Gospel Story Finder

Joseph kicked his legs and arms and tried to stay afloat in the stormy sea. But not knowing how to swim, he knew he probably wouldn’t last long. The rain made it impossible for him to see what had happened to his ship, and the waves kept pushing him deeper under the water. As he waved his arms around, hoping someone would see him, his hand hit something. It was a wooden barrel that must have gone overboard with him. He grabbed it and hung on, knowing that it was his only chance for survival.
After what seemed like several hours, the storm calmed, and Joseph saw his ship coming for him. After his men helped him on board, he went straight to his cabin. He changed into some dry clothes and lay on his bed in exhaustion, thinking about what had happened. He knew that finding the barrel had been a miracle.
Joseph remembered the Bible story of Jonah, the prophet who had run away from what God had commanded him to do. Jonah had tried to sail far away from the wicked people he was supposed to preach the gospel to, only to be thrown overboard and swallowed by a whale. The whale spat him out on a beach three days later. Jonah repented and went to teach the wicked people.
God saved Jonah from drowning because He had a job for Jonah to do. Did God save Joseph from drowning because Joseph had a job to do? Joseph thought of the missionaries who had wanted him to go to Nauvoo. He thought of how he had stayed in the harbor instead. Joseph asked Heavenly Father for forgiveness, then went on deck as the ship arrived at its destination on the other side of the harbor.
After a few days, Joseph found a buyer for his damaged ship. Along with his life savings, he had $2,600 in gold coins, which made him a very rich man. But Joseph wasn’t tempted to spend the coins on himself. Instead, he put the money in some small cans, tied them around his waist, and headed for Nauvoo.
It took three weeks of wagon rides and walking to get there. During the hot, rough journey Joseph looked forward to meeting other members of the Church. He imagined Nauvoo as a beautiful community with friendly people who would welcome and accept him.
But when he arrived in Nauvoo, the town was in disarray. The people were poor, and a half-built temple stood at one end of town with hardly anybody working on it. The people were certainly friendly, and they did accept him, but Joseph began to wonder why God wanted him in this broken-down town. He missed his ship and the open water—what was he supposed to do now?
To be continued …

Whilst former England Missionary Training Centre president, Crag Ostler, was serving in his call, he built up a close relationship with Ralph Assherton, son of Lord and Lady Clitheroe of Downham. Ralph has the responsibility for the day-to-day running of the village and the family estate, and so he takes a real interest in village life and those who visit. All missionaries in the missionary training centre are given a Church history tour of significant sites in the northwest of England, including Downham. Over the years, these visits from the missionaries to Downham have led to the development of a relationship and friendship.
Ralph Assherton had always been very supportive and accommodating regarding these regular visits from the missionaries and would often spend time speaking with President Ostler. They realised they had much in common.
Sadly for President and Sister Ostler, when their assignment at the MTC was completed they did not have an opportunity to meet in person to say goodbye to Ralph.
However they had not forgotten Ralph’s friendship and kindness towards them and the missionaries. Once home, Brother Ostler was determined to express his gratitude to Ralph for the last three years.
Through research, Brother Ostler learnt that one of Ralph’s interests was bell ringing. If you go down to Downham on a Tuesday evening you will hear the bells of St Leonard’s church being rung by Ralph!
Brother Ostler organised the presentation of a handheld bell and a personal letter to Ralph, on his behalf- and on the many others who had benefited from Ralph’s kindness.
On 29 June, President Don H. Staheli, president of the Missionary Training Centre, Sister Staheli, and a number of missionaries gathered in St Leonard’s church along with Ralph Assherton and others to make the presentation. As part of the presentation, musical items were provided by the missionaries, including a beautiful violin solo.
Ralph then took some time speaking to the missionaries, taking questions, and even gave a demonstration with his new handbell.
President Staheli and others expressed their thanks to Ralph and his family for the kindness and support they have shown and continue to extend towards the Church.

When I was growing up and would run into frustrating times, my Dad would always say: “Well, just remember the Book of Mormon says that ‘it came to pass,’ not that it came to stay.”
I found myself in the midst of one of those times recently, wishing that some of my problems would pass and some of my dreams would come true. But neither seemed to be happening. I began to wonder if sometimes things did come to stay. I wondered why some prayers seemed to go unanswered and why some blessings were withheld.
While visiting my parents I found some answers in the corn patch.
It was Saturday and the vegetable garden needed to be irrigated. Since I was home, I volunteered for the assignment.
“Water everything but the corn,” Dad had said as I headed for the ditch with my shovel. I always wondered what Dad had against corn.
“Are you sure it doesn’t need any water?” I asked. He decided to come and check. We walked out to the garden together and looked at the corn, which was about two feet high by then. The leaves were wilting and had begun to droop from the heat.
The last family home evening in May, we usually planted our garden. A frost would come a few days before the end of the month, and then summer weather began. That was the time for planting.
Grandpa’s rusty old potato planter looked like something out of the ’40s—probably because it was. But it still did a good job of putting the seed potatoes in the ground. Someone had stolen the seat off of it, and Dad sat on a pillow draped over the protruding rod while one of my sisters or I drove the tractor.
We usually planted peas, beans, corn, and potatoes, and sometimes squash. Our garden was growing according to the usual schedule this year. Everything had been watered two or three times since it had been planted except for the corn. It was getting close to July, and still Dad hadn’t watered it.
“I guess now it’s time to water it,” Dad said as he inspected the droopy leaves, and then he explained to me why he had waited so long.
“If you water corn when it first starts to grow, it’ll shoot right up. But it won’t develop a root system to support its height, so it won’t be good for much of anything.”
As he left me, I began thinking about what he had said. He was disciplining the corn so it would be well developed and there would be a balance between the roots and the stalk.
I looked at my own life and thought how much I was like the corn. Crying for water before I’d developed my roots.
I remembered a talk Elder Neal A. Maxwell gave at Ricks College. He talked about being “grounded, rooted, and established.” Maybe the Lord was allowing me to go a little while without water so I would become grounded and well rooted in the gospel. Perhaps there were roots of patience that I had not established. I could work on tolerance and love. I thought of many areas of my life where my roots were shallow.
I have learned not to mind so much the dry spells in my life because I know the Master Gardener will send water in His own due time. And when it comes it will be, as Elder Maxwell calls it, the Malachi measure: “there shall not be room enough to receive it” (Mal. 3:10).

To help explain what the Savior has done for us, President Boyd K. Packer, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, told the story of a man who borrowed a great deal of money. He bought something he had always wanted. But when the bill came due, he could not afford to pay it. He knew that his creditor would take away his possessions as payment and throw him in jail.
Then the man’s friend came to rescue him. The friend asked, “If I pay your debt, will you accept me as your creditor?” The man gratefully agreed, and his friend told him, “You will pay the debt to me and I will set the terms. It will not be easy, but it will be possible.”
Because the friend was willing and able to pay, the creditor received the money that was fairly owed him. At the same time, the man was able to keep his possessions and not go to jail. (See Ensign, May 1977, 54–55.)

During my first two years of teaching seminary in Nevada, I assigned two students in each class to be what we called “seminary phantoms.” They were to do nice things throughout the year for their fellow students, without anyone knowing.
Most of the students in my early-morning class were from the same two wards, except for one freshman. His name was Clark, and every day he sat by himself near the front of the room. About three months into the year, I had the class grouped into teams. I asked one boy to let Clark be on his team, and he asked, “Who’s Clark?” It was then that I realized how few people knew Clark.
A few weeks later, as the Christmas season drew near, we geared up to do our annual seminary Christmas activity called “secret Santas.” Students who wanted to participate signed up to do nice things, anonymously, for another student during the week before Christmas break. As the sign-up list went around, nearly everyone signed up. Everyone except Clark.
After class, I pulled aside my two seminary phantoms and asked if they would do a favor for someone in the class. They both willingly agreed. I explained about Clark and asked if they would mind doing just one nice thing for him from his secret Santa.
The following Monday, Clark’s book slot was decorated with ribbons and candy. Tuesday, there were small gifts. As the class came in both days, they crowded around him to see what he had received. Again on Wednesday, there was a small surprise left for him on my desk. When Thursday came, he found a gingerbread house on his desk. He couldn’t believe his eyes.
The next morning was Friday, the last day before Christmas vacation. Clark came into class with a present of his own. It was a huge gingerbread house that must have taken him and his mother all evening to make. He asked if I would please give it to his secret Santa. When class was over, Clark was slow in leaving, hoping to find out who I would give his gift to. But I convinced him that his Santa wanted to remain a secret. As he walked down the street, a car which a few minutes earlier had appeared to drive off, turned into the parking lot again, and two girls got an early Christmas present.
Seminary became Clark’s favorite class. Throughout the remaining three years, he had some wonderful friends in seminary. I can’t help but think that it was partially the result of those two seminary phantoms. The year that he graduated from high school and seminary, I was transferred to another state.
The following summer, my family and I came back to visit. Late one evening, at the home where we were staying, we heard a car drive by. The horn honked and someone yelled, “We love you, Brother Fowler!” In the morning, I found my car “decorated” with toilet paper. Inside was a note with a copy of a mission call attached to it. It was from Clark. It read, “Seminary was the inspiration for the day and for my life. Thanks!”

Such a family was Oskar and Albertina Andersson, who became members of the Church in 1915. After World War II, Oskar, Albertina, and seven of their children who had married members made the heart-rending decision to sell all they owned and “travel to Zion.” From 1949 to 1950, 29 members of the Andersson family left Sweden. Oskar and Albertina left their home, three children, and four grandchildren, whom they would never see again. They arrived in a desert and a city where the people spoke a language they did not understand. But for these faithful members, being close to the temple was more important than anything else.
Members of the Andersson family have since served as missionaries and Church leaders in all parts of the world, including as an Area President in Africa and a temple president in Sweden.

While that companion has his or her agency, you also have your own agency to choose to be obedient. You should do everything you can to follow mission rules and schedules. Your good example will always work better than anger. For example, when I served my mission, we had one hour every preparation day for emailing. I had some companions who would go significantly over their allotted email time. I would use my time, pay the internet café, and then quietly sit next to my companion until she was done. I noticed that although I never got mad at my companions or told them they were going over our time limit, they would usually start using less time and trying to be more aware of the rules. It’s amazing how powerful a righteous example can be for a missionary who might be struggling.

“But Dad, it’s not my fault!” Anne said. “I was being nice to Lacy, but she just kept yelling at me. When I finally yelled back, you came in and got angry with me. It’s not fair.”
“I know,” Dad said, “but you’re older than Lacy. You know better.”
“She should know better too.” Anne started crying and Dad hugged her.
“You’re her older sister,” Dad said. “Just like Jesus is a good example for you, you should be setting a good example for Lacy.”
Anne sniffed. “I try so hard to be like Jesus, but Lacy just makes me so angry sometimes and I forget. It’s hard to remember.”
“You’re right, Anne. It is hard to remember sometimes,” Dad said. “I have an idea. If you take extra big helpings of Vitamin L every day, soon it won’t be hard for you to remember to be like Jesus. Maybe Lacy will start to remember to be like Jesus too.”
“Vitamin L? What’s that?” Anne asked.
Dad kissed her head and said, “Love.”
Every day Anne tried to remember her Vitamin L. In her morning prayers she asked Heavenly Father to help her remember. Then she would imagine chewing and swallowing her Vitamin L.
But it was still hard to remember. Sometimes, when Lacy said something mean, Anne forgot all about Vitamin L.
On Sundays, Dad asked Anne how her Vitamin L was working. Anne told him about helping Lacy make her bed and letting Lacy play with her toys. But it didn’t seem to be helping. Lacy still got angry with Anne, and Anne still got angry back.
Dad hugged Anne and said, “Keep trying. Remember all the people who got angry with Jesus and said mean things to Him. But He loved them anyway. I know you can do it.”
Anne kept trying. She shared treats with Lacy and let Lacy sleep with her favorite teddy bear. When Lacy asked to borrow Anne’s fluffy, pink gloves, Anne only thought a moment before saying yes; and when Lacy fell down during recess, Anne ran to help her get up.
Day by day, it was getting easier and easier for Anne to remember Vitamin L. Then one afternoon Lacy walked into their bedroom holding Anne’s teddy bear. She climbed onto Anne’s bed. She wrapped her arms around Anne’s waist and squeezed tight. “I love you, Anne,” she whispered.
Anne hugged Lacy back. “I love you too.”

I lost my father during World War II, when I was four years old. I learned how to work because my father was not there and my mother gave us children assignments. I helped cook dinner for my family because Mother had to work. My older sister and brother had part-time jobs to help the family, and when I got older, I did too. I worked on a farm and with a fishing business.
After I finished junior high school, I had to work to support myself. As a young man I found a full-time job at a bean-curd shop in a larger city about nine hours away from my home. I went to high school in the evenings, so I got home late. Early the next morning at work, I made bean curds and sold them on the street or delivered them to various stores.
I became very sick from working so hard and had to stay in the hospital. I thought I might die. I was born into a Buddhist family. I always felt that there was a God in heaven, but I had never been taught about God. I was very desperate to talk to Him. I didn’t even know the word for “Heavenly Father,” so I asked, “God, are You there? Please help me.” After eight days I was able to leave the hospital, and I lived with my uncle while I recovered.
A few days later the missionaries came to my uncle’s door. When I saw them I told them to go away. But one of them said, “We have a great message for you. A boy just like you saw your Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.” I couldn’t resist because I had been praying and seeking Heavenly Father just a few days before. So I said, “You can have 10 minutes. Come in.”
The missionaries taught me the beautiful and sacred story of Joseph Smith. And I was touched. I really felt the power of the Spirit. The missionaries asked me to pray and ask Heavenly Father if their message was true, and then they taught me how to pray. I prayed that evening. Even now I remember exactly how I felt that day.
I asked the missionaries to come back almost every day after that. I believed what they taught me. I believed that Joseph Smith saw Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ in the Sacred Grove. But before I could be baptized, I needed to get permission from my mother. I called her and said, “Mother, I’ve found a wonderful church. I need to get your permission to join.”
She said, “No. I lost my husband; I don’t want to lose my son.” She was afraid that if I joined the Church I would leave her.
I said, “I’m not going anywhere.” And then she hung up.
The missionaries fasted and prayed for me, and I did too. I called her again and said, “Please don’t hang up on me until I’ve really explained it.” She suggested that I study more and take some more time to decide. But I felt strongly that now was the time I should be baptized.
Finally she told me, “Son, if you are going to quit right in the middle, don’t do it. But if you will stay with it all the way through, then you have my permission.” That caused me to always take my membership in the Church very seriously.
I am grateful for my mother. I am grateful for Heavenly Father who allowed me to come into contact with the restored gospel. All the experiences I’ve had in the Church have been wonderful. But nothing compares with my depth of appreciation for the Savior, for His grace and mercy, and for what He has done for my wife and children.
When my son was called on a mission to Brazil, we took a father-son trip to the Sacred Grove in Palmyra, New York. We spent three days doing nothing but walking and talking there. On the final day we sat on a bench and bore our testimonies to each other. I shared my own conversion story once again with my son, and we cried. I hope his children and his grandchildren carry on this legacy of love and faith for years to come.

The Christmas of 1953 was one I shall long remember. A telephone call came from the teacher of a Sunday School class in one of the more affluent wards on the east bench of Salt Lake City. She asked if there were any poor living in our ward—persons who needed help at Christmas time. I responded that there were no poor people who had not been provided the necessities of life, but perhaps an experience could be had which would benefit her class members as well as a particular family whom I had in mind.
I was thinking of a certain family in our ward. Henry, his wife, and children had come from Germany. They lived in modest circumstances. All during the war Henry and his mother had prayed that he would never have to take human life. Strangely enough, Henry served four years during the war, three of which were spent on the Russian Front. His assignment? Ambulance driver. Their prayer was answered.
As the teacher and I made the plans for the Christmas activity, I suggested that if each girl or boy could bring to the family on the appointed night a gift that meant a great deal to him or to her personally, then each would have a Christmas that would long be remembered.
That evening the parking lot of the ward contained one Chrysler, one Cadillac, and two Oldsmobiles. Such an array of wealth had never before graced that parking area. The cars were left at the chapel. We walked to the home singing carols along the way.
At the family home between Fourth and Fifth South on Second West, the Christmas spirit truly entered each heart. One girl handed to one of the family’s daughters a lovely doll that she had had from her girlhood. She showed the tiny girl how to caress the doll and to hold it ever so tenderly in her arms.
One of the boys handed to a small boy his baseball glove carrying the Lou Gehrig signature. He then explained to the young German brother how to catch a baseball. Such was the case with each gift.
We returned to the ward, there to have the traditional donuts and apple cider. Almost in unison the young boys and girls spoke out: “This has been the greatest experience of our lives.”
I thought of the second verse of “O Little Town of Bethlehem”:
How silently, how silently,
The wondrous gift is given!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of his heaven.
No ear may hear his coming;
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive him, still
The dear Christ enters in.
As we left the chapel that night, all of us who had participated in making Christmas come alive reflected upon the words of the Master:
“Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” (Matt. 25:40.)

Sometimes temptation to let down her standards can be almost overwhelming, especially when a cherished goal comes in sight. Like the time Jenny was invited to meet with well-known disk jockeys from a major radio station—on a Sunday.
She wanted so much to be there, supporting her hospital team and meeting influential people, possibly improving her career opportunities. Workmates kept pressuring her to go. But she refused, at the same time explaining her feelings for the Sabbath.
“I felt awful letting them down,” she says, “but I’d have felt even more awful letting myself and Heavenly Father down—and my workmates, too, because eventually they would have seen me as a bad example.”

I say to you what I said to the boys—avoid pornography as you would a plague. I recall an assignment some years back to restore the blessings of a man who had been excommunicated from the Church because of his sin. He came to my office with his wife. I spoke with them individually. I asked him how it all began. He held a responsible position in the Church. He was likewise a professional man with high responsibility in the community.

His trouble began, he said, when he picked up a pornographic magazine to read on a plane. It intrigued him. It appealed to him. He found himself buying more of these things. Then he sought out movies which titillated him and excited him. Knowing that his wife would be a party to none of this, he went alone. He found occasion to leave town and go to other cities where he could more easily indulge his desires. He then found excuses to stay late at his office and asked his secretary to stay with him. One thing led to another until he succumbed.

With tears rolling down his cheeks, he sat across the desk from me and cursed the day he had read that first magazine. He spoke of his love for the wife who had forgiven him and remained true to him. He spoke of his love for his children, who had been shamed and embarrassed by his actions. He told of the hell through which he had walked for some four years from the time of his excommunication. He spoke of his love for the Church and of his desire to again enjoy its full blessings.

In the presence of his wife, I placed my hands upon his head and in the authority of the holy priesthood restored his priesthood, his temple endowment, his temple sealing, and all other blessings which he had formerly held. This great, strong man sobbed like a baby under my hands while his wife, holding her hand in his, wept like a child.

At the conclusion of that blessing, they embraced one another and he asked her to forgive him. She said she had forgiven him, and that she loved him and always would.

They were happy when they left, happier than they had been in years. And I was happy, too. But I thought of the terrible price he had paid and of the price he had exacted of his family through his foolishness and transgression.

I lived in a ward where one woman was like a beacon of righteousness. Jessica (name has been changed) radiated love and goodness every week in our meetings. She went from person to person, greeting them and loving them—especially those who were “hanging on the edges” of the ward. She invited the lonely to her home, talked to the shy ones, and went out of her way to spread her commitment to Christ and His gospel. It impacted the entire ward for good.

Some time ago I visited a friend who belongs to another church. I have talked to him about our Church on many occasions, but he isn’t interested. So it surprised me when he told me he was reading a manual titled Teaching, No Greater Call: A Resource Guide for Gospel Teaching. He was fascinated with the content. I asked him how he had obtained it, since as a member and leader in the Church I didn’t have it yet. He replied that he had gotten it from his nephew who, in turn, had received it from someone else.
I am very grateful to my Heavenly Father for the standard works and for all the Church publications. They are helping not just Latter-day Saints but the whole world.Felipe Urbina,Rubén Darío Branch, Managua Nicaragua Rubén Darío District

Because I’ve spent many years mingling with nonmembers, entertaining and being entertained by them, I’m often asked how a member of the Church should respond when confronted with a conflict of standards, particularly in regard to the Word of Wisdom. Perhaps the best way to answer the question is to relate some of the ways I’ve handled the problem and share some of the principles I’ve learned from my experiences.
Let me first address the problems a host may face when entertaining nonmember friends.
Today, my wife and I simply request that visitors in our home observe the Word of Wisdom. We have no ash trays, and serve no coffee or alcohol. I even ask friends not to smoke in the car I drive and the small planes I fly. None are offended. But it wasn’t always that easy.
I remember a tough time when we were just married. I was barely back from my mission and had accepted a position with one of the most important international banks in the world. They sent us to South America, where we were expected to entertain friends of the bank and many dignitaries. I learned something fundamental about different cultures during those years. Every culture devises social forms and rituals to communicate hospitality, friendliness, and acceptance. Some of these rituals fit comfortably with the Word of Wisdom, but others do not. We found, however, in nearly every situation, as both hosts and guests, that we could modify the content of these social rituals and come up with something that would still let us participate warmly and sincerely in the friendliness implied in the ritual.
For example, there’s the delicate business of formal champagne toasts in traditional champagne glasses. When I was a guest, I would ask the head waiter for juice instead of champagne. All you need to do is talk to him when you arrive. Do not wait until the moment of the toast because you cannot ask the whole party and the host to wait for you. A tip to the head waiter helps him remember who you are. It also helps to tell him where you will be standing if there is a large group of people.
When an LDS member is the host and needs to offer a toast, the problem is more conspicuous. I solved the problem successfully for the first time in Paraguay, and used that formula from then on. At a major banquet in which I had to offer a toast to the president of the country, to his cabinet ministers, and to Paraguay as our host country, I decided to use water. In Paraguay one of the bank’s clients was the new municipal water system, which for the first time in that country’s history produced a pure, fine-tasting uncontaminated water. At the appropriate time, I lifted my champagne glass full of water and announced to the assembled important people, “I don’t know what you have in your glasses, but in mine I have the purest of liquids—water from the municipal water system of Asuncion—and I lift my glass in a cordial toast to his Excellency, the President,” etc., etc. The compliment was sincere, and it worked very well. They laughed, and no one ever forgot that “Mormon Toast.”
As hosts, we had two styles. According to our agreement with the bank, we entertained “bank style” for business purposes when they paid the bill—the waiters, the caterers, etc. But there were many occasions when business friends would drop in unexpectedly and we would invite them to dinner. We would say, “You’re here as our friends, and we want to treat you as family.” We would serve them only what we were serving the family—no coffee, no drinks.
At other times, when it was a special affair of our own, such as a party for relatives or visiting Church dignitaries from Salt Lake City, we would tell our guests in advance that this was to be a “Mormon party” and they would understand what was expected of them. Nearly always, if some smoked, they had simply forgotten and would go outside when given a gentle reminder.
Being a host has a different set of problems than being a guest in a nonmembers home. It’s a lot easier to be a guest. Our hosts bent over backward to make us feel comfortable, and we tried to help them. We found that juices, not milk, are the easiest substitute for coffee. I found that when our hosts asked, “Coffee?” they really wanted us to feel comfortable and were perfectly happy to take care of us if we answered, “No, thanks, but do you have any juice?” If they didn’t have any juice, we simply reassured them that we really didn’t need anything. But the next time we were in their home, they always had some juices on hand. In most countries there are now hot cereal-based beverages or herb “teas” that are easy substitutes for coffee or tea.
I sometimes used the same approach with wine at formal dinners, asking for unfermented grape juice instead. They usually didn’t have it the first time, but they did the second time. We found out that almost everyone wanted to try our unfermented grape juices with their dinners. We didn’t try to be furtive about it. We just made it part of the enjoyable dinner conversation.
Hostesses who were inviting us to their parties usually called to ask if we had any preferences of juices; if there were other things we couldn’t eat, such as ham; or if we were vegetarians. We always explained at each opportunity what our Word of Wisdom was, and they were usually relieved that it was so simple.
Tobacco was never a problem. People don’t smoke to be sociable. There may be some societies where there is a tobacco protocol, but I have not encountered them. Abstinence is a sign of wisdom in the international social circles I have been in.
There is one occasional moment of very high protocol, however, which is a bit of a problem unless you are forewarned. That is in those very elegant homes where they serve high tea, a ritual usually reserved for intimate family members and close friends of the family. The tremendous formality and protocol of the whole affair are most impressive, almost symbolic. The tea service is ornate sterling silver, sometimes dating back hundreds of years. The cups and saucers are of the most delicate imported bone china. The hostess has her place, and a matron of honor is chosen to help her pour the tea from the pot or hot water on to tea bags in the cups. The hostess looks at you and says, “One sugar or two?”
One answer is just to say, “Neither thanks, but a lovely hot lemon tea would be nice.” That makes it easy for them to just pour the boiling water over the lemon slice always available, and you could enjoy it and the delicious pastries arranged on silver platters in front of you.
In my experience I have never found it necessary to avoid a social situation because of the Word of Wisdom. If there wasn’t an easy way or a humorous way, there was never anything wrong with the direct way: “No, thanks.” No one ever said anything other than, “Can I get you something else?”
I have never found any cause for uneasiness or embarrassment in observing the Word of Wisdom. I have never found a host or hostess who was not totally interested in serving exactly what we wanted. No one ever questioned our standards; in fact, I do not remember a social occasion in which we were not asked to explain our religion, and most of the time it was the Word of Wisdom that started the conversation. As I perceived it, we always had the respect of our friends and colleagues for our position.

Adeltha Collyer (right) and Carol King
“Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these … , ye have done it unto me” (Matthew 25:40).
Another couple in the area, Bertram and Adeltha Collyer, ran a produce stand in Waterflow, New Mexico, for 52 years. It provided a living for them and their six children. It also provided a lot of love to the neighborhood.
“We had 40 acres, and we employed more than 800 people off and on. We’d always find work for anybody going on or coming off a mission, mothers who needed income, or people who needed a job,” Adeltha says, now age 82.
“One day a lady up the road was taking a truck full of empty boxes to the dump. I told her we’d trade produce for boxes. She asked, ‘Can I give some to my neighbors who are in need?’ I told my helpers, ‘Let her have what she wants, no charge.’
“Carol King, a member of our ward who works for me, would help me make big boxes of surplus produce—squash, cucumbers, melons, corn, tomatoes, or chiles. Her son would take them to neighbors, Church members or not—it didn’t matter. It was a joy for us to give to people in need.”

I first came face-to-face with depression at the end of my mission in South Africa. I was oddly unhappy. My spirits were low, my perspective less positive, and my faith shaken. On top of that, my mom was unwell, and my family had other challenges. I pretended that everything was OK, but it wasn’t. One moment, I had been handling all sorts of stress just fine, and the next, I hit my breaking point. My thoughts were crushing me, and everything seemed to turn against me.

I was emotionally and mentally drained, so I decided to fast and pray for guidance. As a result, I received three specific promptings:

The first was to talk to my mission president. Finally opening up about my struggles helped me feel better and know I wasn’t alone.

Second, I was prompted that learning of Jesus Christ could help me through this. As I studied about Heavenly Father and the Savior, it became clear to me that They knew my pain and felt my sorrow. I relied on Them for strength when I felt I had none.

The third prompting came from a quote from President Gordon B. Hinckley: “Service is the best medicine for self-pity, selfishness, despair, and loneliness” (Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Gordon B. Hinckley [2016], 201.) As I focused outward and on serving others, over time I felt happier, more confident, and more trust in Heavenly Father.

I got through my mission, but depression struck again during my first few months in university. I had just moved from Zambia to Malaysia and was far from home with no friends or family close by. I didn’t even know where my branch met for church.

I held onto hope and felt prompted to fast and pray for guidance again. From there, I was led to becoming friends with a girl in my class who helped me find the closest branch. As I walked into the chapel on that first Sunday, I felt the Holy Ghost lift my burden from me. I knew that I could follow the healing steps I took on my mission. Again, I spoke to my Church leaders for help, studied the life and teachings of the Savior, and then focused on serving others. I found people to talk to and reached out, helped others at school, and accepted a calling at church.

Akasiwa Wamunyima, Malaysia

In one of my stake conference assignments in the Salt Lake Valley, I invited a young deacons quorum president to join me to talk about the keys of the priesthood. I wanted him to understand that he held a very special office that included the keys to preside over a quorum of the priesthood. We talked about the great responsibility it is to hold keys and how special it is to belong to a quorum. At the conclusion of the little presentation, I asked him how many members he had in his quorum. His answer was 14.
Then the question: “How many are active?”
The answer: “12.”
Then I asked, “What about the other two?”
His response was, “I need to get to work and make them an active part of our quorum.”
I asked him how long that would take. He thought maybe three months. I encouraged him in his efforts.
Three months later, almost to the day, I received a letter from him informing me that all the members of his quorum were now active. He said he had befriended them, and one was now attending deacons quorum meetings, and the other had been ordained a teacher by the bishop. I was overwhelmed with his response. What an example of one honoring his priesthood and using priesthood keys to carry out an assignment the Lord has given him to fulfill. I could not help but marvel at the design the Lord has established for the administration of His work here on earth using the powers of the priesthood.

Go ahead. Stand Yanery and Yajaira Ortiz next to each other, and just try to tell them apart. No, really. Try.
All right. Here’s a hint that might help. Yajaira is the older of the identical twins—by 17 minutes.
Any guesses yet? Give up?
Okay, that’s Yajaira wearing the Mickey Mouse shirt. In her bedroom in Garfield, New Jersey, Yajaira has hers decked out in a Mickey Mouse motif. That’s the giveaway. She loves the cartoon mouse. Meanwhile, Yanery’s room is done more in neo-modern teen. Posters, textbooks, makeup. The usual stuff.
Oh, there is one more area where they are identical. They both have the Young Women theme displayed prominently on their walls.
Okay, let’s move to quiz number two. Look at some of Yanery and Yajaira’s friends. There’s Veronica Cruz, Michayne Campbell, Romano Johnson, Desmond Aultmon, and Rafael Geldres.
Take a good look and tell us what they have in common.
Tough, isn’t it?
Okay, here’s the answer. They’re the same too—at least when it comes to what they believe and how they live their lives. Along with the Ortiz sisters, Veronica, Michayne, Romano, Desmond, and Rafael are all members of the Church, members of the Paterson Second Branch of the Caldwell New Jersey Stake.
Paterson, New Jersey, is not a tourist town, despite being only 20 minutes from New York City. Gone are the days when locomotive trains and much of the nation’s silk were manufactured there. Today, crime is rampant, many of the buildings are empty, and the unemployment rate is as high as Manhattan’s skyscrapers.
Still, home is home. And the influence of the Church on the LDS youth offers peace and comfort to them. The fact that Michayne is Black and Yajaira is Hispanic makes no difference. But Yajaira is aware, as Mia Maid class president, what being an example to a younger member like Michayne means. That is important.
“I’m supposed to be an example to everybody. I feel the responsibility because I’m the president, and I want to show people the way to act by the way I act,” Yajaira says.
Eighteen-year-old Rafael has his own take on the Church and its members. He was baptized in 1996. “The good thing about the Church is that everybody’s equal,” says Rafael, who is of Peruvian descent. He has noticed lines drawn among the students of different races who attend John F. Kennedy High School and has been troubled by the violence that seems to follow. “In the Church, no race is better than the next. I’ve noticed this, and it’s incredible.” He wishes his nonmember friends and classmates felt the same way.
Not long ago, in a diner near his home, one of Rafael’s classmates was shot and killed in what police determined was a race-related murder.
And Desmond, who will be 14 in a couple of months, can tell some disconcerting stories too. Last year, he was walking near the corner of 18th and 38th streets. Without warning, two guys jumped out of a car, roughed him up, and left him lying in the street.
“It’s tough living here, but my life has changed a lot since I joined the Church. You just have these happy feelings,” he says.
Desmond’s life did change permanently in March 1996 when he was baptized. And for many youth in the Paterson area, things began changing in 1993, when the missionary work started rolling and the branch grew from seven members to the more than two hundred it counts on its rolls today. Meanwhile, the Young Men and Young Women programs are flourishing, mainly because people like Veronica and Romano were joining the Church, and lifelong members like Yajaira and Yanery were moving in from out of state.
“The Church has taught me a lot,” says 15-year-old Veronica. “Being involved in the Church has taken me away from the activities around the streets and stuff. Without the Church, I probably would have been like most of the teenagers I see around me. I would have followed my friends and everything like that. But in the Church, we are taught to be independent from the crowd. By following the Church’s teachings, I have also had some ground rules and some values set for me.”
When Rafael talks about how his life has been altered, he has the answer. “It’s made me sweat a lot,” he says with a smile while holding a paintbrush. He’s in the middle of a service project inside a YMCA in Passaic, New Jersey, painting the fourth-floor hallways of a building that desperately needs a coat or two. It’s about a million degrees inside, and, yes, everybody is sweating. But everybody’s happy too.
“That’s the way all our activities are,” he adds. “We work hard and have fun. But, seriously, the Church has helped me perceive things in a different way. I think I’ve become smarter. For example, when things happen, they make more sense to me.”
“I know I look at life totally different than maybe other people do,” explains Yanery. “I can fall back on things that other people don’t have. The first step I took was baptism. If we live every day following the teachings of the Church, it can help us out in the long run.”
With paint flecks on her face, Michayne stops her brush strokes for a moment and considers the service project and her Church membership. “I love doing things that are not just for myself but for other people. You come closer to the Lord when you’re doing service,” she says. “I know so much more about God and Jesus Christ. I pray more, and I do the things I’m supposed to do. If I wasn’t a member of the Church, I think things would be different.”
Desmond considers the challenges he faces every day, and he is also grateful for the Church. “So many people will say, ‘Come on, try this. Try this.’ I’m like, ‘I don’t have time for that. Drugs won’t get you anywhere.’”
While Yajaira faces many of the same challenges, she also sees reminders every day that teach her how to live. “My mom really loves the Church, and there is more peace in our home because of it,” she says. “Whenever I go in my house, I always remember something. Scriptures, the Young Women values—those sorts of things. I already have them in my head and know the things they teach are the way I want things to go for me.”
Another day in Paterson is coming to a close. Sunlight is flashing off the Great Falls, a national historic landmark, where water falls almost 80 feet into the Passaic River. It’s easily the most-visited place in the city.
“It’s different from when I used to live in Missouri,” says Yanery, speaking not only about the scenery but the lifestyle as well. “Here, it’s like, ‘Mormon? What’s that?’ People don’t even know what my religion is. But I like it because I stand out and my values stand out. I feel different from everybody else.”
Yanery finishes speaking, and she walks toward her sister. As they stand next to each other, watching the water cascade into the river, you realize Yanery’s right. They do stand out, even if you still can’t tell the two sisters apart.

The thought that I could pray had never occurred to me. I’d only seen it done by preachers on TV, or in the movies. I had to do something, though. I thought about Todd’s suggestion the rest of the day and decided I would try it.
That night I poured out my heart at my bedside and after a half-hour climbed in bed. There was no flash of light, no inspiration, no singing angels, nothing. But the melody of Beethoven’s Pathetique Sonata playing in my mind and an understanding that I must do something.
I stared at the dark ceiling and made a mental list of my options. I could try to persuade Papa to see a doctor. That hadn’t worked before; perhaps, though, it was worth another try. I could leave things as they were and hope that in time he’d heal. But Papa was growing more sullen each week. I could talk to Uncle Ricard and ask him for help. But he was a thousand miles away. I could let Todd talk to Papa, but that hadn’t gone over too well before. I had tried to bring Todd’s name up on two occasions since the missionaries’ visit, and Papa got angry. I told him I wanted to know more about what Todd believed, and he didn’t like that.
Of course I could confront Papa and insist that we either work together or threaten to move out. Chances were, though, I’d end up on the street. And if he threw me out, I didn’t know what would happen to him or me. What I really wanted to do was take responsibility for my own life, let Papa do with his what he would, and secretly start lessons with Todd again.
But that’s not what I did.
It was after dinner the next evening. We had eaten and cleaned up, mostly in silence. When we were through, Papa headed for the bottle of scotch and the TV.
“Papa?” I said.
“What?”
“Can we talk?”
“About what?” His eyes grew darker.
Oh, how I longed to see the brightness in them again. Why did Mama have to go? “Papa, I’m dying.”
“What? You make a joke?” His eyes widened.
“I don’t have a disease or anything, but I’m dying. My music is dying, and so are you.”
“Look. I don’t need you to tell me what I am doing.”
“Papa, I remember one spring afternoon when we were barbecuing and Pauly asked you to sing. You opened your mouth, and the notes came out like the Creator himself had touched your voice. And the world stopped to listen. I asked you that day if you had always sung. Do you remember what you said?”
“No. It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter. It matters to me, and it matters to Mama.”
“There is no Mama for you, Maria; no wife for me.”
“Papa, you said that you thought God sent music to give us joy and Mama to show us he loved us. Do you remember?”
Papa lifted his gaze and stared at the wall. “I remember.”
“I don’t know why she died, but you mock her life with your constant self-pity.”
He raised his voice. “I lost my wife.”
“And I lost my mother,” I shouted. “And now I’m losing you.”
“You will not talk to me like that.”
“Why not? If it’s not like this it won’t be at all.” I pounded the table. “The only talk you do these days is to the TV and your bottles of scotch.”
“You give your dad some respect. Hear?” He rose off his seat, his face flushed, and I knew I was close to a point of no return. I could stop now, and in a few days things would be more or less frigid normal. If I pushed him too far, I could lose him as surely as I had lost Mama.
“Papa, what if Todd is right? What if there is a God, and what if Mama is alive, living with him in another world, waiting for you? What if your being with her again depends on what you do here? What if your selfishness and self-pity kept you from being with her after you die?”
He looked as if each word was a well-aimed bullet. He sunk back in his seat. After a moment of silence, he said, quietly, “No one can know about these things.”
“Todd says he and a lot of other people do.”
For the first time in my life I saw Papa as a little boy, a frightened child who had lost hope.
“Father, may I play you a song?”
“You hate me, Maria?”
“No, I love you, Papa. Please, may I play for you?”
He nodded his head and followed me into the living room.
“Sit down, Papa, and listen.”
I closed my eyes and, this time, pictured the Master, like in a picture Todd had shown me. And Mama stood beside him.
I began the second movement of the Pathetique. When I finished, I looked at Papa, deep in his chair, and he said with a softness to his face, “You play like you want God to hear you.”
“I do, Papa. I want to play so well that he will tell Mama how beautiful it is.”
Papa came over and stood behind me. He put his strong hands on my shoulders. “This Todd. He taught you to play like that?”
“No, Papa. You did.”
I felt his hands tremble against my shoulders, and he said, “Tonight, you play for me, Maria, and inside I sing again.”