child, the face of that young beggar was the face of need. I’ve thought a good deal about beggars since then. The young boy had no money, and I had no will to help him. Which of us was the beggar? “For behold, are we not all beggars?” was the question posed by King Benjamin (Mosiah 4:19).

Faith to overcome is what we need to help us in our trials. A number of years ago, a man in our community impressed me with his testimony. He was a convert from Ireland, joining the Church against the wishes of his family. They disowned him and never spoke to him again. Tragedy seemed to follow him. His first child developed a serious illness that left him $5,000 in debt (a huge sum at that time). Not long after this, his bishop called in sixty faithful members of his ward, telling them they needed to raise $30,000 immediately. When the bishop called for a show of hands of those who would contribute substantially, his faith wavered momentarily, but his wife quickly held up his hand. He did make his contribution, and the windows of heaven opened. Somehow he was able to pay his debts as well. He recounted what great blessings had come to him because he was faithful.

During an interview while I served in an elders quorum presidency, I asked a fellow quorum member if he had ever felt and acted on a spiritual prompting. He thought for a moment and shared an experience.
One afternoon he was washing dishes when he received a strong impression to go knock on a neighbor’s door. He did not understand why, but the prompting was powerful and urgent. He stopped what he was doing and left right away.
He arrived at his neighbor’s door, not knowing what to do or say, and knocked. No one answered. He knocked again. There was still no answer. Concluding that no one was home, he turned to leave but then felt another prompting.
He walked back to the door and simply said, “Sister, I love you.” Then he departed.
He thought this experience was unusual, and he felt a little embarrassed by it. I told him that the Lord does not always tell us the reasons for promptings, but we should never feel embarrassed for acting on them. This brother moved away shortly after our interview.
During a fast and testimony meeting a year later, a sister I did not know walked to the stand to bear her testimony. Through tears, she explained that she had been away from the Church for several years, and during that time she became so depressed that she felt she could not go on any longer.
“Heavenly Father, if You really exist and if You really love me,” she prayed, “tell me now so I understand!”
Almost immediately, she heard a knock on her door and then another. When she didn’t answer, she heard a voice say, “Sister, I love you.”
She said feelings of love overwhelmed her, and she found new strength to face her troubled life. She said things were still not great, but her life was improving.
I had no part in this experience, but I have still been blessed. I gained insight into how two seemingly unrelated acts of faith demonstrated that our Father in Heaven knows all of us, and He calls upon us to act on promptings to help His children. I am grateful for, and cherish, this knowledge.

Two and one-half years passed, and before I knew it, I was home again. I remember hearing someone mention a name: Elisa Rogers, a young woman who was in charge of a university dance at the Hotel Utah. There was something special about that name. I decided I ought to meet her.
I remember the first time I saw her. As a favor for a friend of mine, I had gone to her home to pick up her sister. Elisa opened the door, and I stared. There she was, beautiful, 1.65 meters tall, blue eyes, blond hair.
She must have had a feeling also, because she said to me, “I know who you was.”
She quickly realized she had made a grammatical error. To fully appreciate that, you have to remember that she was an English major.
Even after all of these years, she has remembered the embarrassment of that moment. Of course, my retelling this story doesn’t make matters better, but I trust she will forgive me.

It is 1869, and President Brigham Young is concerned about the young women in the Church. He is worried that some of them, including his own daughters, are too caught up in the fashions and trends of the world.
On 18 November 1869, he holds a meeting with his daughters. He asks them to set an example by spending more time learning about the gospel and gaining important life skills rather than chasing after trends.
“I desire [you] to retrench from [your] extravagance in dress, in eating, and even in speech,” President Young tells his daughters. “I should like you to get up your own fashions, and set the style for the rest of the world who desire sensible and comely fashions to follow. … There is a need for the young daughters of Israel to get a living testimony of the truth” (A Century of Sisterhood, 8).
At first this is difficult for his daughters. These girls are some of the most popular girls in the territory, and they enjoy stylish things. Now they can’t spend hours looking at clothing catalogs from back East. Instead they must sew their own simple and modest dresses, without any ruffles, that go all the way to the ground. They must spend less time socializing and more time studying the scriptures and learning the gospel.
But these girls know their father is a prophet, and they choose to follow him. They create the Young Ladies Department of the Cooperative Retrenchment Association and begin meeting often to support each other in their efforts.
It has been almost 50 years since Brigham Young first met with his daughters, and now girls throughout the world are following his counsel.

Jared was excited when Mom and Dad brought his new brother home from the hospital. Jared liked to play with his sister, Catherine, but he was glad that now he’d have a brother to play games with.
When he first saw David, Jared could hardly believe his eyes—the baby was so tiny and wiggly! Jared had forgotten that he and Catherine had been little and wiggly too.
“How long will it be until David can play ball with me?” Jared asked his mother.
“It will be a few years yet,” she answered. “But don’t worry—there will be plenty of things to do with your brother before then.”
David grew bigger every day. He and Jared did find a lot of things to do together. They often played computer games. David would watch and clap his hands as Jared’s “good guys” chased the “bad guys” across the monitor. Sometimes they played army men. David would sit in his swing, chewing a soldier, while Jared made battle sounds with the other soldiers. Sometimes Jared would lie down with David to help him go to sleep. Jared was always very careful because David was still small.
Whenever it was Jared’s turn to say the family prayer, he thanked Heavenly Father for David, and he asked Him to bless and protect David.
When fall came, Jared started first grade. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go to school, because he would miss playing with David.
Mom knew how much Jared would miss David, so when Jared came home from school, David would be sitting in front of the picture window, looking out. As soon as he saw his big brother, David would wave his arms excitedly.
One day Mom took David to Dr. Karp. David was always having earaches, and she and Dad wanted the doctor to find out why. When he finished looking at David, Dr. Karp told Mom and Dad to take David to the hospital for some tests. To help him discover what was wrong with David, Dr. Karp called Dr. Filopovich. She was a special kind of doctor who helped children fight diseases.
Before taking David to the hospital, Dad and their home teacher laid their hands on David’s head. Dad blessed David that he would get better.
David was in the children’s hospital about two weeks. The house was very quiet with David gone. Everyone missed him, especially Jared.
Dr. Filopovich went to the hospital and looked at David. She asked Mom some questions, then took a little bit of blood from David’s arm. She took the blood back to her office and looked at it under a microscope. When she had finished studying David’s blood, Dr. Filopovich met with Dr. Karp and Mom and Dad. “David’s blood is not strong,” she told them. “It can’t fight off the diseases that attack him. He needs to have a bone marrow transplant. We need to find someone who has blood just like David’s, only stronger, and take some bone marrow from that person and give it to David.”
Before family prayer that night Jared asked, “Will David die if we can’t find someone who has the right kind of blood?”
Dad put his arm around Jared. “David won’t die,” he assured Jared. “I know this because the Lord witnessed it to me when I gave David his blessing. Maybe one of us has the right kind of blood.”
Jared felt better. But before going to bed, he prayed, “Please, Heavenly Father, make my blood be the same as David’s.”
The next day Jared and Catherine and Mom and Dad went to Dr. Filopovich’s office. She took a little bit of blood from each of them. A short time later she called to say that both Jared and Catherine had the same kind of blood that David did.
Mom and Dad talked to Jared. They told him that they thought Catherine was too young to understand David’s problem and that she would be too frightened to give David some of her bone marrow. They asked Jared if he would be willing to give some of his to David.
“Will it hurt?” Jared asked.
“Yes, it will,” Mom told him. “I wish I could tell you it won’t, but I think you’d rather I told you the truth.”
Jared watched David crawl across the rug. He said, “I want to help David. I asked Heavenly Father to make my blood be the same as David’s, and it is. So I’ll do it.”
Jared loved his baby brother, but as the time to go to the hospital came closer, he was as frightened as he was brave. Mom and Dad hugged him, and Dad gave Jared a father’s blessing in which he told Jared how proud he and Mom and Heavenly Father were of him. He blessed Jared with peace of mind and promised him that it wouldn’t hurt very long.
David was put in a special room at the hospital. Jared and Mom and Dad could just walk in and visit David, but the doctors and nurses had to wear masks and gowns before they could go into his room.
Jared’s room was in a different part of the hospital. Although he had two roommates, he had a dresser all his own, and he even had his own television. The first night he was there, he had wheelchair races with his roommates, and they watched a movie on a huge television down the hall.
When Jared went to bed, though, it was too quiet. His roommates quickly fell asleep, the nurses were busy in other rooms, and his parents had gone home. Jared was lonely and scared until he remembered the blessing Dad had given him. “I bless you with peace of mind,” his father had said. Jared had a contented feeling and soon fell fast asleep.
The next morning Jared got to ride in a wheelchair to the operating room. Dr. Filopovich was waiting for him there. She smiled at Jared and told him that he would go to sleep for a while. “When you wake up,” she said, “it will be all over.”
Jared breathed into a funny thing shaped like a cup and was soon asleep. While he slept, doctors took some bone marrow from his hipbone and sent it up to David’s room, where another doctor put it into David’s bloodstream. David’s heart would send it to different areas in his body, and in a few months David would have stronger blood.
Even before Jared woke up, his body knew that some bone marrow was missing. It began to make some more. In just a few days his body would make enough marrow to replace all that Jared had given to David.
When Jared awoke, Mom and Dad were there, smiling at him. A nurse gave him a Popsicle. Jared asked, “Is it over? Does David have some of my blood now?”
“Yes, it’s all over,” Dad said. “You were very brave and good, and we are very proud of you.”
Jared stayed in the hospital one more night. He hurt a little, but not as much as he’d thought he would. Dr. Karp called Jared on the telephone and told him that the transplant had gone well. He told Jared, “I think David will soon be well, thanks to you!”
Mom took Jared to see David the next day before going home.
“How long will David have to stay here?” Jared asked.
“Probably a few more months,” Mom answered, “until his blood is stronger. But you can come and visit him on weekends.”
Jared held David for a while. “Mom,” he asked, “do you think David knows what I did for him?”
“No, Jared, he doesn’t. But David knows that you love him. When he grows up, he’ll realize just how great that love is.”
The next day was Sunday. Jared’s Primary teacher gave a lesson about the Savior. She told the class that Jesus loved them and that He had suffered for them because He loved them. She smiled and added that they would understand His love better when they grew up.
Jared smiled back at her and said, “I think I understand already. I really do.”

Carolyn sat down on the stairs, pressed her face against the banister, and peered through the posts. She was waiting for breakfast to be ready.
“Toast with Grandma’s strawberry jam!” called Mother from the kitchen.
Carolyn hopped down the stairs, singing:
“Daddy likes dinner.
Mommy likes lunch.
But breakfast is the meal
That I like to munch.”
As Carolyn skipped into the kitchen, she saw her dog, Inky, disappearing through the swinging door into the pantry. Mother was making orange juice in the blender. Peter was eating crunchy cereal and reading the back of the cereal box.
Carolyn sat down at her place at the table. Her plate was empty, so she waited for her toast.
Carolyn waited and waited. But when Mommy finished giving them each a glass of juice, she sat down and started to read the paper.
At last Carolyn said, “Mommy, I’m ready for my toast and jam now.”
Mommy put down the newspaper. “I already gave you your toast and jam, Carolyn. What did you do with it?”
Peter chuckled. “She probably ate it and then forgot about it.”
“No I didn’t. Someone else must have eaten it.” Carolyn looked suspiciously at her brother, who was always hungry.
“Don’t look at me,” Peter said, picking up his books. “I’d rather have cereal.”
While she waited for another piece of toast, Carolyn sang:
“I think jam and toast are fun.
I guess I’m not the only one!
Someone else likes toast just fine.
But I wish he would not take mine!”
The next morning when Mommy called, Carolyn hurried to the kitchen and sat down at her place. Her plate was empty.
Carolyn reached down to pet Inky, who was lying beside her chair. “I hope,” she whispered to her, “that no one has eaten my toast again.”
Mother was already reading the paper. Peter was studying his spelling words.
“Mommy,” Carolyn said, “I’m ready for my toast now.”
Mother looked up. “Not again! I put your toast on your plate before I called you, Carolyn.”
“But, Mommy, it’s not there now.” Carolyn looked hard at Peter, but he just kept studying his words.
Mother got up and put another piece of bread into the toaster.
After breakfast Carolyn and Inky sat on the stairway landing together while Carolyn thought about how to catch the toast thief. Finally, she had a plan.
The next morning she and Mommy waited outside the kitchen doorway until they heard the toast pop up. Mommy went into the kitchen, spread the toast thickly with butter and jam, put the toast on Carolyn’s plate, pretended to call to Carolyn, and then went back into the hall.
Peeking into the kitchen, Mommy and Carolyn saw the thief! They saw Inky put her front paws on Carolyn’s chair, reach up, and carefully grab the toast with her teeth!
“Inky, you naughty dog!” Carolyn scolded.
“From now on, Carolyn,” said Mommy, “I’ll wait till you’re here before I put your breakfast on the table.”
“And I’ll give Inky a dog biscuit so that she won’t want my toast,” Carolyn said.
Carolyn sat down and waited for more toast. While she waited, she sang:
“I am not the only one
Who thinks that jam and toast are fun.
Inky stole my toast away,
But I still love her anyway.”

Before I married my wife, Stacey, people told me how to find the right person to marry. They said I should make a list of the qualities I was looking for in a spouse.
My list went something like this: I want to marry a young woman who is spiritual, is a returned missionary, has a strong testimony, and wants to be a mother and raise our children in the gospel. It would also be nice if she is tall, athletic, and has blonde hair.
As I was dating, I had a hard time finding a young woman with all of those characteristics. Young women are much more than a list of characteristics. They have different personalities, different likes and dislikes. Some are easier to talk to than others. Some are tall, some short. Some like sports, some don’t.
I began to revise and prioritize my list.
The most important change came from a sentence in my patriarchal blessing that says Heavenly Father was preparing a young woman for me to marry in the temple. That sentence, along with prayer and the Spirit, was my guide.
My wife is short, has dark brown hair, didn’t go on a mission, and doesn’t play sports. But as we dated, I found that she is kind, easy to talk to, fun to be with, has a strong testimony, and wants to raise children in the gospel.
So I decided that hair color and athletic ability weren’t as important to me as seeking to know Heavenly Father’s will in deciding whom to marry. When I was with Stacey, I felt at peace. I felt she was the one Heavenly Father had prepared for me to marry. Stacey and I were sealed in the temple.
I’m glad I put learning and obeying Heavenly Father’s will at the top of my list.

After our return to the hotel, I became quite ill during the night. The next morning my traveling companions came to my bedroom to see why I had not come to breakfast. I told them I was too ill to get out of bed. They said that they would eat breakfast and then go down to the airstrip and look at the plane to see that everything was all right.
They soon returned and informed me that clouds had settled down on the airstrip and on Tuxtla so heavily that we would not be able to get out. We were fogged in, and they had been informed that the airstrip would probably be fogged in for a considerable time because the rainy season was beginning. They asked me what should be done.
After thinking for a few moments I was impressed by the Holy Spirit to say, “Give me a blessing and we will fly out today.” At first they replied, “President Hunter, you are too ill to fly.” But I insisted on being blessed. President Strong anointed and his son Bert sealed the anointing and gave me a blessing. I immediately got up out of bed, went in and ate breakfast, and felt completely healed.
We took our luggage and went down to the airstrip. Shortly after, the clouds lifted sufficiently for us to fly out. We heard later from the archaeological workman that several days passed before the fog and clouds lifted again. Therefore, that particular day was our time to fly out of Tuxtla.

As a Mormon missionary goes out into the world he seeks to be honest in heart. Let me tell you about a new missionary down in Hawke’s Bay, New Zealand. It was his first week in the mission field; he was trembling and unsure—not of his testimony, but of his ability. His companion took him out to teach a couple who were having their fifth discussion. He did not have anything to say during the discussion. He was very timid. But as they were ready to leave, he went up to this man and, offering a pamphlet with a trembling hand, he said in a quivering voice, “Sir, if you will read this pamphlet, I testify to you that you will know it’s the truth because I know it’s true.” And with that trembling hand he gave that pamphlet.

This man testifies to me today, now living in faraway England—not as an elders quorum president, although he has been; not as a bishop in the Church, although he has been; not as a stake president; but now as a Regional Representative—that that young man, on his very first week in the mission field, offered him a trembling pamphlet from this Church, saying, “Sir, if you will read this I know you will know that it’s true.” Now that is the spirit of a Mormon missionary who is honest in heart; and what an effect he can have on the heart of someone else who recognizes that sincerity and is willing to let the gift of the Holy Ghost act upon him!

When a twelve- or thirteen-year-old boy is called to be the president of a quorum and is left alone by his adult leaders, he might well flounder and fail. It is critically important that his adviser and others teach him how to be an effective president. To do this, the adviser, who has a major role to play, will not take over his responsibility but rather will coach him in order to help him grow in the office. One deacons quorum president must have been taught well by his adviser to have had the following experience:
A stake Aaronic Priesthood committee member attended one of the quorum meetings for several weeks in a row. One Sunday morning, he noticed a boy in attendance who had not been there before. To his dismay, this inactive boy was called on to offer one of the prayers. Anyone would know that the first time an inactive boy comes to priesthood meeting he should not be embarrassed by being asked to pray.
After the meeting, this high councilor asked the adviser why the president of the quorum would do such a foolish thing. The adviser said, “Why don’t you ask him?” When asked, the quorum president replied, “I just spent three days this week teaching him how to pray.” Sometimes these young people have a special touch which only peers seem to have. However, they do need to be taught well how to lead.

Then one day, about a year later, one of Olivio’s American teammates said, “Hey—you’re Mormon. Don’t Mormons go on missions? Are you going to quit the team and go too?”
That started Olivio thinking. “The things I learned made sense to me, and I said, ‘Well, if these things come from God. I have to explain them to other people.”
But leaving basketball—that would be tough. Olivio had just made the Portuguese national team, and his professional team had offered him a very lucrative contract—lots of money, a car, and a luxurious apartment.
“It was a difficult decision to leave basketball, so I decided to get my patriarchal blessing. There it said that I was going to serve the Lord, so I decided to do it. God prepared me to come here and find the gospel by giving me these talents to play basketball. I don’t have a problem leaving it to serve him. I think I can help many people.”
And now, Elder Olivio Gomes Manuel, who left northern Portugal almost two years ago to serve in southern Portugal, is helping many people. He’s well known throughout the mission for his good nature and easy smile, his hard work, and his gentle rapport with the people he towers over.