Gospel Story Finder

Let me share a personal example. Husbands, take heed. Sisters, this is going to help you too. Before my full-time assignment in the Church, I traveled widely for my company. I was gone a fair amount of time to far reaches of the world. At the end of my day, no matter where I was, I always called home. When my wife, Melanie, picked up the phone and I reported in, our conversation always led us to expressing “I love you.” Every day, those words served as an anchor to my soul and my conduct; they were a protection to me from evil designs. “Melanie, I love you” spoke of the precious trust between us.
President Thomas S. Monson used to say, “There are feet to steady, hands to grasp, minds to encourage, hearts to inspire, and souls to save.” Saying “thank you,” “I am sorry,” “I love you” will do just that.
Brothers and sisters, words do matter.
I promise that if we “feast upon the words of Christ” that lead to salvation, our prophet’s words that guide and encourage us, and our own words that speak of who we are and what we hold dear, the powers of heaven will pour down upon us. “The words of Christ will tell you all things what ye should do.” We are Heavenly Father’s children and He is our God, and He expects us to speak with “the tongue of angels” by the power of the Holy Ghost.
I love the Lord Jesus Christ. He is, in the words of the Old Testament prophet Isaiah, “Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.” And as the Apostle John made clear, Jesus Christ Himself is “the Word.”
Of this I testify as an Apostle called to the Lord’s divine service—to declare His word—and called to stand as a special witness of Him. In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, amen.

When ten-year-old Kimberly heard President Benson encourage Church members to read the Book of Mormon, she knew that the counsel was meant for her too. Every night since then, with very few misses, she has read from the Book of Mormon. And, just as important, she has read it aloud so that seven-year-old Katie, with whom she shares a room at the top of the kitchen stairs, can also obey the prophet.

One of the important lessons my mother taught me by her example was about praying with a plan. She said it was important to pray that Heavenly Father would guide me. But I should also do my part by having a plan to help my prayer be answered.
One day when I was about six years old, I learned what that meant. I had earned a nickel, so I decided to buy some candy. On my way to the store, I started flipping my shiny nickel in the air. On its way down, I missed catching it, and it fell into some tall grass. My nickel completely disappeared.
I felt very bad, and I decided to pray. I knew Heavenly Father would help me find the nickel. As I finished my prayer, I thought about what my mother had taught me. What plan could I make to help with my prayer?
Suddenly I had a great idea. I would go home and get another nickel. Then I would come back to the exact spot where I had lost my nickel. If I flipped the second nickel in the same way, I thought Heavenly Father could help me find my lost nickel.
I ran home and borrowed another nickel. Then I went back to the spot where I had been before. I flipped the second nickel, this time watching carefully to see where it landed. When I looked down, I saw both nickels lying side by side. I knew that Heavenly Father had helped me.

I learned years ago a very important lesson. I think it was the second time I’d ever met President Harold B. Lee; I had been introduced to him once before. I was serving as a member of a stake high council, and on one occasion the stake president presented in our meeting the name of a man to be called to a position of leadership in the stake. I was teaching seminary at the time, and Brother Leon Strong, also a seminary teacher, had talked to me a time or two about this man. We’d commented on what an able man he was and how sad it was that he couldn’t do more than he did because of a handicap relating to his wife. She had one personality trait that I think could be characterized by the term malicious; I think that identifies what it was.
When the stake president presented the name of this man for a presiding office in the stake and called for a vote, the two of us cast negative votes. That’s rather unusual. The president talked it over for a few minutes, and then said that he felt he’d like to proceed anyway, and asked if we would sustain him in issuing this call. Immediately the issue changed. In my mind, then, it was a vote to sustain the stake president, not necessarily a vote for this man to office; and when he called for a vote, Brother Strong and I joined the other ten members of the stake high council affirmatively, approving the call of this man to office.
When our stake conference was held, a month or two later, when the ordinations were to take place, Elder Harold B. Lee, of the Council of the Twelve, was the visitor. After the conference we’d assembled in the stake center for the ordinations. Elder Lee had ordained a bishop and his counselors and some others, and then this man was called forth to be ordained by the member of the Council of the Twelve. Brother Strong nudged me—we were sitting together—and with a smile on his face he leaned over and said, “Well, Brother Packer, now we’ll see whether this Church is run by revelation.”
Elder Lee put his hands on the head of this man, began the usual introductory words to an ordination, then hesitated. Then he said words to this effect: “The other blessings relating to your activities and life and occupation that you’ve heard pronounced upon the others here apply to you as well, but there is a special blessing.” And then that man received the longest blessing, the most pointed of them all; and in reality, it was not a blessing for him but a blessing for his wife. It was a very interesting thing to see.
Immediately, when the meeting was over, I went to Brother Lee and said, “Did you know this brother before you ordained him?”
“No,” he said. “I didn’t know him. I think I hadn’t seen him till I came into this room.”
I said, “He received a very unusual blessing.”
And Elder Lee said, “Yes, I felt that.”
Later, the president of the stake explained: “I meant to talk to Elder Lee about that and tell him that here was a man who had need of a special blessing, but in the press of business, we just didn’t have time.” And so Brother Strong was right. That day we did see whether this Church is run by revelation or not.

Prophet loved music. He especially loved Primary songs and Church hymns. He hummed the tunes all day long. He imagined himself sitting at a piano, playing his favorite songs. He also imagined himself teaching other people how to play.
There was just one problem. He didn’t have a piano.
One day Prophet had an interview with his bishop.
“Have you set any goals for the Children and Youth program?” the bishop asked.
“Yes,” Prophet said. “I want to learn to play the piano.”
“That is a good goal,” the bishop said.
“And when I reach that goal,” Prophet said, “then I have another goal. I want to teach 20 other people how to play.”
“You have two good goals,” the bishop said.
“And I have a problem,” Prophet said. “I don’t have a piano.”
“Well, let us see what we can do.”
At church the next Sunday, the bishop told Prophet that he had found a missionary couple who could teach him. They would bring piano keyboards for him and others to practice on. They wanted to teach lots of people how to play the piano.
The bishop talked to people. Prophet talked to people. Prophet’s family talked to people. Soon the whole ward was talking about piano lessons. So were others.
“Many of my friends who are not members also want to learn,” Prophet told the bishop.
“They are welcome, of course,” the bishop said. “The missionaries will give you a book and help you learn the lessons. And after you learn, you can help them teach everyone else.”
“That is my second goal!” Prophet said.
Soon Prophet was practicing with the missionaries. He loved learning what each of the notes meant and hearing them come together to make a song. Two of his friends from church, Kelvin and Alexander, were also learning. After a month, all three boys started teaching too.
Every day, the boys taught keyboard classes at the Church building. At first there were about 10 students, then 20, then 50!
“This is fun!” Kelvin said one day when class was over.
“I think Heavenly Father is happy because we are helping others to learn,” Alexander said.
Prophet nodded. His goal was already helping so many people.
But there was something else that made Prophet happy. As the other students practiced the Primary songs, they were also learning about Heavenly Father. Some of them asked Prophet if they could learn more about the Church.
And in fact, some of the people who first learned about the Church because of piano lessons ended up getting baptized.
“Now in meetings,” Prophet says, “we all join together and sing the songs we love.”
Watch a video about this story!

To you comes a second question: “Whom shall I marry?” May I make personal application of this question? At a dance for the freshman class at the University of Utah, I was dancing with a girl from West High School when a young lady from East High School danced by with her partner. Her name was Frances Johnson: I didn’t know it at the time. I just took one look and decided that there was a young lady I wanted to meet. But she danced away, and I didn’t see her for three more months. Then one day, while waiting for the old streetcar at Thirteenth East and Second South Street in Salt Lake City, I looked and couldn’t believe my eyes. Here was the young lady whom I had seen dancing across the floor, and she was standing with another young lady and a young man whom I remembered from early school days. Unfortunately, I couldn’t remember his name. I had a decision to make, and I thought to myself: “This decision requires courage. What should I do?” I found in my heart an appreciation of that phrase, “When the time for decision arrives, the time for preparation is past.”

I stood up straight, gathered my courage, and plunged toward my opportunity. I walked up to that young man and said, “Hello, my old friend from my early school days,” and then he said to me, “I can’t quite remember your name.” I told him my name, and he told me his name. Then he introduced me to the girl who later became my wife. That day I made a little note in my student directory to visit Frances Beverly Johnson, and I did. That decision was one of the most important decisions that I have ever made. Young people who are at that particular time in their lives have the responsibility to make similar decisions. They have the important responsibility to choose whom to marry—not only whom to date.

Sometimes people not only become prisoners to addictive behaviors, but they may also begin to feel like prisoners within a marriage relationship.
A few years ago my wife, Dorothea, and I were walking across the grounds of a temple in a foreign land when we met a very radiant, cheerful, silver-haired sister. Her cheerful, Christlike countenance seemed to set her apart from those around her, and I felt inclined to ask her to explain why she looked so happy and content with life.
“Well,” she said with a smile, “several years ago I was in a hurry to get married, and quite frankly, after a few months I realized I had married the wrong man.” She continued, “He had no interest in the Church as he had initially led me to believe, and he began to treat me very unkindly for several years. One day I reached the point where I felt I could go on no longer in this situation, and so in desperation I knelt down to pray, to ask Heavenly Father if He would approve of my divorcing my husband.
“I had a very remarkable experience,” she said. “After I prayed fervently, the Spirit revealed a number of insights to me of which I had been previously unaware. For the first time in my life, I realized that, just like my husband, I am not perfect either. I began to work on my intolerance and my impatience with his lack of spirituality.
“I began to strive to become more compassionate and loving and understanding. And do you know what happened? As I started to change, my husband started to change. Instead of my nagging him about going to church, he gradually decided to come with me on his own initiative.
“Recently we were sealed in the temple, and now we spend one day each week in the temple together. Oh, he’s still not perfect, but I am so happy that the Lord loves us enough to help us resolve our problems.”

I have been a member of the Church since I was eight years old. I believed all of the Church’s teachings, but used to take it for granted and relied on my parents’ testimonies.
When I was 14 years old, I was invited to a stake missionary fireside. I attend all the Church activities I can, so naturally I decided to go to this one. The thing that was mainly on my mind was socializing. However, I soon became engrossed in the meeting. It was a fireside musical and visual presentation called “Greater Than Us All.”
Around the middle of the fireside there was a song called “His Hands,” which describes the life of Christ, his love, his example, how he died, and how we should try to live. The song referred to his hands, and I found myself starting to cry, especially when they sang: “And then they pierced them! They pierced them! He let them because of love”—referring to his gentle hands being nailed on the cross. I felt a really warm burning inside, and I couldn’t stop crying. I felt the Savior’s overwhelming love for me.
I felt like that for the whole meeting. When I walked out, I asked my friends if they felt the same thing. They said no, that it was just a normal fireside. It was a personal witness to me of my own testimony. Now if I start wondering about some things concerning the Church, or have any doubts, I always think about that experience and I am reassured. I now have a very strong testimony of my own and am able to share it with other people. I am grateful for that experience at the fireside.

We started our marriage with an eternal perspective, and we felt that meant we should not postpone or limit the children waiting to come to our family. My husband continued his tertiary (undergraduate) studies as our family grew. By the time he entered the workforce full-time, we had five children. I continued my studies part-time so I could care for our children at home. I look back fondly on those early years. They were awesome! We were in a little apartment with two children under 15 months, living on our meager student allowance and eating a lot of mince (hamburger).
I think of those early years as our pioneer years—we were crossing the “plains” of tertiary study, starting our family, and living on limited financial resources. I feel akin—but only to a small degree—to what one of the survivors of the Martin handcart company said of their journey: “Everyone of us came through with the absolute knowledge that God lives for we became acquainted with him in our extremities.”1
In the eyes of the world, what we chose to do in those initial years of marriage did not make sense. Postponing my graduation to have children, living on one income, and sacrificing some luxuries may have seemed foolish. But the Lord told Isaiah:
“My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord.
“For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts” (Isaiah 55:8–9).
Sacrificing worldly goals to follow Heavenly Father’s will for our family has been a humbling blessing in our lives.
We read in the Doctrine and Covenants that those who “are willing to observe their covenants by sacrifice … are accepted of [the Lord].
“For I, the Lord, will cause them to bring forth as a very fruitful tree which is planted in a goodly land, by a pure stream, that yieldeth much precious fruit” (D&C 97:8–9). Our five children are our precious fruit. They are undoubtedly our greatest blessings.

Let’s go back 60 years. The minutes of the Wandamere Ward of the Grant Stake for June 4, 1944, indicate the sacrament was administered by my friends Ward Jackson, Arthur Hicks, and me to a congregation of 141. Then it was off to war. In May of 1945, I was blessing the sacrament again—but in a foxhole on Okinawa for a congregation of only one—myself!

The training of my youth took over without fanfare—something only partially appreciated by me then—including abstaining from coffee in those same circumstances when water was scarce and highly chlorinated.
I do not know what lies ahead of you young men, but my advice would be to fasten your seat belts and hold on firmly to your principles!

Bobby boosted Priscilla up onto the rock, then scrambled up himself.
“Thanks,” said Priscilla, handing his fishing pole to him. It was the first time she had fished with her brother since they’d moved.
White, billowy clouds drifted across the turquoise sky, and the sun shone down warmly. The children’s blonde hair waved like golden wheat in the afternoon breeze. In the distance they heard the sound of a small engine approaching.
“Here comes the speeder!” exclaimed Bobby. “The passenger train won’t be far behind it.”
“What’s the speeder?” Priscilla asked.
“It’s a small self-propelled car that checks the track to make sure there aren’t any big rocks on it.”
“Do you mean that rocks sometimes slide down from those high mountains?” Priscilla asked, pointing to the cliffs towering behind them.
Bobby nodded. “Dad told me that a long time ago a huge rock slid onto the track, and the passenger train came barreling around the curve and smashed into it! Some of the crew and passengers on the train were killed, so ever since then the speeder checks the track before the passenger train comes through.”
“Well, how does the speeder tell the train that it’s safe to come through the canyon?”
“The man on the speeder contacts a dispatcher on his portable radio,” Bobby explained, “and the dispatcher gives the engineer a green signal along the track.”
“Oh,” Priscilla said, just as the motorized car came speeding around the bend about twenty-five yards from them. The children waved at the driver. He waved back and quickly sped out of view around the next turn.
Soon Bobby and Priscilla heard the train whistle, long and shrill, but still quite far away in the mountains. While they waited for the train to come by, they watched a tiny hummingbird. It flew over to the railroad track and then flew back near the children, hovering above them like a little helicopter. Then it nosedived toward the ground. At the last possible moment it pulled up and veered sharply left. Then it swooped straight up into the sky again.
Bobby laughed. “I think it was showing off for us, Priscilla.”
“Wasn’t it cute!” Priscilla squinted into the sun, trying to see where the tiny bird had flown.
The piercing blast of a train’s whistle filled the air, and the children could feel the ground beneath them tremble as the powerful diesel engine came into sight, pulling stainless steel passenger coaches that shone like silver in the sun.
Bobby spotted the engineer high in the engine’s cab, waving his gray cap at them.
Priscilla and Bobby waved at him, too, and at the passengers inside the coaches as the train thundered by.
The observation car with its high glass windows was the last to roll out of sight.
Priscilla smiled at her brother. “That was fun.”
Bobby smiled back. “Uh-huh. Are you ready to head home for supper?”
“Yes. I’m starved!”
As the days passed and spring turned into summer and summer into fall, the children went fishing at the lake beside the railroad track almost every afternoon. And each time the passenger train rushed by, they waved at the engineer. Sometimes they had a fish to hold up proudly.
One Wednesday afternoon in late October Bobby and Priscilla sat atop the rock, talking and fishing and waiting for the train to roar past. The rattling little speeder had just passed, and Bobby was telling Priscilla about his science experiment at school, when they heard cracking and grating noises behind them. They looked up to see a jumble of rocks sliding and crashing down the sheer cliffs.
Bobby grabbed Priscilla, and they crouched behind the rock and watched gigantic boulders thunder down the mountain, not fifty yards away. Except for the clouds of dust above the fallen rocks, it was all over in a minute or two.
Bobby waited till he was certain the slide was really over, then helped his sister up from behind the rock. Together they edged forward for a closer look.
After picking their way only a few feet, Bobby stopped and pointed. “Priscilla! The rocks are right on top of the tracks!” Bobby’s voice was high and scared. “The man on the speeder has already checked the track! He’ll have told the dispatcher that it’s safe for the train to come ahead. If that passenger train comes around the curve as fast as it usually does, it’ll derail! The crew and passengers could be killed! We have to warn the train to stop.”
Priscilla had already taken off. “Come on!” she yelled over her shoulder. “Run!”
“It’ll take a good half mile for the train to stop at that speed,” Bobby panted, catching up to her, “so we have to run as far as we can and then try to flag down the engineer with our arms!”
The children hurried on, careful not to trip over the ends of the railroad ties. As they rounded a curve in the track, they heard a long, faraway blast of the train’s whistle and ran a little faster.
Priscilla pressed her hand against her side. Soon she gasped, “Bobby, I can’t run anymore. My side hurts too much.”
Bobby helped her up the hill a few feet, safely away from the track. His own breath was coming in great gulps. “I’ll have to leave you here. Now, don’t go near the tracks, no matter what!”
Priscilla nodded, panting and clutching her side. “But what if the train doesn’t stop? What if the engineer thinks that you’re only fooling around?”
“I’m hoping that he’ll trust me because he’s seen us here every day.” Taking another big breath, Bobby scrambled back downhill to the track and pushed on, stride after stride, trying to ignore the pain in his legs and the cramp starting in his own side.
The train whistled, shrill and loud. It was getting closer.
Bobby tried to run harder, but his legs burned and he felt dizzy. He had never run so hard or so far in his life. He struggled to concentrate on every step he took beside the railroad track. He knew that if he tripped and rolled down the grassy slope, the train would go speeding by without anyone to warn it of the danger ahead.
He had barely rounded a curve when he felt the ground rumble beneath his feet. The big diesel engine thundered toward him, its headlight shining into Bobby’s face.
Moving just far enough to the side of the track to avoid getting hit, Bobby jumped up and down, waving his arms back and forth furiously, and screamed, “Stop! Stop!”
In the split second when the engine roared by, Bobby saw both the engineer and the fireman high in the engine’s cab. They had looked him straight in the eye, but had they understood? Would they stop the train in time?
As the coaches rushed by, Bobby fell to the ground, exhausted. But when he heard the hissing of air brakes and the grinding of wheels, he picked himself up off the ground and cheered and whooped. The engineer had trusted him! The train was stopping!
As fast as he could, Bobby limped back along the track. The cramp in his side was almost unbearable, but as he hobbled around the last bend, there was his little sister running toward him.
Bobby and Priscilla helped each other down the track until they could see the observation car and passenger coaches. People were jumping off the steps and running to the front of the train to find out what was wrong.
Farther up, around a bend, the children could see the big engine only feet from the rockslide. People were shouting back and forth above the roar of the engines.
Bobby and Priscilla stopped to rest by the first passenger coach they came to. A man with a kind, wrinkly face rushed over to them. They knew by the flat-crowned hat he wore that he was the conductor.
He shook their hands vigorously, hugged them, and told them that everything was all right.
Later, when Bobby and Priscilla were telling their dad what had happened, Bobby said, “And the conductor said that we were heroes, Dad.”
“Not only that,” Priscilla chimed in, “but he said that heroes can have free train rides whenever they want!”

“Ssshhh!” warns one of the girls. “They’ll hear you.” She buttons the jacket of her hot-pink polyester jump suit, straightens the popcorn ball in her hair, and edges towards the house. But it’s no use. The group bursts into loud laughter again.
So much for a “secret” mission.
By this time the people in the house wonder what all the women are doing gathered on their porch. After all, it isn’t every day that 14 girls and their Young Women leaders come to visit, especially not dressed like this.
The girls are wearing neon polyester outfits. They’ve arranged tinfoil, popcorn balls and tacky fake flowers in their hair. To top it off, several girls are wearing curling irons as necklaces.
When a young woman opens the door to see what all the commotion is about, the group bursts into an enthusiastic, out-of-tune song. They sway to the music and slap their knees.
By the time the song is over the girl being visited is laughing hysterically. So is her family. The group gives the girl a plate of cookies, smothers her with hugs, and leaves as loudly as they came—another mission accomplished.
The Secret Agents of Love, or SAL Squad, started three years ago to accomplish an important mission: to unite the Bluffdale (Utah) Second Ward Young Women.
Not that all of the girls were inactive. They were just … bored. And they weren’t showing up for activities. One night, after another activity fizzled, some of the girls started talking to their leaders about what they could do.
“We were feeling pretty discouraged. Then someone mentioned this story about a girl who ran around doing things to make other people happy. All of a sudden, our attitudes changed. We realized that we could do the same thing,” said Marci Nielson, 18.
The first project was to deliver cookies. Cars honked. People yelled. Trucks pulled over at the sight of several girls wearing cone heads and army boots and riding on two-seated bicycles.
“We didn’t miss anyone. If they were at work, we went right up to the drive-up window of the restaurant, or to the produce section of the supermarket. I think it really made everyone feel good,” said Kristin Sherwood, 18.
“Sometimes it’s hard to believe that this is a service project. It helps to cheer up someone’s day in a really fun way,” said Katie Drury, 18.
All of the girls admit they’re having fun. But they also say that somewhere between the cookies, songs, and costumes, something is changing lives—especially theirs.
Kristin admits that before this Young Women activity started, she didn’t take the time to get to know the younger girls. “I would have missed out on some great friendships.”
The SAL Squad operates with two secret weapons—(1) everyone, girls and Young Women leaders alike, joins in, and (2) love. They say they don’t leave home without it.
“I’ll always remember the fun we’ve had,” says Janalyn Anderson, 18. “But my favorite memory will be of someone opening the door and looking at us like, ‘I’m important to you? You dressed up and did all this for me?’ It has changed lives. And all it took was love.”

On my mission, I was in a car accident that left me with back pain and memory loss. Once I returned home, I enrolled in school, but I struggled. I couldn’t remember simple things, and I couldn’t carry more than a notebook and a pen in my backpack because of the pain.
I was angry. I had spent 18 months serving God and giving Him my all. Why wouldn’t He heal me? Where was He?
As the intense pain continued, I began to feel that I couldn’t turn to God. I began to doubt that He would—or even could—help me. And if He couldn’t help me, then I thought scripture study and temple attendance wouldn’t help either. I turned away from God because life was too hard, and I couldn’t see a way out.
On one particularly difficult day, I had failed another test after studying for hours, and the pain in my back was worse than it had ever been. I stepped outside, sat down, and cried.
A few minutes later, a girl came up to me and smiled. She handed me a note that read, “‘Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself’ [Matthew 6:34]. Heavenly Father is watching over you. I asked Him to. He loves you.”
The Spirit washed over me. I hadn’t felt God’s love for me in a long time. But the girl who handed me the note sparked feelings in my soul, brought me back to the beginning of my faith, and reminded me of my many prior experiences with the Spirit.
I began to turn to Heavenly Father more often in prayer. Even if I couldn’t see the end of my pain, I asked Him to ease my pain or to give me the strength to simply make it through the day. I concentrated more on scripture study and temple attendance.
Though my memory and my pain aren’t fully healed, I have learned to stay close to the Lord. Even when I cannot see all of what lies ahead, I know He is there. I can look forward to the future with faith in Him.

When our daughter, Emi, was a little girl, she liked to watch my every move as I got ready for church. After observing my routine, she would comb her hair and put on her dress, and then she would always ask me to put on some “shiney.” The “shiney” she referred to was thick, gooey cream that I used to prevent wrinkles. As requested, I would put it on Emi’s cheeks and lips, and she would then smile and say, “Now we are ready to go!” What Emi didn’t realize is that she already had her “shiney” on. Her face glowed because she was so pure and innocent and good. She had the Spirit with her, and it showed.

My great-grandfather Henry Jacob Faust was born in a small village called Heddesheim in Rheinland, Prussia. The family went to the United States, and Grandfather Faust went through Salt Lake City on his way west to find his fortune in the goldfields of California. As he was going southward through Utah, he stopped at a well in a little town called Fillmore. There he met a young lady named Elsie Ann Akerley. Grandfather was not a member of our church. This young girl he met was a member. She had crossed the plains with the pioneers. Soon they fell in love. Grandfather went to California and stayed only long enough to get enough gold for a wedding band and then came back to Fillmore, where they were married.
Grandfather was not converted to the Church by the missionaries. I believe he was converted in the main by the testimony of this young girl he met by the well in Fillmore. Grandfather was later appointed by President Brigham Young to be the first bishop of Corinne, Utah. At that time Grandfather was helping bring the railroad to Utah. I am grateful to my grandmother Elsie Ann Akerley, who as a young girl bore her testimony to this strange young man, Henry Jacob Faust from Germany, and helped convert him to the Church.

At the same time, many Congolese emigrants found the Church in Europe and the United States. Mbuyi Nkitabungi was baptized in Belgium in 1980, served a full-time mission in England, and then felt prompted to return home in 1985. “One of my righteous objectives is to build … Zion in the heart of Zaïre,” he wrote to Church headquarters. “I know there is quite a few members from my country who are waiting for that opportunity. … Tell me everything I have to do.”
Nkitabungi was put in contact with other members in Kinshasa, who met in the home of Mike and Katie Bowcutt, an American couple. Like Nkitabungi, many members were Congolese Saints who had joined the Church abroad. Because the Church was still not legally recognized, however, the members held no public meetings. Nevertheless, the group quickly outgrew the Bowcutts’ home and moved their meetings to Nkitabungi’s garage.
In February 1986, the president of the country promised during a broadcast on state-run television that he would grant the Church legal recognition, and members soon began preaching the gospel openly. That same month, Ralph and Jean Hutchings, the first missionaries called to Zaïre, arrived and found a growing group in Kinshasa. Recognition was granted officially in April, and by June 1987 the Church was growing so quickly in Zaïre that a mission was organized, with Ralph Hutchings as president.
Missionaries also reached out to the unofficial congregations near Lubumbashi. Although the transition proved difficult for some, a second center of strength soon emerged. Between May and July 1987, 170 people were baptized. Some were traveling as far as 300 kilometers (186 miles) from Pweto, Kolwezi, and Likasi to attend meetings.
When 21-year-old Elie Monga of Kolwezi read the Book of Mormon in 1987, he was impressed. “I strongly felt,” he later said, “that that’s what I need.” Monga traveled the 300 kilometers to Lubumbashi to meet with the missionaries. After only one discussion, he decided to be baptized. After his baptism, with encouragement from missionaries, he held Sunday School meetings in his home. “We started gathering and teaching our friends [and family],” he said, “bringing them the message of hope through the restored gospel.” A large group was soon meeting in Monga’s home. When the first baptismal service in Kolwezi was held the next year, it took more than three and a half hours for Monga to baptize the 82 converts who had accepted the gospel. It was one success among many: in 1990, just four years after the Church received government recognition, branches and districts were thriving in Kinshasa, Lubumbashi, and many other cities throughout the country.

Many years ago when at the age of 12 I was ordained a deacon, my father, who was president of our stake, took me to my first stake priesthood meeting. … He walked up to the stand, and I sat on the back row, feeling a little alone and uncomfortable in that hall filled with strong men who had been ordained to the priesthood of God. The meeting was called to order, the opening song was announced, and—as was then the custom—we all stood to sing. There were perhaps as many as 400 there. Together these men lifted their strong voices, … all singing these words with a great spirit of conviction and testimony:
Praise to the man who communed with Jehovah!
Jesus anointed that Prophet and Seer.
Blessed to open the last dispensation,
Kings shall extol him, and nations revere.
(“Praise to the Man,” Hymns, no. 27.)
They were singing of the Prophet Joseph Smith, and as they did so there came into my heart a great surge of love for and belief in the mighty Prophet of this dispensation. In my childhood I had been taught much of him in meetings and classes in our ward as well as in our home; but my experience in that stake priesthood meeting was different. I knew then, by the power of the Holy Ghost, that Joseph Smith was indeed a prophet of God.1

Finally, I’ll always remember a man I met when I was driving a delivery van through downtown Seattle. I was earning money for my mission. I met a wide variety of people, but Larry was the most interesting by far. I had just run some boxes into a store and was hustling back to my van when he came up alongside and extended his hand.
“Hi, my name is Larry. Will you be my friend?”
“You bet,” I agreed with a smile. It was plain that Larry was mentally disabled. I’m sure some thought it was funny he would walk up to a total stranger asking for friendship. But I believe Larry was only innocently asking out loud the same question so many ask silently, Will you be my friend? If we would all just say, “Sure,” wouldn’t it be cool? Cool-aid.
We all know how it feels to be thirsty, so thirsty we can hardly stand it. I’m convinced that’s how many in the world feel right now, thirsty for attention, approval, acceptance, and love. We can do something about it! By giving cool-aid—the coolest aid of real selfless service—to those around us, we can quench the thirst that our brothers and sisters have and leave joy that will last longer than the purple mustaches on my upper lip ever did.

It was a blistering 115 degrees F (46?C) outside, typical for a summer day out on the farm in Brawley, California. I kicked the tire of the huge water truck that had broken down for the third time in four days. I relied on my summer job to pay for entertainment, school clothes, and eventually college. Despite the heat, I hated having to cut a day’s work short, but it looked like I was going to have to do so again.
David, a member of our ward and a family friend, walked over from the mill to take a look at the truck. Venting my frustrations to him, I was tempted to say a word I had heard others use when they were annoyed. The moment before I actually said it, the thought crossed my mind that I shouldn’t because I knew it was a bad word. But in an instant, I brushed it off, thinking no one would ever find out. I said the word, but it didn’t make me feel any better.
Looking up, David told me he and Dad would fix the truck when they could. In the meantime, I found other work to do for the rest of the day.
Hopping into Dad’s truck at the end of the day, we began the drive home. Not too long after getting on the road, Dad looked over at me and mentioned that David had told him about my reaction to the truck breaking down, swear word and all. “David said he never expected to hear something like that come out of my daughter’s mouth,” Dad said. “He respects you too much, honey.”
I hung my head, and the tears came quickly. I had lowered myself in the eyes of people whose opinions I cared about. But most of all, I felt disappointed in myself and knew God did too. I realized that was why saying the word hadn’t made me feel any better.
I made a promise never to say that word again or anything else that would not please God, not because I didn’t want to make my dad and David ashamed of me but because it was the right thing to do. Integrity, I learned, is the way you act when you think no one is looking.

A young woman on a university volleyball team tells of the time when she and her friend Muki were playing together in a championship match:
““I remember it being a close game. … Gracie [on our opponents’ team] rounded her approach, jumped, and smacked the ball as hard as she could. … The line judges signaled out, and the head official raised his finger to show a point for [our team]. We began giving our usual high fives when we noticed that Muki was hand-motioning to the official that she touched the ball on her block. Muki was calling her own touch. The line judges … were … signaling out, [indicating] that there was no touch.
“The quiet, withdrawn Muki had showed an act of integrity and honesty like I had never seen before. Gracie Shute was so impressed that she talked with Muki after the match. … Muki later gave Gracie a Book of Mormon. I don’t know if Gracie has read the book … , but I do know that Gracie was touched by Muki’s example, as we all were.”