Gospel Story Finder

A few years ago two of our American churches on the West Coast were holding a convention in Salt Lake City. The people came from California, Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Utah, and Nevada and represented the Congregational and Evangelical churches. The leader of that group wrote a letter to President McKay and asked if he would send one of the General Authorities to talk for two hours in the morning session of their convention to tell them the story of Mormonism, then to remain as their guest for lunch, and then to stay an hour and a half in the afternoon for questions. Well, I got the assignment, and I don’t mind telling you I was glad to get it. I always tell our missionaries you never need to argue with anybody—“If you learn how to tell our story, you tell them things they’ve never heard of, and prove them out of their own Bibles.” When I arrived at the meeting, I asked, “Now, do you want it just the way we believe it, how we got the church and what we believe?”
The man in charge said, “That’s just what we want.” Some of them had to get away on earlier planes, so they moved the luncheon back half an hour and gave me two hours and a half in that morning session. I just gave them chapter and verse and showed them what we received through the restoration of the gospel. You remember the words of Peter when he said the heavens were to receive the Christ until the restitution of all things spoken by the mouths of all the holy prophets since the world began (see Acts 3:20–21). A restitution is not a reformation, which is how all these other churches have come into existence. They have tried to correct the mistakes of history, but we have a restitution of all things. I showed what we got by the coming of the different holy prophets, as Peter said, and when I was through, I had only one question out of all those ministers and church leaders. You might be interested in that question. The man in charge said, “Now, Mr. Richards, you’ve told us that you believe that God is a personal god.”
I said, “That’s right.”
He said, “We’re heard it said that you believe that God has a wife. Would you explain that to us?”
I think he thought he had me in a corner and that I couldn’t do it. So rather facetiously I said, “Well, I don’t see how in the world he could have a Son without a wife, do you?” They all began to titter, and I didn’t have any more trouble with that question.

On the evening of the dedication day, the priesthood quorums met in the temple. It was during this meeting that a pentecostal outpouring transpired. The Prophet’s history states:A noise was heard like the sound of a rushing mighty wind, which filled the Temple, and all the congregation simultaneously arose, being moved upon by an invisible power; many began to speak in tongues and prophesy; others saw glorious visions; and I beheld the Temple was filled with angels, which fact I declared to the congregation. The people of the neighborhood came running together (hearing an unusual sound within, and seeing a bright light like a pillar of fire resting upon the Temple), and were astonished at what was taking place.

“The orphans are going to like all this stuff,” John said as he loaded the last box. The back of the panel truck was filled with presents and bags of food gathered by his Scout troop. He found room for a big bag of apples. “Perfect fit!”
“Boys, it’s time to go,” Dad said as he closed the back doors. “Get in.”
The truck was a bit crowded, but nobody minded—everyone was too excited about the Christmas party at the orphanage. Everyone except John.
He’d never met any orphans before, and the Korean boys, he’d been told, didn’t speak English. Meeting them made him nervous, but he didn’t say anything—after all, his dad was the troop leader. Besides, the other boys had been in the troop longer, and the party had been their idea. They thought this wasn’t just a good Christmas service project but a way of celebrating the end of the war by helping the Korean kids who had lost everything they had, including their parents.
Each boy was supposed to pick out three of his own toys to give to the orphans. Good ones, too—not old, broken ones. “Something you’d like to get as a present,” John’s dad had insisted. John tried to act as excited as the others. “I hope the boy who gets my race car likes it,” he said. “It’s my favorite.”
It wasn’t quite true, but no way was he going to give away his best stuff! Dad’s transfer was only going to be for a few months, and John hadn’t been able to bring all his things, anyway.
He’d had a hard time deciding what he could part with—certainly not his favorite race car, the one with the rip-cord starter and huge, knobby tires that went vroom-vroom when it zipped across the floor! So he’d picked another one. It was almost as good but didn’t go as fast. The teddy bear and wooden puzzle he gave up weren’t favorite things, either.
John sighed now and stared out the window. They’d been driving for miles through the Korean countryside. Gray slushy snow lined the road. The farm fields were a patchwork of dirty snow and brown mud. As the truck made its way to the top of the narrow, winding road to the orphanage, John got his first look at it. What an ugly place! he thought. As soon as his dad parked the truck, the boys scrambled out and began unloading the gifts.
All except John, who was too busy looking around. At the end of the yard was a long shed. Its roof was nothing but scraps of rusty sheet metal. The plywood walls weren’t even painted. Scrawny chickens pecked around in the straw, and equally scrawny goats wandered in and out the open door. Just inside the door, he could see rabbit cages. Hiding behind the cages was a skinny little kid with thick bangs cut sharply across his forehead. One of the orphans, John guessed.
The boy peeked around a cage at John but didn’t smile. John noticed that the boy wasn’t wearing a coat, just a ragged sweater. No mittens, either, nor a hat. Isn’t he freezing? John wondered. Then he glanced at the boy’s feet.
No shoes! Just rubber flip-flops and those funny-looking Korean socks. He called them “mitten socks” because they had a space between the big toe and the other toes for the flip-flop thong. He knew that they were only funny looking because he’d never seen them before, and that both they and the flip-flops (which would later be known as thongs) were practical and useful—he’d seen Korean farmers wearing the same socks with flip-flops—but he had not realized that anybody wore them in the wintertime too!
Suddenly the small boy smiled and waved a shy greeting. Then he darted away. John stood watching as silent Korean boys did their chores. Most wore coats, but only a few had mittens. One boy’s hands looked blue with cold. John turned to say something to his dad, but he and the other Scouts were heading inside the orphanage. John raced to catch up. Inside it was warmer, but not much. He decided to keep his coat on.
“Come on, boys, help me put the things out,” Dad said as he started unloading the food they’d brought—big bags of rice and beans, two huge turkeys, cookies, oranges, apples, candy canes, juice, and cupcakes with green coconut frosting.
Some of the Korean boys helped. They put the presents under a scraggly tree decorated with homemade ornaments and paper chains. On Christmas morning the orphans would open their gifts. Now they laughed and shook each present, chattering away excitedly.
John couldn’t understand a word they were saying, but he could see how they felt. He was excited about Christmas too! Maybe he should have given away his favorite race car. But there was no time to think about that—the party was starting. The other Scouts were already lining up to sing Christmas carols.
Soon the singing and games were finished, the cupcakes and cookies were eaten, and the party was over. As John headed for the door, he spotted the little boy who had smiled at him outside. The boy smiled and waved again from across the room.
John took his red mittens from his pocket and went over to him. “Here. You keep these. Merry Christmas!”
The boy looked puzzled.
“Go on, take them. They’re for you—to keep.” John held the mittens out again.
Slowly the boy reached for the mittens and slipped them on. His face split into the biggest grin that John had ever seen! He bowed his head and kept repeating something that John couldn’t understand.
“Kim Lee, Kim Lee!” the boy then said, pointing at his chest.
“Oh, I get it,” John cried. “Your name is Kim Lee!” He pointed at his own chest. “John Morris.”
The boy nodded, said, “John Morris,” then repeated those same strange-sounding words.
This time John knew what they meant: thank you. He wished that he could stay longer, but it was time to go. As they headed down the gravel driveway, John turned to see red-mittened hands waving from the barnyard gate. “Merry Christmas, Kim Lee,” John whispered.
All the boys were quiet on the way back. John broke the silence. “Dad, those boys at the orphanage will like the toys and other stuff, but they really need some warm clothes.”
“You’re right—they do,” Dad agreed.
“Do you think we could buy a bunch of mittens and hats and stuff like that and take it out there? In time for Christmas?”
“I think that’s a great idea. What do the rest of you think?”
The boys eagerly agreed: “Let’s buy them some warm socks.” “Maybe we could get them some snow boots too. I’d sure hate to walk around in the snow in flip-flops!” “Me too! Let’s get mittens and socks and hats and boots.” “My dad and mom will help us.” “Mine too.” “And mine.”
As he and Dad went home after dropping the other boys off, John was happy about the Scouts’ new plans. He was even happier as he got out his race car with the rip-cord starter and huge, knobby tires and covered it with Christmas wrapping paper.

Exemplifying the growth of the Church from within is the family of Wolfgang and Karin Pilz. President Pilz, who now serves as first counselor in the Mannheim Germany Stake in south-central Germany, is a physician and fourth-generation member whose great-grandfather joined the Church in 1894. President and Sister Pilz—both returned missionaries—have five children, and their oldest daughter was recently married in the Frankfurt temple.
President and Sister Pilz, members of the Darmstadt Ward, tell of their daughter’s temple marriage. “We invited many people to a wedding party in the meetinghouse cultural hall,” says Sister Pilz, “and we had about 300 come. Many of them were nonmember visitors.” President Pilz adds, “Even teachers and classmates attended. In my day, they would never have done that; they wouldn’t have entered an LDS Church.” The guests were impressed with the Church, says Sister Pilz. “The teachers that came told other teachers. This is the kind of missionary work we can do now to let our friends and neighbors see what a wonderful community we have within the Church.”

Susan awoke to the smell of sausage frying. Saturday! That’s the only day Mom cooked sausage. She sat on the edge of her bed and stretched. A familiar rattle outside drew her to the window. Uncle Gordon’s brown pickup truck drove into the driveway in a cloud of dust.
Susan quickly straightened the bed covers and tucked them in. She slipped into her blue jeans and lavender gingham cowboy shirt. Then she grabbed her cowboy boots and pulled them on as she ran down the hall.
“Good morning, Kate,” she heard Uncle Gordon greet her mother. “Is Susan up yet this morning?”
“Here I am, Uncle Gordon,” she called. “Did you get the new horses?”
“Well, now, I like that,” he teased. “I haven’t seen you since school started, and all you can think of is horses.”
“I’m glad to see you too.” Susan grinned. “How are you? Did you get the horses?”
“That’s better,” he laughed. “Yes, I did. I picked up two yesterday.”
“What do they look like?” she asked.
“They’re both mares and as black as the root cellar at midnight,” he told her. “I’m having a hard time figuring out what to call them. In fact, that’s why I’m here. I was hoping your mother would let you spend the day at the ranch with me. Then you could have the job of naming them.”
“May I please? I’ll do my chores before I go,” she promised.
“It’s fine with me if your father doesn’t need you today,” Mom agreed.
The kitchen door opened wide, and Dad entered with pail of fresh milk. “Good morning, Gordon,” he said. “I’d shake your hand, but Kate doesn’t allow us to have milk shakes before breakfast.”
Susan grinned. She liked her father’s sense of humor. “May I go home with Uncle Gordon?” she asked. “He has two new horses, and he needs me to name them. May I, please?”
“Hold on just a minute, young lady,” her father said. “You can’t go anywhere without breakfast. How about joining us, Gordon?”
“I was hoping you’d ask,” he admitted. “No one makes biscuits like my sister-in-law.”
“Susan, will you get the pitcher of orange juice while I finish setting the table?” her mother asked. “Then we can eat.”
“The men will go wash up,” Father said.
“Don’t forget the raspberry jam,” Gordon whispered to Susan as he headed to the bathroom.
After breakfast, as Susan and Uncle Gordon drove from Pleasant Heights to Middleton, Susan studied her uncle. He looked a lot like her father, only much younger. He’d only been home from his mission a few years. He was medium in build and had strong arms like her father’s from throwing bales of hay. Both had brown arms and faces from a summer in the sun. The strong jaw and high cheekbones were the same too. But Dad’s hair was dark brown touched with gray. Uncle Gordon’s was blond.
“Why don’t you get married, Uncle Gordon?” Susan asked.
“Because I haven’t met someone just like you yet,” he laughed.
Susan blushed at his joke. Deep down she didn’t want Uncle Gordon to get married right away. He would have less time for her if he did. But she knew that someday she would have to share him.
Grandpa had been ill when Uncle Gordon returned from his mission to Brazil. Uncle Gordon had taken over the ranch and cared for Grandpa until he died last summer. At first, it was hard for Susan to go to the ranch after Grandpa died. She loved the horses, but everywhere she went, she expected to see him. Uncle Gordon understood how she felt. He knew when to make her laugh and when to let her think about the emptiness she felt without Grandpa.
When they arrived at the ranch, Uncle Gordon pointed to the pasture by the barn. “There they are,” he told her. “You go over and get acquainted.”
“Are they broke?” she asked.
“One of them is, and one isn’t,” he said, “so be careful. I have a truckful of grain to unload. I’ll be back in a little while to see how you’re getting along.”
Susan leaned against the top rail of the fence and watched the two horses grazing side by side. They look just alike from here, she thought. Still, being around horses all her life taught her that no two horses were ever exactly alike. I’ll find the difference, she told herself.
She climbed the fence and walked slowly around the edge of the pasture until she could see their faces. The closest horse whinnied and tossed her head. Susan saw a brief flash of white. There must be a small blaze under her forelock, she thought. The mare tossed her head again. There was the blaze! It’s like the moon hiding on a cloudy night.
The second mare cocked her head to one side and studied Susan. Then she sauntered over to her and nuzzled at her jean pocket.
“What are you looking for?” Susan asked. “Do you have a sweet tooth?”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a sugar cube. The horse carefully put its lips around the cube on the palm of Susan’s hand, then nudged again at her pocket.
“You’ve had enough.” Susan pushed her nose away. “The other one is for your friend.”
The second mare continued to nuzzle at her, letting Susan scratch her behind the ears. “You’re pretty friendly, aren’t you, girl,” she said, stroking the horse’s slender nose. She’d keep her distance more if she was wild, Susan reasoned. Well, there’s one way to find out if she’s broke or not.
Uncle Gordon’s rule was if she could catch, saddle, and bridle it, she could ride it, so Susan headed for the tack room of the barn. She shut her eyes tightly for a moment when she entered the barn, to help her eyes adjust to the dim light. The saddles rested on sawhorses against the wall of the tack room; the bridles hung on the wall above them. She chose her favorite saddle from the farthest sawhorses, and the bridle closest to the door.
Talking softly, she approached the mare. The horse stood steady as Susan slipped the bit into her mouth and the leather strap over her ears. After putting on the saddle blanket, Susan paused for a moment. The mare acted indifferent to the blanket, so Susan slung the saddle onto her back too. She pulled the cinch tight, lifted her left foot into the stirrup, swung her right leg over the mare’s back, then took the reins and clucked her tongue. “Come on, girl,” she coaxed. “Let’s take a little walk.”
At first they swayed gently back and forth together. Then the mare went crazy. She ran full speed toward the fence. Just when Susan was sure that they would hit it, the mare turned with a jerk that nearly snapped her rider out of the saddle. Susan grabbed the saddle horn tightly with one hand and pulled back on the reins with the other. “Whoa, girl!”
But the mare just continued her wild dance. She stiffened her legs and bounced across the pasture. Each jolt forced the air out of Susan’s lungs. The horse spun around several times, then ran full speed toward the open barn door! Susan knew that the top of the door was only about a foot taller than the mare’s back, but she didn’t dare roll to the ground—the horse might suddenly turn back and trample her. Heavenly Father, help! she prayed silently.
“Lie down!” the thought pushed through her fear.
She lay back until her head rested on the horse’s rump just as the mare lunged over the threshold of the barn. The top of the door frame missed Susan’s nose by inches.
Once inside the barn, the horse stopped as though she had come in from a leisurely trail outing. She pulled a mouthful of hay from the manger and was chewing innocently when Uncle Gordon came running into the barn. “Are you all right, Susan?”
Susan was still lying on the horse’s rump, catching her breath. Her heart pounded against her ribs. “Yeah, I’m OK,” she replied sheepishly between breaths. “I guess I got the wrong horse.”
“You got the right one if you’re training for the rodeo,” he laughed. “I couldn’t have paid for a better show than the two of you put on.”
Susan sat up, swung her right leg over the mare’s back, and slid to the ground. Uncle Gordon put his arm around her and walked her to the house. They sat on the porch steps and listened to a meadowlark calling. Susan sat on the top step, and Uncle Gordon sat two below her. It made them eye level.
“Did you come up with some names for me?” Uncle Gordon asked at length.
She nodded. “I’d call the one in the pasture Moonlight for the small blaze hidden under her forelock. And you can call the one in the barn Nightmare!”
“What great names,” he laughed. “Do you think you’ll take up breaking horses?”
“It was exciting,” she assured him. “But I think I’ll leave that to you. I did learn one thing, though—next time I’m going to ask Heavenly Father if I made the right choice before I get on a horse.”

One cold, wintry morning the Miske family was awakened early by their neighbors. The neighbors, sixteen elderly patients from a nearby nursing home, were without water because their water pump had broken. The Miskes shared the water from their well all day—until the well went dry that evening. Sister Miske then purchased eighteen four-liter containers of purified water and asked other Latter-day Saint neighbors to help. They gathered sixteen large water containers and filled them at the local meetinghouse. Three sisters did the patients’ necessary laundry; one sister spent nine hours washing and drying sheets.
For three days, Sister Miske transported more than a ton of water in snowy weather, with temperatures often near the freezing mark. After three and a half days, a new pump was installed at the nursing home, and things there returned to normal.
But things were not normal for the Miske family; their own well remained dry. Members of the nursing home’s staff were more than happy to help the Miskes. The nursing home provided the family with water until spring, when the well began to flow again.

I was introduced to the Liahona (Spanish) long before I ever joined the Church. My sister was a member and always brought copies of the magazine home. The articles, messages, and comments awoke in me a great interest in the Church and its mission. I wanted to know more. I began to meet with the full-time missionaries, and eventually both my father and I were baptized. Today, I receive my own copy of my favorite magazine, which I share with several of my non-member friends.
Patricio O. LobosCorvi Ward, Quillota StakeChile

“Today is World Freedom Day, which commemorates the fall of the Berlin Wall and the end of communist rule in Central and Eastern Europe. It is a day to remember the bravery of valiant men and women who fought, and continue to fight, for freedom throughout the world.
“One such brave couple was Olga and Jirí Snederfler, who provided leadership and support to members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the former Czechoslovakia despite great personal risk and sacrifice. I was assigned to help the Church gain official recognition in that country, and it simply would not have been possible without the Snederflers’ courage and faith to follow the Savior.
“With their help as Czech citizens, we were able to secure meetings with government officials and petition for recognition so that our members in that country could worship openly, instead of in secret. I will never forget one pivotal meeting when Josef Hromadka, the new deputy prime minister of the Republic of Czechoslovakia, promised us that this recognition would come.
“That same day, we traveled to Mount Karlstein, where Elder John A. Widtsoe had dedicated the country for the preaching of the gospel on July 24, 1929. There, I offered a prayer of gratitude for the Lord’s intervention on behalf of the Saints in Czechoslovakia. As I think about Olga and Jirí Snederfler, I am reminded that much of the bravery in the world goes largely unseen and that the Lord often uses the unlikely to accomplish the impossible.”
President Russell M. Nelson, Facebook, Nov. 9, 2021, facebook.com/russell.m.nelson.

President Smith showed an example of such kindness in a meeting where an accident involving a Church-owned automobile was discussed. An elderly man driving a vegetable truck with no insurance had caused the mishap. After some discussion, it was recommended that the Church pursue the matter in a court of law. However, President Smith spoke up: “Yes, we could do that. And if we press with all vigor, we might even succeed in taking the truck away from the poor man; then how would he make a living?” The committee reversed its recommendation and let the matter rest.15

With the trusting nature of a child, four-year-old Kennedy from Lusaka, Zambia, ran into the open arms of Jesus! The moment was later captured on canvas by Latter-day Saint artist Liz Lemon Swindle in a heartwarming painting titled Worth of a Soul.
Since 2008 this painting has found a place in our hearts. We see the Savior draw this young, trusting child into Him. As we look into this young child’s eyes it may really be ourselves that we see. If we allow the Spirit in, it will testify that it is really each one of us that is cradled in His arms.
Kennedy was orphaned when both parents passed away just a couple of months apart from an undiagnosed disease. They left behind eight cherished children, the youngest just three weeks old. Kennedy’s life and the lives of his brothers and sisters were forever changed. The emptiness and loss robbed him of hope. That feeling would follow him for many years. His spirit craved acceptance, love, and belonging.
Kennedy and some of his siblings were cared for at the Mothers Without Borders Children’s Center in West Lusaka, Zambia. Two years after his parents’ passing, on a sunny day, a man portraying the Savior arrived with Sister Swindle and a photographer. They sought to photograph African children with the man so that a much-needed painting could be created.
Kennedy was now four years old. With the innocence of a child, and fully believing this man to be the Savior, he broke loose from the grip of his sister Bridget’s hand and ran toward him. He jumped into his outstretched arms. Throughout the day, Kennedy rarely left his side. Was the Spirit whispering to him that something here was familiar?
As a young orphan, Kennedy depended on others for survival. Prior to being brought to the children’s center, he and his siblings were scattered among relatives. As with most experiences in life, some of the times were good, some desperate. Throughout it all, and despite separation from each other, the siblings remain bonded together. His older brother Bwalya was ever present in his life and took on the role of father and protector even though he was only two years older than Kennedy.
Kennedy was introduced to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when he was 9 and became a baptized member at the age of 11. Five siblings were also baptized.
As a young teenager, life became difficult for Kennedy when no funds were available for his continued housing, food, and much desired education. It was at this time that BJ Warnick, Sandra Peters, and Anthony Mulenga—who had all known Kennedy since he was four—were able to take him into their care. Through their Heart to Hands Foundation, he and Bwalya were immediately adopted into their flock.
While it was obvious that Kennedy needed the basics required for daily survival, what he really needed was hope and love, and they had plenty of that to offer. Kennedy said while he was “not officially adopted”, it was “even better”. He now had two moms. With his new family’s help, he was able to complete grade 12, obtain a driver’s license, and complete auto mechanic school. Again, he was wrapped in the arms of his Savior, but it was through the acts of others. Kennedy remarked, “I don’t know who I would have become without the continual love of my enlarged family and friends who have dedicated so much time to me.”
A year ago Kennedy decided to serve a mission and become those arms of the Savior for others. His “better than adopted family”, his brother Bwalya, and his determined Bishop Simbeya in the Libala Ward helped him prepare.
For many African missionaries, their first opportunity to attend the temple is when they come to the missionary training center in Ghana. It is also their first and often only opportunity to do ordinance work for their deceased parents, siblings, or grandparents until they return home and are able to have sufficient resources to travel to the nearest temple.
Elder and Sister Meredith serve as temple and family history missionaries in the Africa West Area and spend time at the MTC each Sunday helping interested missionaries prepare their ancestors’ names so they can do temple work for them in the short time they are there. Their most joyous efforts occur in opportunities to help missionaries who want to do work for their own parents. Such was the case with Kennedy Chitalu.
While he was at the Ghana MTC, before departing to the Kenya Nairobi Mission, he was able to attend the house of the Lord and take part in not just his father’s ordinance work but also the sealing of his parents and finally his sealing to them for time and all eternity. He was so excited he didn’t want forget even a moment of his experience and stayed in the temple to savor the spirit he felt as long as he was able.
Now, as Elder Chitalu, in the mission office he met Sister Stacie Sturt, mission leader for the Kenya Nairobi Mission. She captured a beautiful photo of Elder Chitalu standing in front of the painting of his much younger self, cradled in the arms of his Savior. Now he wears a name tag as a representative of Jesus Christ. It is his turn to wrap his arms around others and help bring them to Christ. He testifies: “I know and stand as a solemn witness that Jesus Christ is our Savior, and I know that His Atonement has healing power for all kinds of afflictions”.

When our prophet, Spencer W. Kimball, and I walked through the admittance door of the Utah State Prison a few days ago, the sound of sliding, electronically controlled cell doors could be heard clanging in the background. The grating sounds of the steel bars against the concrete floor and walls let me know where I was again. The total situation was familiar to me. I had been in prison many times before (as a visitor).
It was President Kimball’s first visit. Once past the heavily guarded door, we were escorted to Warden Lawrence Morris’s office, located near the front of the medium security area. Even after we were safely seated in his office, I was still filled with real anxieties. I hoped conditions would be completely under control with no disturbances possible. There must not be any interference or interruption during the visit of the prophet. I was responsible for this trip, and as we sat there together, this total situation weighed heavily upon me. Past experience had taught me that the behavior of some inmates is unpredictable. Fortunately the able warden had prepared well, and conditions in and around his office were ideally calm and quiet. To my great relief it appeared that the “grapevine” means of communication inside the prison had not learned of the President’s coming.
What had attracted President Kimball to the prison? Why was he there? What was his special interest? What was on his mind? Was there a certain inmate he wanted to see? Why should he expose himself to this dangerous environment, when he had mountains of responsibilities needing his attention in his own office?
With this latest prison visit over and having had a few days to reflect on and ponder the situation, I now know that President Spencer W. Kimball went there for many reasons and people. Being at his side and seeing him share himself with these special people will always be one of the choicest experiences of my life. I learned much. I was with a prophet in an unstable environment. My senior companion, if you please, taught me well. As we traveled together to the prison, visited there, and returned in the car, the warmth and wisdom of this mighty man renewed in me a thrilling appreciation for his greatness.
After a short visit in his office, the warden invited two inmates to come in and meet President Kimball. As they hesitatingly came in, President Kimball stood up, shook their hands, and gave them a warm welcome. Here was a prophet with two prisoners. I watched with keen interest. What would President Kimball say following the greeting? “What are your special jobs out here? Where is your home? Tell me about your family. Are you working on the construction of the new chapel?” These were some of his questions—all of which were free of criticism and embarrassment. Perhaps others would have been inclined to say under these circumstances, “How long is your prison sentence? What was your crime? How long have you been here? Your family can’t be very proud of you. You ought to be ashamed wasting your life in jail. Why don’t you shape up?”
President Kimball set the example for me and for all of us as he conducted this personal interview, if you please, with skill and sincerity. In a very few minutes, with few, but appropriate, words, he let the two prisoners know he was with them because he cares.
When this short visit with the two prisoners was over, we were to make our way to the prison chapel. When we were outside again, it was about 10:30 a.m., with the temperature near 40 degrees Fahrenheit. “Would you like to ride or walk the two-block distance?” President Kimball was asked. He responded with, “I would like to walk.” Since President Kimball was without a top coat, his personal secretary, D. Arthur Haycock, started to take his off to share with the President. President Kimball said, “No, thank you. You keep it on. If I walk, I won’t need it.” Just a routine appreciation gesture? Perhaps, some would say. But to me it was evidence of President Kimball’s courteous way of life.
As President Kimball walked the distance to the new chapel site with the wardens, prisoners, and a few others of us, I was close enough at hand to hear his constant questions and concerns. He listened intently as answers were given and situations of interest pointed out. I was impressed again with his concern for people, their confinement and treatment.
Once within the walls of the chapel under construction, he took time to shake hands with workers, some of whom were prisoners, and with other visitors who were now aware of his presence. He seemed to take time for everyone. People never seemed to be a bother. I saw a number of workers jump down from scaffolds to shake his hand. In some cases I saw his arm go out to them before they could clean mortar and dirt from their fingers. They and leaders from other churches heard him say, “This interdenominational worship facility will help prisoners find their way back.” He also added, “The Church and our people are happy to be participants in any and all community projects that are worthy.” Once again I was impressed with his wholesome relationship with all people.
The highlight of the chapel inspection tour and the prison visit in general, it seemed to me, came when two inmates were invited to stand at the side of the prophet in the minimum security reception area for picture taking. As the President welcomed them forward and later put his arms around them, he said, “It is an honor for me to have my picture taken with you.” The two prisoners were obviously touched by his comment. Others of us again saw the greatness and stature of the one we love so much. Respect and human dignity were witnessed. Again he taught well that all people are entitled to be treated as human beings, wherever they are found and regardless of where they have been. President Kimball, it was obvious, is a foe of sin but a friend of the sinner. The scripture found in D&C 50:26 came forcefully to my mind: “He that is ordained of God and sent forth, the same is appointed to be the greatest, notwithstanding he is the least and the servant of all.”
As we were finishing our visit, one inmate rushed up to me and said, “I didn’t get a chance to shake President Kimball’s hand. Would you please tell him I love him?” Another prisoner responded with, “I’m not a Mormon, but he’s got to be a special guy.” Some day I hope that prisoner finds out what a special guy President Kimball really is.
As we walked back to the car to return to Salt Lake City, this choice experience with the prophet brought to mind the story of Parley P. Pratt when he and the Prophet Joseph Smith were together in a prison in Richmond, Missouri. The situation was much different, but the same witness of true dignity and majesty was enjoyed. (See Parley P. Pratt, Jr., ed., The Autobiography of Parley P. Pratt, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 1938, pp. 193–200, 210–215, 230–240.) I, too, saw true majesty when a prison visitor performed and spoke under God’s authority and shared himself fearlessly.
Before we drove away from the prison compound, President Kimball viewed the maximum security area. When he looked at the extra fences, towers, guards, and isolated location, he commented on how unfortunate it is when men can’t be given freedom, responsibilities, and the joys of work. “All men are basically good. Some just lose their way and need to be led back into proper paths and habits,” he said.
President Kimball asked the warden how the Church’s family home evening program was doing at the prison. (President Kimball had been instrumental in its implementation years ago.) When told it was most successful, he was very pleased. The warden informed him that each week dozens of families continue to go to the prison on Monday evenings to provide family experiences for those qualified to be involved. These good people serve as families for inmates who don’t have them. Their relationship, which very often goes on after prisoners are released, provides an excellent anchor in rehabilitation. The strength of the family is available on a regular basis. President Kimball has long been a believer that every person is entitled to family relationships, and when told that some inmates have their first real family experiences through this program, he was delighted.
During the tour of the new chapel and the walk between the buildings, there were always a number of young and old nearby to assist and respond to President Kimball’s questions. After hearing President Kimball refer to me a number of times as “Marv” as we walked together, one of the younger set was impressed to say, “Isn’t it kind of neat to have President Kimball call you ‘Marv’?” I responded with, “Yes, it is, and it is especially neat to know that President Spencer W. Kimball is a prophet of God.” I had again seen him in action.
In the car returning to Salt Lake City, President Kimball thanked us time and again for taking him to the prison. He felt good about the response of those with whom he had associated. “I hope you will make it possible for me to go back again,” he suggested. “Those people need our love and constant encouragement.”
He exhibited a dignity and poise that was most impressive. Governor Scott M. Matheson of the State of Utah was on hand during President Kimball’s tour. As I walked, talked, and visited with both men, I was greatly impressed with the fact that the governor received the same treatment from President Kimball as did the inmates. Do you have the capacity to love the nonattender as much as you do the 100-percent attender?
I am glad the time and conditions were right for President Kimball to visit his friends in prison and that I could be with him. One prisoner who stood by his side for the picture is serving time for theft and burglary; the other is there for manslaughter. One was a member, one a nonmember. His greetings to them, “It is an honor for me to have my picture taken with you,” continues to ring in my ears. “I was in prison, and ye came unto me” (Matt. 25:36). Once again we have the heartwarming example of seeing how widely our President can spread his arms in love. He makes room for all of us. He will not give up on anyone.

Like some of you, I know what it is to face disappointment and youthful humiliation. As a boy, I played team softball in elementary and junior high school. Two captains were chosen, and then they, in turn, selected the players they desired on their teams. Of course, the best players were chosen first, then second and third. To be selected fourth or fifth was not too bad, but to be chosen last and relegated to a remote position in the outfield was downright awful. I know. I was there.

How I hoped that the ball would never be hit in my direction, for surely I would drop it, runners would score, and teammates would laugh.

As though it were just yesterday, I remember the moment when all that changed in my life. The game started out as I have described: I was chosen last. I made my sorrowful way to the deep pocket of right field and watched as the other team filled the bases with runners. Two batters then went down on strikes. Suddenly, the next batter hit a mighty drive. The ball was coming in my direction. Was it beyond my reach? I raced for the spot where I thought the ball would drop, uttered a silent prayer as I ran, and stretched forth my cupped hands. I surprised myself. I caught the ball! My team won the game.

This one experience bolstered my confidence, inspired my desire to practice, and led me from that last-to-be-chosen place to become a real contributor to the team.

Although Cyrena feared setting off on her own, she trusted in the Lord and His promises. She soon found that her new religious community, her fellow Saints, cared for her as if she were part of their families. Because she lived in Alexander Stanley’s home for a short time, she was able to set out with his company for Far West, Missouri.

During the trip, Cyrena fell gravely ill and spent much of her time lying sick in a wagon. She wrote, “I shall ever remember how kind and good the sisters and brethren were to me during that long ride from New Portage, Ohio, to the Missouri River. They gave me every attention that could be given under the circumstances, many times sacrificing their own comfort for mine.”7 Although some felt she would not recover, Cyrena held on to her faith and the promise of her patriarchal blessing that she would go to Zion. She survived the journey, reaching Far West in the fall of 1838, and her health continued to improve.

We also met a faithful sister who came to New York from Haiti to be treated for cancer. During her stays, the ward council did everything it could to help her and make sure she had what she needed, including transportation to and from her treatments. We were blessed to serve and visit her during this time. We hoped for a better ending, but she passed away.
Those two experiences represent what the ward did for people—help them and lift them. We are grateful for these and other remarkable experiences.

When I was quite young, I heard a talk given by a leader in the Church. I do not remember who he was or even the setting of the talk. Although I cannot give proper credit to him, I think he would be glad to know that an idea remained with me. He said he asked for forgiveness from the Lord every day and that he needed to repent every day. It may surprise you to know that I just did not get that, at all. I couldn’t really comprehend that the person who was speaking would actually be doing anything for which he needed to repent of every day. At the time, I had a very simple understanding of sin and I thought repentance was just for serious problems. I also thought that it was very uncomfortable and unpleasant to go through, so I certainly did not want to subject myself to it on a daily basis; I cringed at the thought. Even though I could not really accept what I had heard, the idea didn’t go away. It bugged me from time to time through my teenage years and into my early twenties, and I’m using the term “bugged” intentionally. I would like you to think about what it feels like to have a little ant or bug crawling somewhere on your skin. It’s not harmful, but it really gets your attention, and then you swat it away as fast as you can. That is what this idea was like for me. Then I learned more about Jesus Christ, the gift of his Atonement, the purpose of repentance, and the miracle of forgiveness. I learned more about a lot of things. I came to know that my Heavenly Father does live and he loves me and wants me to be able to return to him. I came to know that Jesus Christ does live and he loves me so much that he would atone for my sins and he would redeem me. I learned more about the gift of the Holy Ghost and why this is a truly priceless gift. The Holy Ghost can reveal to us the truth of our actions so that we may see every day the things we need to correct and the faults within ourselves that we must mend as we try to be like Jesus. The longer and more consistently we invite the tutoring of the Holy Ghost, the more refined our vision of ourselves becomes and our sensitivity to what is right and what is wrong is greatly increased.
So, in this life we may never run out of things to correct through repentance as the Holy Ghost diligently works to help us try to become more and more like Jesus. The idea that speaker left with me doesn’t “bug” me anymore. It comes back to me all the time, but now I welcome it like a brilliant little butterfly landing on my outstretched hand. In other words, I don’t swat it away but take great delight in it. The concept of frequent, sincere repentance and personal reflection has become beautiful to me. And, I do need it daily because I am mindful of things now that I didn’t used to be mindful of. I think when I am a little white-haired and wrinkly lady that I will still be refining myself through repentance. I hope by then I’ll be a righteous example in everything I do and say and think, but I’ll probably still have things to work on within myself. I’m sure I’ll still be learning the things we have all come here to learn. I hope I will make progress and prepare every day of my life for the moment when I meet my elder brother and Savior again. I don’t know when that moment will come. I want to be ready. I don’t want to be afraid to see him. I just want to be happy to see him again. I want to be able to look into his eyes and see joy. What do you want that moment to be like?

Later I mailed the overweight birthday card and enjoyed the thought of Eric reading his life out loud to his roommates.
It was almost midnight Friday when the phone rang.
“Mom, this is Eric.”
“Eric! Today’s your birthday. You got my card! You got the money! You loved them both! But you didn’t have to thank us at this hour!”
“Mom! Listen! Brad and I were just sitting around here in the student dormitory reminiscing when the telephone rang. It was a girl.”
She said, “Is this Eric Miller? You probably won’t remember me. It’s been a long time. This is Jena Hamilton.”
“Jena! I can’t believe it! Of course I remember you. What are you doing here in Utah? Visiting?”
“I’m going to the BYU just like you.”
“But why? How did you decide to come here?”
“Well, about three years ago mother and I were doing dishes when two young men knocked at our door. They said they were representatives of Jesus Christ and would like to leave a message with us. Mother said. ‘No, thank you, we really aren’t interested.’ Then for some reason she asked, ‘What church are you from?’ And they said, ‘We belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, sometimes called the Mormon church.’ She looked at me, and we both said, ‘That’s Eric’s church.’ We weren’t interested, of course, but we would be courteous to someone from Eric’s church. Well, you know how that goes! We were baptized after the fourth lesson.”
“Jena! That’s wonderful! Hey, it’s my birthday. We’re celebrating! Where are you living? Can we come over?
Eric ended his story. I wiped a tear off my chin and nose. He paused a long time. “Well,” I demanded, “Did you go over? How is she doing?”
“She’s beautiful!” Eric replied enthusiastically.
“And her leg? Has it improved?”
“Her leg? What was the matter with her leg?”

Let me share a little experience that happened a few years ago. President Oaks mentioned that I had the privilege of teaching in the seminary and institute program at one time; that was a great training ground for me. The particular class involved in this story numbered forty-four. They were excited, early-morning students that used to get up at five in the morning to meet me at six and have class. There was one little girl—let us call her Marlene—who was very lonesome, the typical wallflower that you have seen depicted in many ways. She used to arrive about one or two minutes before the class started, or even a minute or two after, so that she would not have to mix socially. She always used to sit alone close to the back of the class. It was very obvious to me, the teacher, that she could not mix socially. And I pondered. What could be done? It was all right for me to talk to her on a one-to-one basis, but what she was reaching out for was the peer group, and no one seemed to respond. Everybody was caught up in his or her own world—and that is understandable with young people.

One day, while we were studying from the book of John about the miracles of Jesus, it seemed to strike me, in a spiritual way, that miracles were all right in the time of the Savior, but how about now? I also knew that in the class was Gail. Gail was an exciting, refreshing girl who just seemed to attract everybody. Everybody wanted to sit next to Gail. She was the typical extrovert, and yet not too selfish; but it was obvious that in the size of the group she had not noticed Marlene either.

One day I kept Gail after class for a minute. I said, “Gail, we have been studying about the miracle of Jesus. Would you like to perform a miracle?”
Thinking that maybe she could turn the water to wine or walk on the water, she said, “Oh, that would be wonderful! Let’s do it.”
And I said, “Well, it’s a different kind of a miracle. Would you like to transform a girl who doesn’t belong into somebody that does? Have you noticed Marlene in the back of the class?”
She said, “Yes.”
“Have you noticed that she has no friends?”
“Yes.”
I said, “I’ve checked it out and I find that you are both in the same high school. Would it be too hard at lunchtime to seek her out and include her in your circle? I’ll promise you that if your girlfriends see what you do with her, they’ll take an interest too, because they love and respect you and your popularity.”
She said, “Oh, that would be fun!”
And I said, “Now, extend that to this class every day. I don’t know how you are going to do it, but you find a way to sit next to her. Would you do that? And I’ll watch you very carefully, but I won’t make it obvious.”

The next day at seminary Marlene came about two minutes before the class was to start, and Gail quickly maneuvered herself to the chair next to her. Several of the other girls in the class did a double-take. “What’s she doing that for?” That persisted for the next three or four days, and the other girls began to say, “Well, what’s Marlene got that would attract Gail?” And within two weeks a little wallflower who did not belong, even in the Church, commenced to unfold, and we found a spirit and a talent that was unbelievable. Even her teacher was surprised at the difference. I challenge you, young people, to reach out. If the gospel is really true—and it is—you and I of all people can help those that somehow do not seem to belong. Would that not seem to you to be consistent in the gospel of Jesus Christ? It certainly does to me.

My falling away from the Church was gradual. It began in the fifth grade, when I met some new friends. We used bad language and got into all the wrong things. Once junior high came around, we entered into all the wrong groups, and by high school, things started to get really bad.
I became really depressed. I was wearing more and more black and kept insisting on thickly layering dark eye makeup. To me, life became something just to get through and not to enjoy. My thoughts were often suicidal, and I had no confidence. I almost completely shelled up. I never really talked to anyone, never told people what was going on. I knew I was loved, but I just didn’t care.
I almost completely fell away from the Church. I say almost because I was never allowed to skip church, and my parents always expected me to take seminary during high school. But I wanted nothing more to do with the gospel or the LDS Church.
My family and loved ones saw this downward spiral, and they tried to help. I often spent time on Sundays in the bishop’s office, and just as many days trying to avoid the bishop. He showed a lot of support and interest in me, looking into the things I believed in so that he could better understand me. My parents kept trying to help, but they didn’t know what to do. There were times when my dad and I were near tears trying to talk about our differences.
During my sophomore year, I hit a turning point when a foreign exchange student from Japan came to live with us. She was a softball player, and she convinced me to play that year. That experience alone did a great deal of good for me. The coach helped me raise my self-esteem, and the experience of belonging to and working on a team gave me the blessed feeling of belonging somewhere.
That summer I went to Japan to stay with the family of our foreign exchange student for five weeks. During my stay, I went four weeks without going to church. Finally, in the very last week, we stopped by the Tokyo Japan Temple to take pictures. In a strange country where the language and customs were so foreign to me, it was the most comforting feeling to finally be in a familiar place. The Spirit there was so strong.
That Sunday we found a ward building, and I attended church. It was amazing to experience sacrament meeting and Sunday School in Japanese, but what hit me most was when I went to Young Women. Seeing those few Japanese girls rise and say the theme, I realized that the gospel was just as strong halfway across the world as it was at home. I knew that many of these members didn’t have the support from friends and family that I did, but they still believed. Again, I felt at home.
Shortly after I returned to Utah, my brother Richard came home from his mission. Rich noticed my struggles and made it apparent that we would be having a lot of talks. He got me to pray with him.
But what really hit home was seminary. My dad found out I wasn’t enrolled for my junior year and was surprised. It wasn’t long before I was called to meet with the seminary principal. It was very nonconfrontational; he just talked to me, conveyed friendship, and expressed concern that I wasn’t enrolled. Finally I agreed to take seminary. I met my teacher, went to class, and that was it. I never skipped and rarely begrudged going.
I’m not sure when the transition took place, but I started to feel comfort. I began to pray regularly again. It was really hard at first, but I stuck with it. I read my scriptures and knew that they spoke truth. Life began to look up. I had more energy, confidence, and ambition. I felt better about the new friends I began associating with. I tried out for plays, immersed myself in my artwork, and started singing again. I tried out for my school’s select choir group and made it. I was no longer the shy, introverted girl I had been for so long.
I was also called to serve on the seminary council, and that was when I knew that I would be okay. If someone had told me a year ago that I would be where I am now, I never would have believed it could happen. I’m a completely different person. And I’m grateful to my friends, family, and teachers, who gave me their love and patience. Their faith in me was the constant in my life that I could always fall back on in my darkest hours. And now I’m so grateful for the gospel. I feel it really has saved my life. If I hadn’t made the turnaround when I did, who knows how far off the path I would have gone. I’m grateful I’ve never had to find out.
The Church is true; I know that with all of my heart and mind. Heavenly Father loves His children, and Jesus Christ is our Savior. Having the restored gospel on earth is one of our greatest blessings, and I pray that someday all of God’s children will come to know the truth and feel the same gratitude and love for Him that I have in my heart.

Brother Miguel Troncoso from Santa Cruz, Argentina, was looking forward to hearing Elder Carlos H. Amado of the Seventy speak at his stake. But Elder Amado was scheduled to speak on a Tuesday evening, and Brother Troncoso, a high school teacher, had to teach a school class that night. Determined to attend the meeting, he and his family prayed for help.
Brother Troncoso said this about his experience:
“The day before the conference, I felt prompted to talk with the principal about leaving 20 minutes early. … Before I could say a word, she asked me if I would mind changing my Tuesday class starting time to two hours earlier than normal. …
“What a blessing this was to us. We arrived at the meeting in plenty of time and felt the Spirit in the presence of one of the Lord’s disciples. … In addition, we gained a testimony as a family that Heavenly Father knows our desires and hears our prayers.”

I tore open the envelope expectantly and unfolded the stationery. As I did, a small photo fluttered to the floor and landed face down. Snatching it from the shabby linoleum of our tiny apartment, I gasped in amazement.
“What is it, Sister Larsen?” my companion asked. I turned to her and beamed, speechlessly waving the photograph in her direction. That was Annemarie—all dressed in white. She stood with two sisters and two elders, one also in white. I immediately recognized the setting. It was the baptismal font of our stake center back home. My best friend had been baptized!
Now after nearly eight years of friendship and six months in the mission field, the letter I had dreamed would come had finally arrived. I stared at the photograph. Then I began to read.
Dear Sister Beth Larsen,
Greetings to my favorite missionary! Are you surprised? I know you thought I was too stubborn for this, but I got baptized. Me, your old knuckleheaded best friend! I kept my promise to you and read the Book of Mormon. So what if it took me five months into your mission before I got around to it? After I started, it didn’t take long before I had questions, so your wonderful parents referred me to two nice young sisters who promised they could help me.
I want to share with you the story of my conversion, and it isn’t long. It’s very simple, just like you said it would be. The Book of Mormon is true, and the Church is true. You told me that you have always known these things. I can now testify the same.
As the sisters spoke, explaining my premortal life and eternity, I realized these were things I already believed. They explained the plan of salvation, the need for an Atonement, and the nature of God. Beth, everything they said sounded so right, almost familiar. I felt these were things I had already known but had never been able to put into words or even remember at times. I guess you could say it was just like getting a long lost letter from home. …
I paused as my eyes misted over. My brother was right! I had learned it many times during the past few months in the mission field, and I felt it deeply within my heart now. As much as my example and prayers for Annemarie may have assisted in fulfilling the Lord’s work, my best friend’s conversion had very little to do with me. Like every conversion, hers was an intensely personal experience that came about miraculously. A loving Father reached down to His contritely seeking child, peeling back the veil just long enough to give her a glimpse of what she already knew.
“Are you okay?” my companion asked with concern as I refolded Annemarie’s letter.
“Yes. I just received an incredible letter,” I smiled, wiping my eyes hastily.
“Who is it from?”
“Just a friend from home. She told me about an amazing message she received. I’ll let you read it.”
I had been trying for years to remind Annemarie of the gospel plan taught long ago, but in the end it was she who reminded me of one important truth. Heavenly Father knew the right timing and circumstances that would help Annemarie come into His light. How could I ever doubt that He was not equally mindful of me? Whenever I feel Him guiding me in important decisions, carefully leading me back, I remember Annemarie. She showed me that whether personal revelations come in ways great or small, they are messages from our Heavenly Father—letters from our eternal home.